CALL ME SNAKE

I'm off to Mexico for a week, so you'll all get a welcome break from me. But I'll be back in early January--rested, refreshed, tanned, and ready to get back to the business of blogging.

Although my judgment is superb, I have to consider this list a first draft because I saw fewer movies in 2005 than in any year in recent memory and did not see many that might have made my 10 Best List. That said, here's my list which, as I said, is a work in progress:

Junebug: A good old Southern family drama.

Seducing Dr. Lewis: A good old French Canadian smalltown comedy.

The Squid and the Whale: "searing, unflinching"

Cinderella Man: "packs a punch"

Me, You, and Everyone I Know: "offbeat, kooky"

Bright Leaves: "a personal history that shows what every blogger should aspire to but can probably never attain."

Riding Giants: "Those waves are f___ing big!"

The Beat That My Heart Skipped: "better than the original"

Fever Pitch: "the perfect feel-good flick for Red Sox Nation"

Ice Harvest: The perfect antidote to "White Christmas"

I don't normally do this but today we'll have a guest correspondent, my cousin Ken who lives in Nashville and tells of a horrible crime: A cinammon bun that resembles Mother Teresa [See: http://www.bongojava.com/beans.php?content=nunbun], which has been enshrined at the Bongo Java coffee house for the past nine years, was stolen on Christmas Eve. The so-called "NunBun" was a famous tourist attraction, having been featured on various TV shows, the Washington Post, and perhaps most famously in the Annals of Improbable Research. For details on this stunning development, I turn the "conch" over to Ken (whose brother Bob, also my cousin [funny how that happens], owns the aforementioned [and thriving] Bongo Java chain). Ken, are you there? Ken? Ken? Shit, where's the number for tech support? Sorry, is the mike turned on?

KEN (DATELINE DECEMBER 25, 2005 in a small town called "Nashville"): I have never blogged so I am counting on one who does. Happy Holiday Season. I say that not necessarily to be politically correct. I say that not because it is Hanukah (sic) & Christmas today. I say that because of the confusion today brings. Last night Christmas Eve was fun being with Bob & Irma at Irma's sisters. Watching the kids getting ready for Santa Claus. When I left the milk & cookies & a big fat apple were left out for Santa Claus. I went to sleep reading a book about filmaking & missed an early 6:47 AM as my cell phone was on vibrate. Well, vibrate it did again at about 11:30 AM with breaking news. It was my brother Bob: " I don't know hot to tell you this, but someone stole the NunBun." Yep that's the news. So once again I say Happy Holiday Season. What else can you say? When I arrived at around noon, it was clear something wasn't right, with 2 of the 3 entrances blocked off by police tape: POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS!

As CNN is playing the one year ago TSUNAMI story I sit and wonder what will be for the NUNBUN on next year's Holiday Season. Will we see her again? Will there be a ransom note? Who & why? And How? So BLOG THIS & see who might be listening...

SNAKE (our man in Cambridge): Thank you Ken. Please keep up posted on this Christmas Eve shocker. Though rarely at a loss for words, I am now dumbfounded and, in response, can only repeat the words of my cousin: WHY?

In his sci-fi novel, THE MAN IN THE HIGH CASTLE, Philip K. Dick writes about a world in which the Germans and Japanese won World War II. In this version, which is kind of a sequel, Al Gore became President in 2000 and we’re not in Iraq. That could easily have happened, were it not for an innocent action, which seemed almost trivial at the time, that nevertheless triggered a chain of unforeseen events. So how did Bush end up in the White House instead of Big Al? I’m embarrassed to say that I, Snake, played a pivotal role in that process, even though anyone who reads this blog knows I’m no fan of our Fearless Leader.

Here’s how it happened: Let's go back in time to 1980. (Time travel is easy in science fiction.) I'm at a conference/exposition in Rotterdam, staying at the same hotel as Ralph Nader. I even had breakfast with him once or twice. The last time I saw him was during breakfast, in fact. He got up from the table, leaving his International Herald Tribune behind. I grabbed the paper and raced to the train with a friend. He asks me where I got the paper. I say Ralph left it. He says, “Ralph just went to get more food, you idiot! He was coming back!”

