CALL ME SNAKE

I talked to a Stanford mathematician yesterday, who was curious about my background (WEAK, I’m the first to admit) & he asked if I’d written some books with Daniel Pinkwater. I’ve enjoyed reading some of Pinkwater's children’s books to my kids & wondered how this mathematician ever got an idea like that. After our conversation, I did a Google search on my name and Pinkwater and, sure enough, it looked like we had done a book--or perhaps more than one book--together. But that turned out to be an illusion--which is good, as it didn’t remember any such collaboration, & it would have been bad to have forgotten it altogether. We simply had written for the same issue (or maybe issues) of the same magazine (the now-defunct Omni), copies of which were now being sold through Amazon.com. So the good news is that I have not completely lost my mind. The bads news is that I did not coauthor any successful (and possibly bestselling) children’s books that somehow slipped my mind.

A DVD review of "30 Days of Night" by Tom Russo in Sunday's Boston Globe hit it on the head, bringing up a favorite theme of mine: "vampires recast as today’s speedy zombies." I've mentioned, of course, on many occasions that zombies in recent movies have become hyperkinetic, manic, frenzied (the 28 Days/Weeks series, as well as the new Will Smith vehicle, as opposed to the plodding lumbering zombies of old ("Night of the Living Dead," "Dawn of the Dead," etc.). Now, according to Russo, even vampires--the very definition of languorous, have gone hyper. What's the big rush, I say? The blood's not going anywhere. Nor is the flesh. If you ask me, we all ought to take a chill pill--zombies and vampires, included--and stop all this racing around. The stress of all that can be harmful and just might kill us. Well, at least that's my two cents worth. And now I've gotta run.

As if we didn’t have enough to worry about, here’s something to think about: We’re made of bugs. Of the 110 trillion or cells in the human body, only about 10 trillion cells are truly “human.” The remaining 100 trillion or so consist of bacteria, fungi, and other organisms. While that may sound disconcerting, I haven't gotten to the bad part yet. It appears that strains of bacteria that have colonized our bodies for centuries and millennia are disappearing and new microbes are moving in. The question is: What are these new guys like? Are they well-behaved or are they bad actors that will lead us on the road to perdition? Only time will tell. In the meantime, sleep well.

As I said the other day, I don't have much use for the Oscars mainly because they are meaningless. Only certain kind of movies  are named Best Picture (hint: they've gotta be "big") and only certain kinds of performances (never subtle and having some infirmity never hurts either) get you a Best Actor. Still, there was one award I was very happy about--the winsome couple from "Once" (Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova) winning for their thoroughly enjoyable song, "Falling Slowly." Both certainly overcame great odds to get there, and I for one was thrilled to hear about it.

Have the Oscars ever seemed less relevant than they did last night? I didn't watch more than a couple of minutes but did see some clips on the late news, and here are a few random comments: I'm a fan of many Coen bros. pictures but I don't get their latest one at all; it didn't even get a "thumbs up" in my book. (Calling it "overrated" pretty much goes without saying for something named "Best Picture" of the year.) Nor would I have nominated Javier B. for best supporting actor because so far as I could tell, he wasn't playing a character that was remotely human. Although Clooney did not win the statue, he got the best consolation prize of the night: a kiss from Daniel Day Lewis (who appeared to be overacting from the vein-popping clips) sporting a silly hairstyle and ridiculous pirate earrings. Helen Mirren looked good for her age. Julie Christie looked too good for her age. I liked when Tilda Swinton admitted she thought it would be "anyone but her." Scott Rudin thanked his "honey," without whom none of this would have been possible. So maybe I'd better wise up and thank honey too.

This is supposed to be one of the more expensive places to live in the country unless you're in the know. I had to fix the tire on our car the other day (the only times I drive are to get the car fixed), and the mechanic told me that some mice had taken up residence in the air filter, posing the risk that their bedding material might get sucked up into the engine with dire consequences both for the bedding and the engine. Maybe it was all a scam to get me to buy a new air filter. Or maybe these mice had hit upon a one of those rare deals too good to pass up--rent-free living in Cambridge.

I ran into a guy at the Y who thanked me. The last time we talked he had complained about how smelly people were in the weight room, as if they hadn't bathed for days. But ever since our conversation, people had cleaned up their act and did not smell anymore. He assumed I must have done something about it--i.e., talked to the higher-ups on the YMCA staff. I told him it was probably my blog. For I have considered writing about that in my blog on many occasions though I haven't written it up before. Evidently just the thought of writing it down in this blog was enough to bring those malodorous types in line.

CALL ME SNAKE will be taking a brief hiatus for a day or two but will be back soon, with the late-breaking stories you've come to depend on.

With journalists from Europe staying in our house, I had occasion to spend three nights in the attic. As of this morning they're gone and our house is back to "normal" and I'll miss the fellowship of colleagues and friends. For a new perspective on the day, and on life, I recommend a few nights in the attic.

I was talking with my dad the other day about how much we both missed my uncle. Some other friends of ours have recently gone through a terrible loss in their family. I heard something in the radio last week on NPR that was relevant and could possibly be helpful. An author discussed what he'd heard from his coach following the death of his father many years ago. "You'll never get over it," the coach said. "But you will get used to it." To me the words seem to have the ring of truth and perhaps in them one can find some sort of comfort.