CALL ME SNAKE

A few weeks ago, an editor friend of mine got caught in a traffic jam while driving along the river--at the same time, coincidentally, that my group was playing volleyball along the river. "That's Steve, someone who writes for my magazine," she told her son, who plays volleyball on the high school varsity squad. After watching for a bit, while stuck in gridlock, the lad offered the following assessment: "Not bad for old guys."

And he was catching me on a bad day--my first time out in nine months (no, I was not pregnant!), plus I had a sprained thumb (about which too much has already been said) that was all taped up and definitely messed up my setting. Had he seen us under better conditions, he might have upgraded the remark to: "Not half bad for old guys."

I've done my part in promoting Parade Magazine in these pages. Now it's time for Parade to do something for me like, for instance, putting me on the cover. I'd be delighted to tell James Brady, Dotson Rader, or some other trusted scribe my inspirational story: about how I graduated from a prestigious public high school with great promise as my class' sole "Dartmouth Book Award" winner and then how I squandered my talent and seemingly accomplished nothing for years--lost in a miasma of indecision and unfulfilled expectations--only to find fulfillment later (when all had written me off, especially myself [more on that later!]) through family, work, and, most importantly, blogging. (Note to James, Dotson, or one of the editors of Parade: Please leave a comment in the box below to arrange an interview. I'm happy to speak with you anytime, except during my scheduled volleyball or handball games, or during reruns of "The Office," or during my daily sudoku break, or during what has traditionally come to be called in our household "Daddy's time." Apart from the aforementioned obligations, and a few others I forgot to mention, I'll be glad to meet with you anytime. Please let me know when the photographers are coming so that I'll be sure to make my bed.)

Last week, I watched the movie "Prime," which came out on DVD a few months ago. The movie (starring Uma Thurman and Meryl Streep) is OK, as contemporary romantic comedies go--nothing special, and certainly not worth writing about in a discriminating blog like this except for one thing: In the opening montage of New York City street scenes, handball was featured, which may be a movie first. At least I can't recall seeing handball in a big commercial picture before. However, I only recommend the movie for the true handball aficionado since the handball shots--good as they were (and they were, indeed, outstanding)--lasted less than two seconds.

It's not often I do two posts in the same day. On the other hand, it's not often that I (or anyone else for that matter) gets called "the chief holy grail hunter in all of science," which is how I was described on today's Improbable Research site (see link on right). As the editor of that site, as well as the editor of the renowned journal, The Annals of Improbable Research, put it (talking again about ME, as in yours truly): "Years ago, he began a relentless quest to find and document all the holy grails pursued by all the scientists everywhere. His latest collection, fixating on astronomy’s holy grails, appears in the May/June issue of the Annals of Improbable Research." Part of that article appears online at: www.improbable.com. OK, now I'm going to stop bragging about myself and start bragging about you--a very supportive bunch, as has lately emerged, and full of insightful comments. Keep up the good work!

P.S. Please ignore that last post, "Somethin' Fishy" (I believe it was called), as well as its predecessor, "Something About Tuesday" (or something like that), as I've since concluded the blog stats I was writing about are indeed bogus. Most would not have mentioned it, but I am bound here to a higher authority, that being the truth. You've come to expect of me no less. And I of you.

Ever since calling attention to an anomalously high number of "pageviews" on this blog almost two weeks ago ("Something About Tuesday"), pageviews plummeted to anomalously low levels. Today, however, which is still rather young, blog.com claims there have already been more than 200 pageviews on Call Me Snake. Could that be possible? Do I know enough people in the world (six degrees of separation notwithstanding) and, more importantly, do enough people in the world know me or this blog? Or did all those proverbial "monkeys" somehow, accidentally, magically, type in my URL: cambridgeguy.blog.com? It's one of those great mysteries in the world and, short of consulting tech support, one that will likely forever remain unexplained.

