CALL ME SNAKE

Last night I sold a condo (at a price well above its market value) to a dead man. Or I should say to a man who is now dead. He wasn’t when I sold it to him. Or at least I didn’t think so. But upon reflection, I realized that he really was dead, and the fact that I had soaked him troubled me quite a bit when I considered the plight of his widowed wife and two young children. But I then figured out that I’d just been dreaming and that I actually don’t have any condo to sell, so I shouldn’t feel bad about conning this guy, dead or alive. So once I put all that together and concluded that none of the above happened, why did I proceed with the foregoing? Simply because I liked the title: “I Conned A Dead Man.”

On my flight to Chicago, I sat between two middle-aged men. With me wedged in between, I guess that made three of us (though I’d rather apply the term “middle-aged” to others rather than to myself). A few minutes into the flight, all three of us were working on our own sudoku puzzles. An hour later, we all donned headphones and watched a rebroadcast of “The Office,” laughing together, more or less at the same moments. During the two-hour flight, the three of us sat there pretty much in synch, like three peas in a pod, you might say. Then we landed in Chicago and went our separate ways, never to see each other again.

As to why I saw fit to recount this story, I’m not sure. It’s sometimes said that “travel can be so broadening.” But in other ways, as the above attests, travel can be so narrowing…

After years of maintaining my independence, I’ve gone and done something I thought I’d never do–I’ve joined a group blog. It’s called the “Cambridge Blog” [http://blogs.townonline.com/cambridge/], an adjunct to “The Cambridge Chronicle” newspaper. I’m a columnist for the Chronicle and was asked by the editor to contribute to the blog as well. Yesterday I posted my first entry, as an introduction of sorts, which the editor had suggested would be a good way to start. The title of my entry–”Who am I? Why am I here?”–was taken from 1992 vice presidential candidate James Stockwell, who posed the questions in a televised debate. My discussion got rather longwinded–perhaps too longwinded for some readers.

In a comment, one reader submitted a joke that answered the second of the questions posed by Stockwell and, 15 years later, by me: It starts with a man who suspected his wife of cheating on him. He went home early one day. He looked in the bedroom and did not find anyone. He looked in the kitchen and did not find anyone. He looked in the bathroom and saw no one. Then he opened the shower curtain and saw a man standing there. He asked the man “What are you doing here?” The man replied, “Everyone’s got to be somewhere.”

That, in a nutshell, is as good an explanation for this blog, Call Me Snake, as I can muster. It also explains, in five words or less, why I’ve switched over “to the other side,” though my visits there may be infrequent.

It’s time to announce the winner of our First First Annual Let No Man (or Woman) Write My Epitaph contest. And the winner is (drumroll please) ….. ME! Sorry, I couldn’t resist saying that. But in this case, I’ve just earned honorable mention for my epitaph: “I COULDA’ BEEN SOMEBODY.” The real winner, as usual, is Gatemouth for: “IF YOU LIVED HERE YOU’D BE DEAD NOW.” I’d like to thank all the other contestants whose entries earned them a runner’s up prize (to be determined). Save any new ideas for the next epitaph contest, which could become a daily occurrence. Until then, this is one Snake signing off from sweepstakes central.

Some months ago, I wrote about the boost I received by virtue of sending an entry to a prestigious magazine, one of our most distinguished. Although I knew it would probably be rejected–the odds, based on pure statistics, were against me–until I was notified as such, I could always hope. Well, the word from “on high” came yesterday, and the verdict was a polite thumb’s down: “Dear Mr. ___, We’re sorry to say that your piece, “_______,” isn’t right for us, despite its evident merit. Thank you for allowing us to consider your work. Best regards…”

Looking on the bright side, there’s not much to go on here expect those two words, standing out like beacons of truth: “evident merit.” Not to be a nitpicker, but I always thought the expression was “obvious merit.” But maybe it wasn’t “obvious” to them, only “evident.” And what was “evident” to me was that despite it’s undeniable “merit,” they still didn’t like it.

