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.

A mother my wife and I know through public school has been “speed watching” the first three seasons of LOST on DVD, which she’d never seen before on live TV. “It’s great,” she said. “It has revived our marriage; it’s even done the impossible–given my husband and I something to talk about.”

Owing to two big conferences in Boston, both geared to science journalists, we presently have a full house. A journalist friend from Switzerland is staying with us, as is a journalist friend from England. That has led to a crowded situation in our already packed household, forcing old Snake to sleep in the attic. But it’s nice to see friends from faraway places and to have some adult conversation in our house from morning to night. That almost makes up for–or rather I should say MORE than makes up for–my having to sleep in our low-ceilinged attic.

I’m feeling pretty proud of myself: I’ve gone five whole days without once bashing Mitt Romney, in  the process showing incredible restraint and impressive willpower. Well after dropping off the radar briefly, Mitt got himself back in the news the other day by endorsing John McCain (a man who detested Romney, calling him a “pig,” according to yesterday’s Boston Globe). Why did Romney do it? To help McCain? No. He did it for the same reason he does anything else: to help Romney.

A friend asked me to give a short humorous talk at a science conference in Boston last night. I said yes to help him out but had my doubts about the whole thing. First, I’m feeling incredibly busy with other things — a book plus several other big writing projects — and wasn’t sure how I’d find the time to prepare adequately. Second, I hadn’t done a speech before a large crowd in quite awhile, maybe about 15 years, and that had never been my strong suit. In fact, I remember giving talks when I  was in my 20s when I had terrible stage fright and wasn’t sure if I could get through it. I also remember participating in a televised debate about nuclear power (I took the “anti” side) when I was only 21 or so and did a terrible job. A famous physicist asked the research organization I worked for at the time why they ever picked me to represent them in this show which was taped before a large audience and broadcast on one of the network channels.

So I had these doubts, but as time went by I sensed it was too late to back out. Plus I told myself, these sorts of things are good experience and you should push yourself, even when it’s a bit uncomfortable. Well the big night finally arrived and, after my usual handball game, I forced myself to bicycle into Boston and face the music. I couldn’t tell you how it came off, but quite a few people did laugh. Afterwards, I felt relieved and glad I’d given it a shot. If and when another opportunity like this comes my way, I hope I’ll greet it with less apprehension and more enthusiasm.

The fact is, chances like that don’t come too often for people like me. It’s usually better to take advantage of them and hope something good comes of it.

They had a relationship expert on the radio the other day who offered these rules for couples:
1. Work on communications and take a course on it.
2. Get treated for depression, anxiety, etc., if necessary
3. Do novel things together.
4. Celebrate each other’s successes..

I’m sure you’re waiting for the punchline, my usual wisecrack remarks. But I’m going to refrain from that this time, and hold back the cynicism, because I actually thought it was nice to have it all boiled down to four simple rules, which might be helpful for people who are in a relationship or for those who are not but would like to be in one.

“HERE’S HOW YOU WRITE AN ARTICLE,” said a marine scientist yesterday, who evidently felt I needed some help in that direction. “You ask 10 questions and write it up.”

“Thanks, that’s really helpful,” I replied. What I wanted to say was this: ”Here’s how you do an interview; you answer 10 questions and shut the ___ up.” But I didn’t.

I saw the dentist yesterday and received a complement from the dental hygienist unlike any I’d ever received before. Everyone’s saliva is different, she told me. Some is thick and tacky and some is watery. Without getting too personal, mine turns out to be of the watery variety. And that, evidently, is the kind you want to have. And that, as Robert Frost once put it, “has made all the difference.”

Sorry to repeat myself, but doesn’t Congress have more important things to think about than whether Roger Clemens did or did not use steroids or HGH? And supposing he or his trainer is thought to have lied under oath, doesn’t the federal government have more important things to do than to prosecute them? You might say, people shouldn’t lie under oath. I agree. But the government shouldn’t be asking these questions in the first place. In my book, there are plenty of other problems we should be attending to instead.

Let me say upfront that I am an Obama supporter. Still doubts have been raised in the usual quarters–by Clinton, McClain, the Boston Globe, and my neighbor–as to whether he’ll be able to deliver on his promise of hope. If Obama wins, and it’s starting to seem as if he might (with the shakeup in the Clinton camp, always a bad sign, plus the possibility of playing the “age card” against the next AARP darling, McCain), we have to hope the doubters are wrong. In other words, we have to hope for hope. And I, for one, am hopeful about that.

At a child’s birthday party last weekend, some moms were talking about how their husbands often work after the kids go to bed. “I couldn’t do that,” one mom confessed. “I’m not a night person. Then again, I’m not a morning person either.”

