CALL ME SNAKE

There’s an odd guy who hangs out in the park across the street from us, sometimes staring in the direction of our house for long stretches of time. Plus he often has a loud radio with him tuned to police frequencies, which makes for some unpleasant sounds. Needless to say, I’m not happy to see him camped out there. He must of picked up on that because when I walked out the other day, right in his line of sight, he called after me: “The least you could do is smile!” I didn’t tell him that was the farthest thing from my mind.

I think it was about 10:45 last night. I was trying to work when I heard a loud roar washing over my Riverside (Cambridge) neighborhood. It seemed to be coming from Fenway, and I knew something amazing had just happened. So I turned on my radio and heard that Ellsbury had just stole home. A minute later, the roar continued. I ran upstairs and watched the replay on TV, knowing that I had already missed that magical moment.

I’d been looking forward to seeing the Jeff Garlin movie (“I want someone to eat cheese with”) for more than a year but never saw it in the video store until this weekend. I watched it last night and, though it was mostly likeable, it was too low-key for me to recommend highly. However, there was a funny exchange during which Garlin’s mother complained that his shirt made him look fat. “That’s because I am fat,” Garlin replied. “If anything, I make the shirt look fat.”

There’s a quote in today’s GLOBE from the lawyer representing the guy charged with being the “Hotel Killer.” On the question of whether the suspect might be suicidal–or on suicide watch–the lawyer said: “It’s difficult for anybody to go from a life of freedom to being detained.”

Well, I guess I can’t say for sure they’ve got the right guy, though the evidence seems to be pretty incriminating from what one can glean from the papers. But let’s suppose they’ve got it right and have the real murderer locked up. I wonder how difficult the lawyer would consider it “to go from a life of freedom to” being killed at the hands of a psychopath. Would he call that “difficult” too?

A friend who is in the process of getting a divorce told me to call him an adulterer. And I suppose technically he is–at least for another few months. But I’ve never used the word. I guess it’s a bit too judgmental for my tastes. This time, though, I had a golden opportunity as the guy was practically begging me to say it. I didn’t and may have missed my last best chance.

Given the state of the newspaper business, it was only a matter of time before I got a call from the editor of a paper for whom I write a column to say something along the lines of: “How’d you like to keep doing what you’ve been doing for years, only instead of getting paid for your work,  now you get to do it for free?”

Given the state of my bargaining position these days, my response was a predictable “sounds good.”

My daughter is not one to do anything halfway. When we were riding our bikes to her school this morning, we had to stop because she had a flat tire. I pumped it up, thinking the leak would probably be slow enough so we could get there on time. But after that, she still couldn’t ride because–surprise–the other tire was flat too. One flat tire is not enough for this kid. With her, it’s got to be all or nothing.

This morning after school drop-off, I again ran into my friend who was off to Providence for a business trip. After informing me of said outing, she waited for my witty rejoinder. But none was forthcoming. I guess I just don’t get Providence. Nor have I solved the humor challenge that it poses.

The other night I saw “Cassandra’s Dream,” which was a recent Woody Allen offering and, compared to most of what he’s put out lately, it’s not half bad. Although the story holds up reasonably well, the movie is marred by a horrible performance by Ewan McGregor, who plays the main character as a mentally-defective dullard–someone who speaks slowly and stresses every syllable as if he were talking to a demented, hard-of-hearing grandmother. Every recent Woody Allen movie that has gotten some acclaim suffers from the same problem. The two main female leads in Vicki Cristina Barcelona were awful and Match Point was similarly ruined by a pathetic performance by Scarlett Johansson who has gone surprisingly far in her career in view of her complete inability to act.

We keep hearing about Woody Allen’s “return to form,” and it seems that’s not going to happen. His last great film was “Husbands and Wives”(1992), and I don’t know if he has another one in him. On the other hand, Allen has created a number of great films, which is more than most of us can say.