“Solaris,” the 1972 sci-fi classic, directed by Andrei Tarkovsky and based on a novel by Stanislaw Lem, has clearly seen better days. Earlier this week, I saw a copy of the video sitting near a subway entrance in Central Square, where some of the most destitute, most down-and-out people of Cambridge parade by, day and night. I pass by that spot on the way to my daughter’s elementary school, and one day later and the day after that, the video was still there in the exact same spot, apparently untouched.

In some ways, the movie is controversial. Although it still has a cult following in some quarters, other viewers find it unbearably tedious–”like watching paint fade,” as one friend described it to me. Love it or hate it, people used to get passionate about the film. But now, it seems, the prevailing response to Solaris is one of indifference. Is that something to be concerned about? It depends on how you feel about watching paint fade.

E. POWER BIGGS WRITES: Hey Snark, This comment has nothing to do with your blog post, but that never stopped ZARDOZ so why should it stop me? Didja see the story in the Globe today about the shooting in Montreal? I was relieved to hear that the police said it was not terrorism. I’m sure the 19 people who were injured and the family of the person who was killed feel the same way. You’re a journalist so I hold you responsible for the rest of your ilk who let the authorities get away with uttering this bullshit.

AND SNAKE (aka “Snark”) REPLIES: Thanks for your comment, Biggs. Or must I call you Mr. Biggs? I’m glad you feel free to speak up on any topic, regardless of what I write about. Please feel free to fire away any time you’re so inclined. Under the circumstances, I suppose, I should say, “speak away,” rather than “fire away.” Now as to your point: Holding me accountable for all of journalism is quite an honor, in a sense, given that I’m actually a very marginal player (a “bit player,” you might say) in that hallowed field. (Writing about flying squirrels and the inner game of volleyball tends to do that to you.) No one would listen to me, even if I got up on a stump and made a fuss. Even if I was naked at the time. But, getting back to your point. If I’m reading it correctly, yes, you are right–there is a double-standard here. And it also illustrates how vague the term “terrorism” really is. If the gunman yelled “Allah is great!” before firing the shots, would that have made him a terrorist? (Probably so, in many quarters.) If he yelled, “Christ died for your sins!” before pulling the trigger, would that have made him a terrorist? (Probably not, in these parts; more likely he’d be called a “disturbed” or “deranged individual, perhaps with a misplaced Christ-identification complex.) I considered writing about the incident myself–about how what used to be a uniquely American form of violence, going “postal” in the schoolyard, has, unfortunately, caught on internationally–but I had the good sense to refrain. Until now.

I’ve never gotten into the ritual patriotism that is di rigeur on the 4th of July. That said, this was still, for me, just about a perfect day. I spent all day on the beach playing volleyball, swimming, and body surfing. This evening I watched a silly Disney comedy from the 60s with my daughter. (She laughed loudest during the ridiculous chase sequence.) Then, after helping to put the children to bed, I hopped on my bike and went to watch Boston’s fireworks display over the Charles River–the best I’ve ever seen. Afterwards, I raced off on my bike and got ahead of all the traffic–thousands and thousands of people–within just a few blocks, which is a very satisfying feeling, second only to seeing the fireworks themselves.

Some time ago, I made wisecracks about the latest trend in cookie fashion, Whole Wheat Chips Ahoy! I can’t remember what I said though it was probably the usual cynical stuff you’ve come to expect from me. But today I broke down and actually tried them. And, the fact is, they’re, um, um…, well, I’m not sure. I’m going to need more time to make a thorough assessment but they may, in fact, be pretty good and possibly better than the original. Not that the original, although still quite edible, didn’t have a somewhat sickeningly-sweet, trashy taste. Anyway, I’m going to keep an open mind on the Whole Wheat Chips Ahoy! line, despite my early skepticism. It may be the way of the future for me, a real turning point, you might say. Next up, no doubt, will be flaxseed Doritos and soy potato chips. Junk food just ain’t what it used to be.

