CALL ME SNAKE

I saw I AM LEGEND a couple of weeks ago with a friend, which led to speculation in these pages regarding the speed of zombies in the 21st century. Last night I saw SALEM’S LOT (the 1979 Tobe Hooper version, of course) with the same friend, and feel that for the sake of fairness I should grant equal time to vampires. I enjoyed the movie, save for a surprisingly week ending, but it left a few loose ends. My friend put this question to me which I cannot fully answer: “If vampire’s live forever and are constantly feeding on other people, who then become vampires as well, what has kept vampires from taking over the world?” In other words, are there some kind of natural, ecological checks on the vampire population to keep that from happening? It makes sense because vampires seem to like fresh blood and if they turn the entire population into vampires, where they gonna go for sustenance? (Whole Foods?) So it seems to be in their interests not to turn everyone into vampires, yet exactly how their expanionist tendences are kept in check is not clear. At least to this observer. At the present time.

It’s great to be published again and the two sentences below just came out in my college alumni magazine. I will reprint my entry in its entirety so that you can see it in its full splendor:  “I’ve given up all hope of leading a productive life and have become a blogger instead. I’m adjusting well to the lowered expectations that come with my new profession and have enjoyed chronicling my steady slide into irrelevance.”

There’s always something that stands between me and a good night’s sleep. Lately it’s been the woodpecker (we call him Woody) who’s taken up residence in our gigantic maple tree. Woody got an early start this morning. I heard him from 5 a.m. on, pecking away at a branch not too far from my bedroom window. I’m a big supporter of nature and all that, but can’t it adhere to some standards of civility?

Anyone who watched last nights Celtics-Lakers game might have wondered what the heck happened in the fourth quarter. The Celtics were up by 24 points, with only about 7 minutes left (if I remember correctly), and the Lakers managed to cut the lead to two. How did that happen? I’m pretty sure it was my fault. I was watching the game with a friend and fellow blogger, and we were laughing it up when the Celts pushed the lead to 24. Then I said: “Is it too early to bring out the brooms?” As soon as those words came out of my mouth, the Celtics’ fortunes began to change. I learned my lesson and will not mention the word “sweep” until the Celtics go up 4-0 in the series.

SHAUN OF THE DEAD was the exception. Zombies in the 21st century ARE getting faster, especially compared to the labored movements of the NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD era. After seeing the two 28 movies, 28 DAYS LATER and 28 WEEKS LATER, which are exceedingly well-made but also incredibly intense, I decided to swear off zombie movies. But that didn’t last long as I just saw I AM LEGEND earlier tonight. And, as I expected, the zombies were fleet of foot, if not fleet of mind. They moved as fast as the 28 zombies but they seemed to hesitate which the 28 zombies never did; they were nothing if not relentless. I had resolved to swear off zombie movies because, deep down, they give me the creeps, yet I watched I AM LEGEND for the sake of science and my longstanding studies in ZOMBIE VELOCITY. The movie is pretty good and much less intense than the 28 series. By comparison, it actually seemed relaxing. These zombies, by the way, were extremely light sensitive and might be stopped, or at least temporarily stunned, by a decent flashlight, though you’ll probably need something more luminous than you can purchase at your average CVS. (Word from the wise: Spend the money on a high-lumens model. If LEGEND is to be trusted, it will be well worth the investment.)

I can’t figure out what’s wrong with my daughter’s soccer team which I had coached to a perfect (undefeated) record in the fall; now we seem to be distinctly mediocre. Not only that, the girls seem uninspired and listless. And they don’t seem to be getting any better. I’m inclined to blame them but my daughter is pointing the blame at the coach, hisself. Referring to our weekly practice sessions, she said, “No offense dad but when you do the same thing every week it gets kind of boring…”

A friend forwarded a note to me from a woman who’d been our housemate in 1981. Though I always thought she was nice, I didn’t know her very well at the time and was pleased and surprised to hear she’d gone on to live a life of travel and adventure, even chronicling her experiences in a recently-published book. If I were to have guessed 27 years ago, I would have assumed that I’d have been the one to have traveled more. But I would have guessed wrong as she’s definitely seen more of the world than I have. And she’s now the wiser for it.

On the other hand, I have legitimate reasons for my sedentary lifestyle. After all, somebody’s got to sit here and type idle thoughts into my computer. For if I don’t do it, who will?