Yesterday I received several reviews/critiques of my manuscript. All from the same person—a mathematician (a differential geometer, to be exact). And each time, the reviews got worse. First he called the book “an incredible achievement.” Next he said “it contains some of the best explanations of mathematics that I’ve ever seen,” though in fairness he also pointed out that it was “too rambling” for his tastes. In the third installment he complained that “the personal story, the mathematics, the history and background of the mathematics are all mixed together… The book itself lacks a clear geometric structure!” He promised to send even more comments next week. But I kind of see where this one is going and wish he’d stopped at number one or two.

Awhile ago, I complained about all the zombie movies I’d seen (28 Weeks Later, I Am Legend, etc.) and felt like I needed a break. Now I’ve overdosed on vampire movies. First it was an oldie from the 70s, Salem’s Lot, which was excellent until the last reel when it totally fell apart. Then I saw Twilight only because my 9-year-old had seen it the night before at a slumber party and I thought it was probably inappropriate for a 9-year-old. Upon seeing it, I concluded that I most probably might have been right. Last night it was “Let the Right One In,” the Swedish Twilight–a slower-paced, but more violent movie that was called on NPR the best vampire movie in the last 75 years (since Nosferatu). I’m skeptical of that claim but cannot fairly judge the picture, given that I am now in the throes of vampire movie overdose and badly in need of a zombie picture fix.

I don’t drink coffee, nor do I smoke. Nor do I consider those activities particularly interesting. So why did I come back from the video store (otherwise known as the Public Library) with “Coffee and Cigarettes” and “Romance and Cigarettes”? Maybe I’m pinning all my hopes on romance. I wouldn’t be the first to have done so, and many who have end up being disappointed.

You see authors’ bios all the time. I’ve even written a few myself. The best line I’ve seen so far–and one I’m sure to use myself sometime (probably forgetting that I didn’t invent it)–comes from Paul De Lancey, the author of humorous novels and a funny blog called “Lords of Fun.” About himself, De Lancey writes: “He divides his time between being awake and asleep.”

I sat on a bench near the entrance to my daughters’ school the other morning, checking to see if my essay had been printed in the latest edition of the local paper–a stack of which were on the bench. After finding my essay, I then checked to see whether the editor had changed it in any way. “Steve,” another parent inquired, as she headed toward the door, “are you reading your OWN article?”

“Of course not,” I lied. “I’m just thumbing through the, uh, personals. No, I don’t mean personals. I mean, what do you call them, the Want Ads.”

“OK,” she said, “though those Want Ads sure look like your article.”

I filled out the permission form for my younger daughter’s upcoming field trip to the aquarium. She was all bent out of shape because I put an “X” in the box to indicate that they had my permission for her to go. My daughter complained that I was supposed to put a check in the box, rather than an X. It appears I’m behind the times–and behind the curve–once again.

On Sunday I organized a pickup soccer game for my daughter and 9 other friends. One of the girls, who used to be on the team I coached, played particularly well. I complimented her afterwards, but she wasn’t taking any of the credit for her stellar play. “My new coach is really good,” she explained.

I saw a friend at my daughters’ school the other morning who was headed to Providence for a meeting. I tried to come up with a joke about Providence for her, but couldn’t think of anything. That’s either a problem for Providence or a problem for me.

I’ve been the humor columnist for the Cambridge newspaper for the past few years and off and on for the past 25 years. In recent years, I’ve had this domain all too myself. But in yesterday’s paper, there was not only a column by me but another column by a presumably younger upstart who, by his own admission, will do anything for a laugh. (I’m assuming that he’s younger because he claims to write comedy for late-night hosts, and I’m assuming that late-nights hosts want to keep current and will occasionally refer to things that happened after the 60s.)

Seeing that piece there, on the page before mine (though it was in a less auspicious setting on the page than mine, “below the fold,” as it were) was a wake-up call to me. They say that nothing fixes the concentration like the threat of a good hanging. Or the fact that someone else is gunning for you and employing every weapon in the arsenal of humor to bring you down.

In an article published two days ago in a chemical and engineering news-related magazine, yours truly was referred to as the “chief holy grail hunter in all of science.” I’ve probably bragged about that moniker before, but–prior to March 30, 2009–that phrase had (to the best of my knowledge) never appeared in an American Chemical Society journal. Why don’t I say what you’re all thinking:  “Way to go, Snake!”