With the holidays soon upon us and all the additional stuff that needs to be done–gift buying, social gatherings, etc. (not that I do any of that, but some folks evidently do)–things are starting to pile up for me. A clear sign of that is what I called the “Sudoku backup.” I cut 12 puzzles a week out of the Boston Globe and the disposable daily, “Boston Metro,” and I’m already behind by four. With two coming out per day through Friday, I don’t see how I’ll manage to work through that backlog and keep up with the new ones. Now I know why some people consider the holiday season a very stressful time. I never used to until I took up this wonderful new hobby on top of that other wonderful new hobby I took up called blogging.

Things have dropped off for me personally, socially, and perhaps in other respects. It’s gotten so bad that my 3-year-old girl now gets more phone calls in a day than I do. (That’s even more alarming than it sounds when you consider the fact that I “work” at home.) Even our cat gets more phone calls–the missing one, that is, (“Moonshine”) from people who think they’ve spotted him in various parts of our city.

But today may have been an all-time low: My older daughter grabbed my phone, which rang after dinner, and chatted with my mother. Then she handed the phone to my wife. “Hey, wait a minute!” I called out. “That’s my mother! That’s my mother!”

“She wanted to talk to mom,” my daughter said matter-of-factly. When my wife finished her conversation, she hung up. I never entered into the picture, not even as an afterthought. And that pretty well sums up where I stand these days: not even an afterthought.

For a number of years, Spooky World and me were as likely a combination as Lewis&Martin and Green Eggs&Ham. But last year Spooky World was torn down and its parts sold off to the lowest bidder. Now it’s starting to look like another Halloween without Spooky World. (Note: Please don’t make a habit of this!) Rumors have circulated on this blog, and in the blogosphere in general, that Spooky World was moving to a new venue. But that is not to be–at least for 2005. Maybe in 2006, they say. But are they right? And, if so, who are “they”?

The way things are shaping up now, it seems that if you need your annual fix of the “House of Fangs,” and want to spend some quality time with the Killer Klowns, Disco Ghosts, and the whole horrifying retinue, you’d better stop by my place which is fast becoming a low-rent Spooky World unto itself. But don’t come right away. I need some time to mess up the place. Trash it out real good so that it’s guaranteed to send any neat freak into a state of total panic. Hang on–I’ll have this pit, or perhaps I should say dive, ready in no time. Oh shit–I mean, oh good–I just spilled a vat of fake blood. Now if I can just find my ersatz vomit I’ll be all set.

Not that I watch TV, but lately there have been nonstop commercials for the new Nicholas Cage vehicle, The Weatherman, showing our hero continuously bombarded continuously with tossed drinks–Slushies, Big Gulps, and the like–all in the name of humor.(Author’s aside: What’s a matter? Did they run out of pies?) This looks like a movie in trouble. In fact, I think I saw previews for this movie a long time ago and if I’m right about that, then this definitely is a movie in trouble.

But this isn’t one of Call Me Snake’s Featured Movie Reviews (a popular Feature, I might add), even though I prefer to review my movies sight unseen. No, I’m writing about weathermen here. I’ve never been mad enough to want to throw a supersized soda at my local weatherman, but I am perturbed by a trend I’ve noticed of late. Namely, on the 11:00 News here in Boston, the weathermen have taken to giving the last-minute weather update short shrift. They used to quickly run through the four- or five-day forecast, saying in 15 seconds what they said before in five minutes, and I appreciated that brevity, especially since I often miss the earlier, long-winded version. But now they’re becoming very cavalier, almost nonchalant. Instead of predicting the weather for the next couple of days, they might say: “Better pack an umbrella” or “hope you have a good book” and then chuckle, as if that were the wittiest one-liner ever uttered. I don’t tend to buy sodas–and the weathermen around these parts don’t normally walk around with bows and arrows (as Cage does in the ads). But if these highly-paid folks continue to make light of the weather wrapup and turn it into an amateur hour jokefest, I might start loading up on those beverages. And they might need the Robin Hood gear after all. In which case I say, bring it on.