I never figured that Call Me Snake would morph from a volleyball blog into the fashion/glamor game, but life is funny that way; you never know what it’s going to dish out. Last night I caught part of an ad as I was turning off the TV and could not believe what I was hearing was true. Later I checked it out on the web and found out that my ears had not lied. Here are quotes taken almost verbatim (with some minor embellishments, distortions, and alterations thrown in for good measure):

Introducing new Touch Of Gray™, the first and only men’s hair treatment that lets you keep some gray. Works gradually. And it’s easy. No mix, no mess: just comb in and rinse. It’s for the generation that swore it would never get old. And didn’t…
     A little gray to show your experience, but not so much that it hides your vitality. Touch Of Gray™ comes in five natural looking shades…
     It not only lets you keep some gray, it lets you decide how much gray to keep. And it works gradually…

EDITOR’S NOTE: This product, as you can imagine, has thrown me into a tizzy. Do I hide the gray? Leave it alone? Or show some of it selectively? There are choices to be made (not only in Pennsylvania)–choices about which I had been blissfully ignorant less than 12 hours ago.

I find CAR TALK entertaining and am friendly (in a very casual way) with one of the brothers (Click, I think, or maybe it’s Clack). And although I haven’t learned much about taking care of my car from the show, I do occasionally get pearls of wisdom regarding relationships. A few weeks ago, Tom cited a recent study that showed that “active listening” does absolutely nothing to enhance marital bliss. Instead the only things that works is if the wife requests something and the husband does it. The moral of the story, I guess, is that “active doing” beats “active listening” every time. As for my own relationship, at least I’m getting half of it right as I don’t engage in active listening.

Every year, PARADE comes out with its mostly depressing list of what people earn. Like the hedge fund manager in New York City ($3.5 billion) who earned more than 100,000 times as much the hospital clown in New York City. Which one do you think brings more joy into the world? Then there was one guy who did not make the list: Keith van Horn who received $4.3 million in a trade two months ago and has not played a game since. I’m not a great basketball player but I am good enough to do that. As the saying goes: Why don’t I get jobs like that?

Our society loves outsourcing. I learned about this some years ago when our kids were in preschool and some parents got tired of cleaning up the school, which had been their responsibility for decades, and decided to outsource the job. I read in the Boston Globe the other day that other parents have gotten tired of teaching their kids manners and instead pay big bucks to enroll 7-year-olds in etiquette courses. When tragedy strikes at our schools now, teachers and parents outsource the job of dealing with the grief to professional counselors rather than muddling through it on their own with the students and children. We’re getting close to the point where we might just as well outsource our lives. Surely there must be others out there who could do a better job with it and make it all it ought to be.

Yesterday in the paper, I saw the picture of a woman I knew (vaguely) in grade school and high school on the cover of her new book. Not to be crass but as a middle-aged woman (whom I hadn’t seen in more than 35 years) she didn’t look too bad. Of course her book is all about not looking old, so I guess that’s the whole point–”fast, effortless ways to look 10 years younger, ten pounds lighter, and feel 10 times better.” She’s been on Oprah and done the whole bit and is arguably the most high-profile person to come out of our high school in decades which, when you think of it, is a bit sad (not that I have anything against her nor do I begrudge her her 15 seconds and then some). If I had time, I’d go to the shopping mall next week for her book signing, but instead I’ll probably skip it and, instead, think of ways of looking 10 years older, 10 pounds heavier, and feeling 10 times worse.

I heard this from a friend, a heralded blogger in his own right, as he recently helped me try to debug my computer. Here’s the joke, which I embellished and probably ruined: A kid gets a part in the school play as “the Jewish Husband.” His mother gets upset and tells the teacher “that after all the work he’s done, he deserves better. The least you could do is give him a speaking role.”

Yesterday TV & radio were all abuzz about a new recording that had been recovered from someone high in Al Qaeda’s leadership and guess what? They still want to kill us. Every time someone in Al Qaeda reminds us of that fact, it seems to make front-page news. Maybe we should just take that–their deep-seated desire to kill us–as a fact of life and stop giving all these malcontents so much publicity.

