tea tortoise

In the back yard at Richardson's in Scottsdale, they keep a tea tortoise as a working pet. I'd heard about it since hitting town but didn't really believe it would add up to the bugger it was in reality. Originally crafted by the British in Colonial India, these wack beasts generate sufficient body heat to brew tea in a bio-engineered shell and tea caddy carried, as per the photo, on their back. If one could or even should complain about any aspect of this contraption it would be related to the slowness with which this tortoise actually brews and serves. And, why didn't they think of adding a crumpet broiler or even just a simple tray to carry scones, jam and butter?

Anyhow, my first two weeks in the Desert have been interesting to say the least. Cruel heat and vicious critters abound. The heat of the day keeps the critters from view for a few hours but they emerge each evening to feed and frolic. Large, hairy bats with four foot wingspans and nasty, pointy teeth. Roving herds of rabid garbage skunks. Recently, the discovery of thick clusters of Sonoran pit vipers in the trash receptacles at Fyre's Food Market. Ruby-red-dino-birds with jet black eyes and flaky scales instead of feathers. Large, bulbous, festering canal toads oozing malathion absorbed from the cotton field pesticide treatments. A complete absence of small pets and squirrels.

It's no wonder that Valley residents live in fear. Snipers hunt joggers in the early evening for sport. Mel Gibson's Road Warriors rule the freeways and charge exorbitant prices for 12 ounces of gasoline - the largest amount you can acquire in a single purchase (so you make several over the course of the day).
There is no food here except what you can procure from the Mormons who smuggle beef and sugar cane in across the northern border. Some Mexican food filters north out of Old Mexico, but even still, a microwaveable burrito costs me eight dollars and a pair of flip-flops at the Navaho burrito stand on 32nd over by the university of Phoenix on Tuesday. Phoenicians survive largely on a diet of rock badger livers and cactus pulp. At this point, I'd trade my neighbor's first born for a potato or a turnip.

All in all though, it's alright. I'm sure some folks have it worse. At least we've escaped the rodeo-clown press gangs and that range down out of Las Vegas, home of the PCRA National Finals. What kind of a life is that, the life of the rodeo-clown? Running ass and elbows in order to survive. With face paint.

Other than that, the place is pretty cool (figuratively speaking).