A friend recently underwent a “procedure” for birth control purposes and reported back on his experience to Call Me Snake, which has more than a passing interest in such matters. An edited, “sanitized” version follows:

“Yes, I underwent the procedure last fall. The ‘one week’ turnaround time to feeling like, well, not a cowboy was highly inaccurate–took me three good weeks to recover. And about four weeks before I stopped thinking about it. And now life’s so busy, it’s hard to take advantage of it…. Ah well, hopefully it’ll pay off this summer!”

I don’t know what to do with myself. I used to enjoy criticizing Mitt Romney but the fact that’s he’s dropped out of the race has taken some of the fun out of that pasttime. So I don’t have any new complaints on that score, other than to say that Romney went out of the race the way he went in: With lies. If you took his words at face value, the fact that he was getting his ass kicked by McCain and even Huckabee had nothing to do with his decision to “suspend” his campaign.

On another note, Barack Obama seems to be on quite a roll. Not only did he win a number of primaries and caucuses over the weekend, he also won a GRAMMY. That’s got to be a first for a presidential candidate. On the other hand, I recently heard an editorial in which the Grammy’s were described as a joke because they give them out so freely–so many awards in so many categeries–it almost takes an act of divine intervention to avoid winning one.

During dinnner the other night, my five-year-old asked where babies come from. “We talked about this already,” me wife said.
    “Yeah but I forgot…,” our daugher replied.
    “Well, when mommies and daddies love each other a lot and get real close sometimes, if they’re lucky, they make a baby.”
    My daughter was not satisfied. “That’s just the short version right? There’s more to it than that, right?”

It’s all about the power: Once there were power lunches. Then there were power ties. Now, if you believe the Boston Globe, it’s “power-watching,” as in yesterday’s front-page story: “Power-watching TV takes edge off strike.” The article explained how one woman dealt with the disappointment over not being able to see new epsodes of “How I  Met Your Mother” (due to the writer’s strike) by “power-watching” the first two seasons of “Lost” in 14 days.

I always thought TV-viewing was supposed to be a passive exercise: You sit there like a lump and take it in. But I guess I’m old-fashioned, once again. It’s become the latest extreme sport and to do it correctly one must apply power.

I have been challenged by a reader to lay off the Rom; but can I do it? No, I’m afraid I cannot. I have one last thing to say; well maybe it’s the last. On that we’ll see. In his speech before the conservative club yesterday, Romney claimed he was pulling out of the race because we were at war and he was doing this for the good of the country. He would have stayed in if it was just about him. “But it’s never been about me.”

WRONG. It’s always been about the Mitt. It was obvious soon into his governorship of Mass., and maybe even before he became governor, that he had higher office in mind. He never cared a wit (whit?) about the state; in his head that was a mere steppingstone to the office he always felt was rightfully his. So I have to disagree with you, Mr. Romney. It’s always been about you. But as for this blog, we’re going to leave off this tiresome subject. Now it’s about me.

I guess Romney must be reading this blog because within an hour of my last post, he decided to pull the plug on his hopeless quest. It’s good to know that someone other than my mom actually reads this thing. (Come to think of it, I don’t know that my mom does actually read this thing. But at least I’ve got Mitt.)

Sorry to engage in such endless Romney bashing but I can’t help myself. What can I say? The man keeps asking for it. Despite the fact that he’s getting writer’s cramp from writing so many checks to himself to support his vanity bid for the White House that nobody else wants, he goes on.

Mickey Edwards, the former congressman and current Princeton lecturer, summed it up nicely on the radio today. Mike Huckabee is not Romney’s problem. Romney is Romney’s problem. Ironically, Edwards said, Romney tried to recast himself as an extreme conservative (and now bills himself as the “only true conservative”) because he thought that’s what it would take to win. But it turns out the Republican voters aren’t that conservative and if he’d kept his more moderate positions, he would have had a better chance.

I, for one, am glad he shot himself in the foot. But I’m as suspicious of his previous moderate positions as I am of his current hardcore views. I’m convinced that Romney is like our president: A man who doesn’t really believe anything but will stand for anything if he thinks it’s in his interests. Or if the right people tell him to…

Now that SUPER TUESDAY is over, it’s time to move on. And by that, I am not in any way endorsing moveon.org which is political and this blog is decidedly apolitical. The 24(?) or so primaries yesterday did just what they were supposed to do–that is, take the sting out of Sunday’s SUPER BOWL shocker, which I am pretty much all over with by now. (Still, how the hell did that guy [Tyree] hang onto the ball? And how the hell did Manning get that pass off with three guys all over him?)