We’re often starting new features here at “Call Me Snake,” which is something our readers seem to like. We’ve rarely cancelled a new feature, but I have taken that extreme measure today in terminating the “‘Big Al’ Watch” feature. There are several reasons for taking this step: First and foremost, our readers just didn’t like it–something I’ve learned both from perusing the “Comments” section, as well as from several focus groups. Frankly, I’m dumbfounded by this reaction, and disappointed, but I can’t make people like something, even if–by any rational measure–they should. Some people said that an ankle injury wasn’t serious enough to get that worked up over (a bit callous, if you ask me); others claimed to have not even heard of “Big Al,” if you can believe that.

Another reason for cancelling “‘Big Al’ Watch” is that he seems to have recovered from his ankle injury already, leaving us little to “Watch” on that front. In a pre-season tuneup against the Raptors on Friday, Big Al was the “first player off the bench,” scoring 8 points and hauling in 4 rebounds in 18 minutes 22 seconds of action-filled play. Against New Jersey on Saturday, he scored 10 points. All of which points to one ineluctable conclusion: Big Al is back and the injury watch, at least for now, is over. It was a great ride while it lasted.

It took some arm twisting, but I finally got all the entries to the GREAT OCTOBERFEST BLOGGING BUMPER STICKER SWEEPSTAKES and the add-on GREAT RED SOX POST-SEASON BUMPER STICKER SWEEPSTAKES. And the winner is …… ME!!! That is, in fact, partially true, but there are several other winners this time around in addition to yours truly. I’m now handing the envelope to Vanna White (who’s held up remarkably well over the years, I might add), and she’ll be typing in the winners. (Note to technical staff: Make sure the spellchecker is turned on!)

In the “I’m a genius!” category, the winners are:

Snake for: I’m a genius! I can blog and watch TV at the same time.

OldRoses for: I’m a genius! I can blog and perform routine maintenance on user’s desktops at the same time.

And DrMax for: I’m a genius! I can blog and perform open heart surgery at the same time.

The winner in the “I’m a paradox!” category is Turd Blossom for: I’m a paradox! I can blog and not blog at the same time.

In the “Free Verse” category, Gatemouth won twice for: Blogging: it’s not just for losers anymore AND Stop blogging: the life you save may be your own.

The announcement of winners in the Red Sox category has been withheld, pending the results of tonight’s game. I’d like to thank everyone who participated and even those who thought about participating and (wisely) decided against it.

I blew it again last night, in my dream. There I was behind enemy lines–the enemy being the Nazis, who were always the bad guys when I was a kid, long before we knew about Al Quaeda–trying to do in those evildoers. A group of us needed to climb down a mountain and I forgot how to tie a bowline. I asked a friend who, disgusted by my ineptitude, just took off down the rocky face, leaving me standing there, alone and ineffectual, without harming the Nazi cause in the slightest. I woke up feeling worthless, though grateful that my father’s generation had taken care of a job I apparently was not up to.

In my last post, I indirectly admitted to being a “washed-up writer,” which I acknowledged might be the inevitable consequence of blogging. But I take that all back. I must have been suffering from temporary insanity. I’m not washed up at all, and to prove it you have to look no farther than the Summer 2005 (vol. 54, no. 3) issue of ScienceWriters (pp. 10-11) for my story, “Adventures in the Blogosphere.” Many readers, no doubt, have never heard of ScienceWriters. I can say, in its defense, that among science-writing journals, it’s right up there with the New Yorker. The key thing to focus on here, for those trying to discern a thread, is that I’m no longer a washed-up has-been. I’m merely a literary has-been OR a washed-up writer, but definitely NOT both.

Hold up there, folks. I’m not giving out free drinks. But I am writing to say that the judges are planning to announce the winners of the latest BLOGGING BUMPER STICKER SWEEPSTAKES, so this is the last chance to get in your entries. One of our readers, who is particularly “gifted” in this area (and I do not use that word lightly), hasn’t yet sent in any ideas, and this is a gentle reminder to him in case he is inclined to enter the high-pressure competition once again. Good luck to all who have the nerve to enter, as well as idle time on their hands that is begging to be wasted…

Just to show you this is not a one-way street, I will make up an entry on the spot, this very second (this is spontaneous folks; I wasn’t planning to do this!):

STOP LIVING AND START BLOGGING!