It's often said that things ain't what they used to be. It's said often enough, in fact, that some might consider the statement a cliche. I prefer to call it a truism. Athletic supporters are a case in point. Years ago--in what was affectionately called the "good old days"--athletic supporters used to do their jobs, which was to provide that special support that male athletes had come to depend on, keeping things in their proper place, so to speak. But they don't make 'em like they used to. The supporters you can get these days barely work at all, and in the rare cases that they do work, they only do so for a few months before getting stretched out beyond the point of usefulness. Which is why I started off this essay--or perhaps I should call it a disquisition--with that old chestnut: Things ain't what they used to be. Any males in the audience, especially those old enough to recall the golden era of athletic supporters, will know just what I'm talking about. Female readers, assuming there are any, can only imagine.

Ever since Emerson, much has been made of a "foolish consistency." But what of foolish inconsistencies? Should we just let them pass by, unchallenged? Or should we take a stand for moral, logical, and grammatical rectitude? One author has bravely chosen the latter course, and that--as they say in horse racing--has made all the difference.

Allow me to present Exhibit A. In yesterday's Metro, a free Boston tabloid, the headline of one article read: "Higher gas prices mean modest increase in tourism." The caption, a mere 1/2-inches above that line, read: "Faneuil Hall Marketplace and other Boston attractions may see fewer tourists this year." Yet if, as the article plainly states (in the very first sentence) that Massachusetts expects to see a "modest increase in tourism," why do they--in the same breath, as it were--insist on speaking of "fewer tourists"?

Shall we proceed to Exhibit B? (I'll meet you in the foyer.) An article in last week's Harvard University newspaper claimed that the naturalist E.O. Wilson is "optimistic about life on Earth." Yet a photo caption, again only about an inch away, says that Wilson sees the 21st century as "a time when humans will celebrate and preserve biodiversity, or wreck life on Earth." If that passes for optimism these days, then call me (an avowed skeptic) an optimist. And when you're done calling me an optimist, Call Me Snake.

In one of his many duties in addition to running the country, Karl Rove is now focusing on the "legacy" of George W. Bush. Earlier this month, when one White House staffer suggested that time was scarce on the legacy front, Rove claimed there was plenty of time. "Jack Kennedy's whole presidency was two-and-a-half years," he said, as reported in the Washington Post.

With all due respect, Mr. Rove, I knew Jack Kennedy. I remember clearly the day he was shot (I was in grade school). And your boy is no Jack Kennedy. You could have two-and-a-half years or 100 years, and it would not turn your Vietnam era draft dodger (who played duck-and-cover during his "defining moment," 9/11) into a World War II war hero.

Mission accomplished? I think not. Try Mission Impossible. And while you're at it, maybe you can convince that screwball Tom Cruise to play "W."

(Author's Note: To avoid charges of plagiarism, I'd like to say, upfront, that I got this from my #1 source of news, "Personality Parade" in the one magazine I'd most like to have on a desert island, "Parade," assuming, of course, I hadn't "Lost" my subscription.) When asked about his interests, the male model and Halle Berry companion Gabriel Aubry mentioned tanning. "If you're tan," as Aubry wisely noted, "you can't go wrong." Even readers of this blog who are not male models (assuming there are any--either readers or readers who are not male models) might still find a kernel of truth, and perhaps some inspirational words to live by, in Aubry's sage remark. And let us all say, "Thank you, Parade." Where would we go for important news without you?

What words of encouragement does the U.S. scrabble champion have to impart to the rest of us civilians? "The typical American who plays in their living room is terrible," says the champ, MIT undergraduate Jason Katz-Brown. But surely there's something useful he can tell us--some helpful hint that will enable us to improve our games. Katz-Brown points to the official Scrabble dictionary, which lists the 80,000 or so allowable words. "I know every one of them," he says.

If only I'd thought of that, maybe he'd be writing about me in his blog and I'd be, uh, playing championship-level Scrabble. Oh well, I tell myself in times like these. I can't be number one in everything. (Or anything, for that matter, if you want to be that way. But please don't. After all, it's a well-known fact that "Mean People Suck." You don't have to take my word for it. I read it on a bumper sticker somewhere, so it's gotta' be true...)