Interesting story, you might say, a real sidesplitter, but how did that put W in the White House? Don't feel bad if it's not obvious to you--it took me a quarter of a century to piece it together: Ralph comes back from the buffet table, looking forward to having a quiet moment to read his paper before heading to the conference himself. And the paper is gone. That's right, vanished. And that young kid, just 25 years old, who seemed to have so much going for him--our nation’s future, you might say--had the nerve to swipe it. HIS paper. As a result, Ralph Nader, who had been a selfless crusader--taking on GM, the nuclear industry, and anyone else in the path of truth, justice, and the American way--becomes jaded and cynical. He runs for president in 2000, even though everyone tells him not to. It will put Bush in the White House, they warn. F___ ‘em, he says. Bush, Gore, what's the difference? And, as a result, Bush beats Gore, as we all know--with some assistance from his brother, the Florida Secretary of State, the U.S. Supreme Court, tough guy Jim Baker, and a few other little helpers along the way. The rest, as they say, is history. And it’s all my fault.

Bush says if he could do all over again in Iraq, he’d do it just the same way--making the same mistakes, telling the same lies, saying the same idiotic things on that aircraft carrier, etc. And if I could do it all over again, knowing what I know now, what would I do? Would I take the paper? Or walk away?

Truthfully, it’s hard to say. I can’t stand the thought of Bush in the Oval Office. It turns my stomach and may be contributing to my acid reflux disease (for which the makers of Prilosec thank me). On the other hand, I was looking at a long train ride to Amsterdam with nothing to read... What would you do?

I don't do much in the way of Christmas/Hanukkah (I still can't bring myself to use the term "Christmukkah") shopping. My wife takes care of that all too well. In fact, I wish she didn't do such a good job of it. Maybe cut a few corners, here or there. Which reminds me of the old Jewish joke: "We hold hands all the time. If I let go, she shops." (Which reminds me, in turn, of some other old Jewish jokes I like: Why do Jewish divorces cost so much? They're worth it. Why do Jewish men die before their wives? They want to.)

The point I was trying to make is that I just need to buy a gift for her, yet I always take it to the last minute. The last store on my list closed at 3 p.m. today, and I got there by 2:45 p.m. I could have gotten there earlier, I suppose, but I like the rush of last-minute xmas shopping. I guess I am a bit of a thrill junkie in that way. When you take it down to the wire, as I invariably do, there's no time for hesitation. No time for indecision. You buy the item and get the hell out. If you don't, the store clerks will forceably remove you. You also don't have to worry about checking 100 different stores for the perfect item because they're all going to be closed.

Here's how I think of it: The game is on the line, the clock is winding down, and you've got just one shot. It's time, in other words, for the "go-to" guy. The ringer. In that moment, I am Larry Bird. Or Michael Jordan. And the fantasy is perfect--that is until the cashier has to ruin the moment by saying: "Cash or charge?"

First off, I want to say that I've checked and rechecked my files and can't find any entry from Zardoz, so if I've lost them, sorry. Please resubmit. It's not too late. Second, we have a dissenting opinion from Turd Blossom as to who the real winners should be. Picking winners is never an easy decision, and rest assured that we take these competitions very seriously. That said, I should also point out that any process involving humans has the potential for fallibility. (Remember the immaculate conception?) In other words, mistakes can occasionally occur though we take great pains to ensure they do not.

So what's to be done? I recommend that people should take Turd Blossom's advice and send their best ideas to Northern Sun; they might even get some money for them (not that we do this for money!). Second, to avoid any whiff of controversy, I'm going to announce a new Grand Prize Winner for Overall Excellence. And the winner is .... ME!!! For my new entry:

TEACH THE FALLACY.

I'd like to end this broadcast in the way my journalistic predecessor Edward R. Murrow invariably ended his: GOOD NIGHT AND (for any Australian readers out there) GOOD DAY!

Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please? In just a short moment, we shall announce the winners in this year's Pre-Yuletide Bumper Sticker Sweepstakes. The competition was fierce this time around and the caliber of entries was uniformly excellent. Yet one entry stood head and shoulders above the others (mainly because I left my printout of it in the attic). Now the moment you've all been waiting for. And the winner is... ME!!!!! For my pathbreaking entry: "LIFE, LIBERTY, AND THE PURSUIT OF TORTURE -- All Hail the Bush Legacy!" I won, as explained above, for "General Excellence," yet there were many other winnners as well.

Windfall Woman won in the "Windfall" category, so named because she never even entered the contest. So her victory here is like a windfall in the truest sense of the word. Her entry: "Here's my definition of torture -- George W. Bush as President.