This month’s “Featured Blog Title of the Month” goes to “Jungle Jerk,” which is a blog that has a great title and, so far, little else. (See link on right.) Since the initial post in April, which consisted of 10 perfect words, the author (Jungle Jerk) has not seen fit to write anything further. I appreciate his philosophy: Why mess with perfection? But to make into the exclusive category, “Featured Blog of the Month,” the author will need to write at least one more word. Let’s hope he chooses wisely.

I’m having a busy day, as well as a productive one. A friend–Jungle Jerk, in fact (we’re talking again after a long “cooling-off” period)–left his car on the street before he flew to Brazil, where presumably he’ll find a jungle or two that’s still intact, provided the forests have not been totally cleared, burned, paved over, or otherwise plundered. But this happens to be a special day in our neighborhood, what we call “street cleaning” day–a twice-a-month occurrence that causes untold anxiety among the residents on our block. After Beth, another friend who shares the driveway with us, left for work, I moved Jungle Jerk’s Taurus to the back of the driveway, just ahead of the tow trucks. Whew! That was close! Now I’d better rest. I don’t want to overdo it today. In fact, I’ve already done too much.

I’ve been putting a lot of stuff up lately and need a break. (I think I’m getting punch drunk–guilty of “writing while white.”) I’m hoping no one will mind if I take the night off. No objections? Great. You are a compassionate bunch of people. And wise too, for you realize that if you give me a bit of rest, I’m only going to come back stronger and write my derriere off the next day. (Pardon my French.) And everyone will be the better for it, save for my derriere, which will have been written off.

Since he started his blog two weeks ago, Jungle Jerk has posted only 10 words–perhaps a record in blog concision–but what a handful of words they are! At the risk of repeating myself, I will repeat myself and reprint those 10 words: “If you don’t think too good, don’t think too much.” I think there’s a lesson in that for all of us, but I promise not to give it too much thought.

The Celts beat the Raptors for their 9th victory in the last 10 games and their 5th straight win. But that’s not the streak I referred to in the title. No I’m talking about an even more important streak: For four straight days (and five counting tomorrow, which I think is safe to include as it’s a day off for the public schools here, as well as for the Celts), I have been wrong about ever having called into question the sagacity of the Walker trade. Another strong outing from ‘Toine (24 points) proved just how wrong I was, if there had been any lingering doubt. A fan at the Fleet Center even hammered that point home, waving a sign that complimented Ainge on his shrewd roster move. I can’t dispute the content of that placard, though I don’t think Ainge needs any more ego streaking given that his brilliance has been widely heralded throughout the land, ad infinitum.

Thankfully, all has been quiet on the Gorman front. I have not received any more threatening notes from him or from his legal bulldogs. Which brings to mind another point: Is it just me or has our society become too litigious? Isn’t it great to have a cowboy in the White House for a change, instead of another lawyer, especially given that cattle rustling has long been the number one challenge facing this great nation?

I had not planned to get into this, as it just didn’t seem important enough. “Not on my radar,” as they say. But I’ve felt a lot of pressure throughout the course of the day to comment on the “Toine situation”–Toine being Antoine Walker, the newest (as well as oldest) member of the Boston Celtics, who rejoined the team last night, after having made the rounds in the NBA. Why give up their best point guard, Gary Payton, for a power forward, when the team desperately needs an experienced point guard? That question is better addressed to Danny Ainge, the Celts’ cryptic general manager. As for me, I have no answers, which is why I had been inclined not to comment on this truly curious move. I only did so under duress–bowing, as it were, to peer pressure–and am now starting to regret the whole thing.