I got a call from the other day and, as I was at my desk, I grabbed the phone on the first ring. “The first ring?” a friend said at the other end of the line. “My aren’t we overanxious today.” I was reminded of a scene in the movie “Swingers” in which a guy  asked how long, after getting a girl’s phone number, he had to wait before calling her. I can’t remember the advice he got but he was told that the “industry standard” was something on the order of a week. Which brings up the question at hand: What about telephone rings? If one shows signs of desperation and five will land you in voicemail, what establishes the right tone for the rest of the conversation: two, three, or four? What I’m getting after here, I guess, is this: What’s the “industry standard” for telephone rings?

Here’s what a basketball player had to say about my game–or my other game. “Handball?” he asked. “Is that the game where you take a ball and hit it against the wall with your hand?” Yeah, that’s the one. Yet his statement does make me wonder how I’ve been able to blather on for pages about something that can be summed up in a single compact (non-complex) sentence.

I’ve hit a dead end, a brick wall, a temporary impasse. I’ve spent several hours lately speaking with mathematicians at Stanford and Harvard about using tools of nonlinear analysis (minimal surfaces in geometry) to solve classic problems in general relativity. It sounds pretty straightforward but I cannot quite understand it. And until I do understand, I cannot go forward (though perhaps I can go sideways; good idea, maybe I’ll try that!) That doesn’t happen so often. Sure everyone needs some help understanding things sometimes. So you talk to somebody, ask a few questions, and figure it out. If you’re really stuck, you talk to a second person or a third, hoping that with another perspective or two, it will all fall into place. And I’ve tried all that. But this time it is not falling into place. The trouble now is that I’m not sure how many more “perspectives” are out there. And whether it will help. And whether I will be permanently stuck. Which would make my problem the opposite of Billy Pilgrim’s who was permanently unstuck.

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.

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.

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.

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…

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.

My wife and I met some friends at an upscale ethnic restaurant last night to celebrate two birthdays. It’s a very elegant establishment, with great atmosphere and convivial surroundings for conversation. And the food, moreover, was delicious. But by the end of the meal, both my wife and I felt sick to our stomachs; she wasn’t sure she could make it home on her bike (about two miles) owing to the fact that she thought she might die before we got there. But she did make it and gradually felt better; my general queasiness subsided as well. Taking stock of the experience, I said: “It’s a great restaurant. You just can’t eat the food.”

I want to tell you about something exciting. Last night I was doing the dishes (don’t worry, that’s not the exciting part) while listening to the final 15 minutes of the Celtics-Timberwolves game on the radio. In this era, when a single sports bar may have a dozen large TV screens, listening to sports on the radio may seem rather passe’. But I have to say, listening to the end of that game on the radio–which the Celtics won by a single point–was one of the more thrilling experiences I’ve had as a sports fan, and with what’s been going on in Boston over the last several years, there’s been a lot to choose from. So don’t get rid of all your old radios in favor of large-screen, hi-def plasma TVs. Because that old radio can still deliver the magic upon occasion, as it did for me last night…

Here’s a novel idea: Let’s prosecute real criminals for a change. I’m tired of hearing about criminal cases filed against people like Marion Jones and Barry Bonds for lying about steroid use. Jones has been shamed, stripped of her medals, and stripped of her cash. Isn’t that punishment enough? The same goes for athletes like Bonds and others. The are real crimes against society that are going unpunished. Let the sports world deal with infringements of their reals, and let the criminal justice system go after people who are doing real harm to others.

Last night a friend spoke of a French woman who recently moved to Cambridge and is put off by the friendliness and cheerfulness and general “upbeatness” of Americans, which strikes her as phony. In France, she says, people say what they really feel rather than putting on a false front.

As an American, I see it a little differently. Yesterday a friend told me that he felt happy–that everything was going really well, and it struck me how rare it is that I hear something like that. In fact, I can’t remember the last time someone spontaneously told me, without being prompted or asked, that they felt happy. People are trained to say “fine” when asked how they’re doing. But we view that as just being polite, not acting especially cheerful. Or at least that’s how I see it. And I’d certainly prefer that to a bunch of complaints which I often hear anyway.

I read in the Globe (and therefore it must be true) that New Englanders are whining more about the winter weather than they used to. And given that that must be true, it may be true as well. I certainly am one of the guilty parties. For instance, I live on the righthand (even numbered) side of our one-way street and I’ve noticed that nine out of 10 snowplows pile the snow to the right. Which means our driveway can get plowed in a half dozen during a big storm while our neighbors across the street get a free pass. That hardly seems fair now, does it?