Ms. Amber won the "Brevity" award for: "Undercover Cop." She also won the "Politically Correct" contest for "I'm Not a HillBilly--I'm an Appalachian-American" and the "Car Talk Plaza Prize" for: "This car is still running, courtesy of Duct Tape"

Dr. Max won the "Christmas Spirit" award for his inspired: "Keep the Christ in Christmas or I''ll kill you!"

Flubberwinkle captured the "Stephen King" award for being so prolific. (Too many entries to cite here.)

And Gatemouth won the "Iron Man" award for having competed in and won every single competition. His winning entry this year: "If Bush were Santa, we'd be spending Christmas on our knees with our stockings pulled over our heads."

I'd like to take this time to thank all the winners, and I'm going to ask them to personally thank all the losers (as I don't have time to do that and find the job depressing anyway). I wish there were enough categories so that we could all be winners. On the other hand, there is something to be said for the current (cutthroat) arrangement. After all, what's the fun in winning if nobody is losing?

On the subject of TV viewing, I've been nothing if not consistent: I do not watch TV. That has been my mantra. That has been my party line. And for the most part, it's been true. But I can no longer, in good conscience, call myself a non-TV watcher. For me, the tipoff came last night when my wife mentioned something while the TV was on, and I said: “Can you tell me later? I’m trying to catch this ad...” I immediately realized what I'd said and with it came an even greater realization--namely that I had been living a lie. So I'd now like to set the record straight: I do watch TV. Rarely, of course. And only when I'm doing other things -- like the dishes, putting away Tinker Toys, reading the paper, paying bills, and other mindless tasks to go alongside the mindless pablum served up on the screen. But watch I do, if only out of the corner of my eye, while talking on the phone and attending to my sudoku backlog.

Now that I've publicly outed myself, will I go from being a closeted, occasional TV watcher to a full-throttle, channel-surfing addict? I can't really say. But I can tell you this: I tried like the devil to watch last night's Barbara Walters special on "Heaven and How to Get There." And I would have gone to Heaven if I could. It was not for lack of trying, but I couldn't find the damn remote. So I stayed here in my personal hell instead. Or maybe it was limbo or whatever it is they call the place where my couch is now located.

Yesterday I was feeling smug, having seen how horrible the father (played by Jeff Daniels) was in "The Squid and the Whale" and knowing that even on my worst days I was far superior. But now I'm not so sure. Without planning to (it just kinda' happened), I have somehow gotten my six-year-old daughter hooked on sudoku. It looks serious. We did two puzzles last night and I literally had to drag her off to bed, as she screamed: "Just one more square! One more square!"

"Are you proud of yourself now?" my wife asked me after I administered a sedative to our screaming child. "It's not bad enough that you're addicted. You had to get our daughter addicted too?" She's now worrying I'll soon have our three-year-old hooked on sudoku too, which will be the end of preschool homework as we know it, irrevocably hurt her chances of getting into an elite kindergarten.

I'm usually quick with the comebacks. A real repartee kind of guy. But this time I have no answer. And no excuse. I got the kids into this mess. And they're going to have to find their way out. It's that simple.

I used to get to the movies all the time--at least once a week on average--but that's dropped off a lot, partly a result of having kids and other bad habits I've acquired. But Call Me Snake has been to the movies twice in the past three weeks, which is--in recent memory--a record. Last night we visited "The Squid and the Whale," a story of a family in the midst of a divorce. I give it my highest rating, 3 thumbs up, for its telling details and unblinking look at the pain inflicted on two adolescent boys as a result of the breakup of a marriage and even more as a result of the bad marriage that preceded the breakup and bad parenting all around. The sad academic played by Jeff Daniels, an insufferable, self-absorbed writer whose career has seen better days, was a comfort to me, ironically, because it showed me that even on my worst days as a father I had not hit rock bottom. (That, of course, is setting the bar pretty low.) My only criticism of the movie--and it's minimal given the fact that all three of my thumbs are up--is that the Daniels character (arrogance masking insecurity) is so one-dimensional. But that may not have been a problem in the writing but rather a defect of the man himself (modeled, I believe, on the writer/director's own father), who was oblivious to the pain he dispensed so freely to those around him, particularly his sons.

Look for this to appear on my 10 Best List, a less distinguished honor this year than in previous years, because I may not have seen 10 movies all year. Until then, the balcony is closed. If you fell asleep during our show, now would be a good time to wake up.