My session last week–in which I mentioned the Patriots in writing without becoming obsessed or otherwise bent out of shape-went so well that my therapist has recommended another go-around. That was a great confidence booster, as you can imagine. So here I am, ready for another “Patriots Update.” The only problem is, there’s no news to report: I’ve scoured the papers, wire services, websites and found nothing. Zip. Nada. So the question now is how best to proceed. After the progress last week, no one (least of all me) wants to see any “backsliding.” It’s a dilemma all right, and I’m not sure the news blackout is going to break any time soon. I may have to report on the Red Sox, who are getting plenty of ink now that Spring Training has started up again. My therapist, however, isn’t sure this will be an effective substitute because the “emotional valence is all off,” as she puts it. So there we are, which just might possibly be nowhere. I’ll get back to you when I have something to report, even if–as in this case–it proves to be nothing.

I recently spoke with a well-known journalist–a book author and editor of an influential weekly magazine–who had this to say about bloggers: “The overall sense I get of bloggers … is that they’re a bunch of whiny, self-involved people.” I’d like to make a few points in response: First, I do not whine. I complain–sometimes excessively, sometimes obsessively, sometimes incessantly–but I never whine. As for the other part of his assessment, I can’t see why a fellow can’t speak his mind every now and then without being called “self-involved.” But maybe this guy is right. In that case, I have a small confession to make: I’m not a blogger. This is just something I do on the side. For fun. Like a hobby. It’s not who I am. So any way you slice it, I’m in the clear. As for the rest of you self-involved whiners, well, that’s another story altogether now, isn’t it?

[AUTHOR'S NOTE: I feel a little self-conscious ascribing the word "author" to myself, but what the heck. I am published, dammitall(sp?). My notes (quarterly update) have appeared once again in the alumni magazine from my college, an unnamed "small liberal arts college in New England." (I can hear the wheels turning from all the people out there trying to guess the identity of said institution. I'll try not to give any hints save for one: It's not a "mental institution," as they used to be called. Without further ado, here's my contribution to "Notes from alums" in the Winter 2005 issue of _____ magazine.....] Sorry if my prose seems more labored than usual, but I’m suffering from writer’s block–that age-old affliction–and am not myself these days. Which begs the question: If I’m not myself, who is? And more to the point, who am I if not myself? I have a lot of questions and few answers, which should put me in good stead for my upcoming appearance on Jeopardy! As for the writer’s block, not to worry. My healer is convinced the situation is temporary. I should be back in top form by the next issue of _____ magazine, assuming the potions work as promised. On another front, I am in close contact with several _____ (college) alums whose names I cannot divulge, as I promised to keep our associations strictly confidential. But rest assured, they’re all doing well and prospering. Except for the ones that are struggling and beset with various difficulties and hardships that I won’t go into here, as this is a forum for success stories like myself (which just may be the subject of my next entry, come to think of it). [SECOND AUTHOR'S NOTE: The last sentence did not appear in the published version of this "essay" (I don't think that's too exalted a term); I just added it here as an afterthought, against my better judgment...]

My Tedy Bruschi suffered a terrible fate at the hands of my two-year-old, who has always been a little rough around the edges. (As well as rough around the front, back, sides, top, and bottom.) Decapitation is not too strong a term to describe what happened to my bobblehead Tedy doll. Which leaves me in a veritable pickle: The stores are all sold out. And I’ve got a full tank of gas already in my car so I can’t get a Bobblehead Tedy at the local Exxon, assuming they have any left (which is doubtful, since he was named to the Pro Bowl this week, though people should not have needed that to realize he’s the real deal, despite his travails with alcohol, which when you think of it, might make him even more than real deal than ever). (Sorry about the long parenthetical. I’ve got to stop speaking that way, indirectly, in asides and digressions, with everything hidden behind parentheses and nothing upfront, in the open, for all to see, warts and all…) So can somebody please loan me a Tedy, ASAP? I’ll pay a good price, if necessary, though I don’t support extortion as a general rule. I need to field a full team for my practice sessions, which is why Bobblehead T.B., a lynchpin of my defensive schemes, is so crucial. With all the players lined up, I test out different plays and formations, sending the best ideas on to Coach Belichick. I can’t say for certain that he uses them, but a few moves during actual games sure look familiar to me. While I’m thinking of it, I’d like to take this opportunity to give Philly the heads up: I’ve got a few doozies lined up for Super Sunday. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Caveat puntor.