Speaking of moving on, maybe it’s time for my friend Mitt Romney to read the writing on the wall and do the same. Someday he’s got to take a hard look at himself in the mirror and realize that nobody likes him except the one person admiring his reflection at the moment. It’s over, Mitt. Over. Like a political analyst (Dan Payne) said on our local NPR affiliate station last night: Mitt had a semi-crazed look on his face during his “victory speech” in Boston, something akin to the look Wile E. Coyote has just before he heads off a cliff. How much longer will this go on, Mitt, before your wife rips the checkbook from your hand and says in her best Roberto Duran fashion:”No mas.”

Last night my wife got together with some female friends, three of whom were undecided as to how they’d vote today. The choice where I live, in an overwhelmingly Democratic district, is between Hillary and Barack. (I do have one friend, however, who is thinking of voting for McCain, and I think it speaks well of my broadmindedness that we are still on good terms.) I just spoke with another friend on the phone a minute ago who is in the same (undecided) state of confusion. She doesn’t know what she’ll do in the voting booth and may resort to eenie-meenie-minie-moe (sp???). Even my five-year-old is undecided. She had been firmly in the Barack camp until this morning, just before she went to kindergarten, when she dropped the bombshell that she has now swung toward Hillary. So indecision seems to be the watchword on this day, Super Tuesday, and we’ll soon see how it all plays out…

For the last couple of weeks, I tried to stay optimistic about the Patriots’ chances in the Super Bowl, not allowing any doubt to creep into my public utterances, despite the questions raised by many of my friends and family members. They’d pull it off, I said, as they’ve pulled it off all year, even though some of their wins lately had been a bit ugly. Last night, it looked like they’d done it again, managing to pull off a victory despite substellar play. Then, with half a minute left, it all came crashing down. The other team did what the Patriots were supposed to do, pulling a rabbit out of the hat in the final minute.

I thought I’d feel terrible about the Patriots’ loss, if and when it came, but I didn’t feel so bad when the game was over and don’t feel so bad now, a day later. As my father said on the phone, “Worse things can happen.” (Spoken like a true Chicago Bears fan.) And he’s right.

It’s disappointing after 18 straight victories for the Patriots to come up short in the final minute. I thought that would vitiate the whole season. But I have to say it was still an exhiliarating ride–right up until the final 30 seconds. But putting things in perspective, 30 bad seconds out of an entire season isn’t so bad at all.

Besides, Super Sunday is soon to be followed by Super Tuesday–a bigger, even more important contest that will further take our minds off the sting of the Patriots’ defeat. Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself…

A friend of mine, a huge Patriots fan, made the mistake of scheduling a colonscopy for the morning of Monday, February 4, 2008. The mistake being that the Super Bowl, of course, is on the night of February 3, 2008–tonight, this being “Super Sunday”–and instead of being able to really enjoy the game, my friend will be spending most of the night running back and forth between the couch and bathroom. It’s all the consequence of two unfortunate occurrences, one being bad planning, the other having to do with being past 50. One avoidable, the other pretty much inevitable (save for some even more unfortunate occurrences). But let’s not get into that now. It’s Super Sunday — a time to stock up on beer, chips, and, at least for some of the viewing public, toilet paper. Game on!

Last week a guy I know through the YMCA told me he was taking a trip for three weeks. When I asked whether he was going for work or pleasure, he said both. I asked whether he was bringing a laptop. “No,” he said. “I’ll just bring a floppy disk and find a computer there to use.”

“Don’t you mean a CD?” I asked, as I wasn’t sure he would be able to find a computer with a floppy disk drive. He looked at me like I was crazy. And maybe I was; maybe I’d stepped into a time warp where floppy disks were still the rage and the CD had yet to take hold. And George W. Bush had never been president. And what a wonderful world that would be…

The tone of the last debate between Hillary and Barack before Super Tuesday was “cordial,” and everyone who reported on that event–in the newspapers and on TV and radio–used that term. It’s as if there was some kind of universal agreement to use the word “cordial,” rather than some other word like “civil” or “polite” or “respectful.”

I’ve been coming across that word a lot lately. Some friends recently described a trip they took out West where the people they met weren’t exactly friendly but were cordial. If they went to the gas station, it wouldn’t just be a fill-up. They’d invariably get into a 10-minute or longer conversation with the attendant. The same thing happened at the grocery store, butcher shop, etc. (Well maybe not the butcher shop, as my friends are vegetarians, but you get the point…) I suppose you could call that cordial. Or maybe it’s just people with too much time on their hands.

I always thought it was crazy to pay $100 for a ticket to a rock concert, but I didn’t know what crazy meant. I found out from an article in yesterday’s Boston Globe. Two Super Bowl tickets on eBay are selling for $77,000 and a luxury suite in Glendale, Arizona is going for $224, 824. If you add them up, that amounts to more than $300,000 for the Super Bowl weekend. Which brings me back to the word I started with: crazy. Some people must be just to consider something like that–or even to consider asking for a sum like that. But maybe they’re not crazy; maybe they just have too much damn money.