Especially because I’m a lefty and all my life have suffered the indignities and inequities (like righthanded desks in lecture halls, etc.) that come with it. So for once in my life I’m on the righthand side of things. And once again that seems to be the wrong side of things. That hardly seems fair now, does it?

It’s the time of year for holiday parties and I usually get to a couple of ‘em. I haven’t thrown any really big parties for almost 20 years, except for my wedding, and the thing that happens when you go to other people’s parties–sometimes year after year–is that you’re always hanging out with other people’s friends. They can be very fine people but it’s still not the list of folks that you would have drawn up yourself. I suppose that’s a familiar lament for any freeloader like myself.

You’ve got to feel bad for a genuine, sincere guy like Mitt Romney who would never pay a cent more than $300 for a haircut. My bleedin’ heart is bleedin’ for this guy: After all his tough talk about illegal immigrants, he got caught still employing illegal immigrants. So what did he do? Instead of admitting that our economy need these the laborers, he talked tough to the boss of the company employing the workers. And sent the company packing, never to sully his doorsteps again. To make things worse, the timing comes on the eve of Mitt’s highly anticipated speech, with him on the verge of delivering his Kennedy sermon on “faith.” Now there’s the man from whom I want to learn about faith.

Yesterday I met with a prominent mathematician (a number theorist) to discuss my book, which involves math and string theory and vice versa. Early on in our conversation, when I confessed to not being up on certain math concepts, he said: “I think you’re going to have a hard time writing this book.” We talked some more and before long reached another of those junctures where I did not know what I should have known and he mentioned again, “I think you’re going to have a hard time writing this book.” I shrugged it off, we continued our conversation, and before long I hit another tough spot and he interjected, once again, with the familiar refrain. Well, three times a charm, as they say, and this time I believed him: I AM going to have a hard time writing this book.

The other night, the local TV weatherman (Harvey Leonard) crossed the line in trying to scare us about the cold weather that was moving in. He showed us a map that went all the way up to the North Pole where temperatures, not surprisingly, were about 0. I’m no meteorologist but since when does the temperature of the North Pole have anything to do with the temperature of lowly Boston?

It’s bad enough when PARADE prints its annual “What People Earn” article and I can get depressed about how little I earn compared to, say, Oprah or Howard Stern. But the Boston Globe had an item yesterday on the richest dead people that was even worse. Elvis, for example, earned $49 million last year even though he’s long gone. And nine others, all deceased, earned anywhere between $6 million and $44 million which by my calculus, is a good year, dead or alive. And here I am slaving away for peanuts (Speaking of “Peanuts,” Charles Schulz by the way earned $35 million), while these dead guys and gals (Marilyn Monroe, $7 million) are raking it in. Hardly makes it seem worthwhile. On the other hand, you can’t play volleyball when you’re dead.

I’ve never watched “Dancing with the Stars,” which does not sound like my cup of tea. (Not that tea is my cup of tea either, as I don’t drink it.) But I have seen the last minute of the show on several occasions, and I’ve never seen more hugging–not even at a wedding or a bar mitzvah. Which is why I suggest a new name for the program: “Hugging with the Stars.”

I’ve never watched “Dancing with the Stars,” which does not sound like my cup of tea. (Not that tea is my cup of tea either, as I don’t drink it.) But I have seen the last minute of the show on several occasions, and I’ve never seen more hugging–not even at a wedding or a bar mitzvah. Which is why I suggest a new name for the program: “Hugging with the Stars.”

After spending most of my days and nights thinking about string theory–and the mathematics underlying it–I recently had the opportunity to write two articles on global warming and, I have to say, global warming was a welcome diversion. Calling what might be the biggest human-induced natural disaster of all time a “welcome diversion” might be considered callous, so let me try to explain. The thing I like about global warming, at least from a journalistic perspective, is that it’s pretty easy to understand. The thing I find challenging about string theory is that it’s awfully hard to understand, even for the world’s top practitioners, let alone for a floundering scribe in way over his head. That’s why thinking about global warming for a couple of days came as a great relief; for the first time in a long while, I actually felt as if I knew what I was talking about. Of course I didn’t but during that brief hiatus, at least I thought I did.

It’s vain to carry on about “blog stats” but something is puzzling me nevertheless. I took a break from blogging in the latter part of August due to a midwest trip and the familiar sudoku backup problem that hit me upon my return. In the past week, I’ve been posting pretty regularly. Yet the average number of readers per day was at about the same level during the my 13-day hiatus as it has been since I’ve been back online. Which makes me wonder: What’s the point of publishing these things if the same number of people visit the blog regardless of whether I write anything new? As they say on those radio call-in shows that NPR is so fond of: I’ll talk my answer offline.

Yesterday my 5-year-old asked: “What’s ___’s wife’s name?” But I couldn’t figure out who she was referring to. After asking her to repeat herself several times, I finally understood the question to be: “What’s God’s wife’s name?” Unfortunately, I have no idea how to answer a question like that.

Someone who commented recently on this blog put a link to his or her blog profile. But the profile had no picture, no text, no posts, no comments, and no “friends.” What exactly was it a link to? I don’t know but I’m wondering if it might be a link to the Twilight Zone.

I strained my ankle playing handball and, as a result, skipped volleyball on Sunday. Instead I went to the party of some friends whose son just turned 3. I played wiffleball with the kids and, in the course of retrieving a ball, stepped in a 4-inch deep hole, thereby making my ankle far worse than it had been beforehand. The moral of the story: I would have been better off playing volleyball. Of course, that’s always the case, isn’t it? In fact, there might even be a bumper sticker within that turn of phrase–something along the lines of: “I’d rather be playing volleyball.”

The other night, I was at a “community school” performance at my daughter’s grammar school. (Note: Does anyone use the term “grammar school” anymore?) In addition to the performance of the children (grades K-8) in music, drama, and dance, a group of senior citizens–who take evening classes at the school–performed some line dancing. I have to say, it was a depressing sight to see people of diminished physical (and possibly mental) capacity stumbling through, in halting fashion, three seemingly endless numbers. Was this a glimpse of my future a few decades hence? If so it was a sobering view to say the least.

It’s not easy being a barber, and no one said it would be easy. A skilled barber is always walking a fine line. He needs to keep the conversation with the client flowing smoothly and easily, without ever going too far in expressing his opinions. Yet he cannot seem to be holding back either. It’s not easy, as I said before, which is why I’m glad to be the guy sitting down in that relationship, rather than the guy doing the cutting.

I just wrote a post about a scary movie called “JESUS CAMP” in which I learned that one in four Americans (25%) are crazed Evangelical Christians. But in the debate last week among Republican presidential aspirants, three out of ten candidates (that’s 30% folks!) said they don’t believe in evolution. In other words, they pretty much disavow all of science. The fact that 30 percent of the leading Republican contenders hold such a neanderthal view is really pretty scary. But then you might start to wonder where our current president stands on this issue. He might not even have an opinion, as there’s a good chance that he–the so-called “leader of the free world”–really does not understand what the word “evolution” means. That’s kind of disturbing too. For don’t they say that those who cannot learn from evolution are doomed to repeat it?

Last night I saw a preview of the the new movie, In the Land of Women, which stars a virtually unrecognizable Meg Ryan. Once America’s darling, Ryan has since become the topic of much discussion about cosmetic surgery gone awry. An obviously pretty woman, I don’t know who she looks like anymore. She doesn’t look like anyone, or maybe she looks like too many people–like a bunch of actresses plastered onto the same face. It’s very sad to see.

In this movie, Ryan plays the mother of an adult woman–or almost-adult woman–so why can’t she look like a mother, rather than a sister? And as I said before, whatever happened to aging gracefully? Or if not gracefully, at least with some modicum of dignity and respect for nature’s inevitable ways.

Let’s face it: We live in a vague time in the history of the planet; there’s nothing distinctive about it, nothing that stands out. Just a general mushiness that pervades most human conduct as well. The other day, for example, I asked a friend if he wanted to join me for a movie at a particular time and place. “That’s not supposed to be too bad,” he said.

“It got pretty good reviews from what I saw,” I replied.

“Yeah, I noticed that too,” he agreed.

And then nothing–no reference whatsoever to my invitation, which might sound odd except for the fact that it seems to be the norm rather than the exception these days. “How about if we leave it open?” I suggested. Again there was no response. “OK fine. Let’s just leave it open…”

On one of the NPR interview shows, novelist Jim Harrison said (this may not be an exact quote): “You only have a limited number of meal in your life, so why not eat well?” I had never thought of it exactly that way before–i.e., that we go through life with a meal ticket, of sorts, that has only a certain number of punch holes. When cast in that light, what Harrison said makes perfect sense.

On the other hand, of course, you could say that for just about everything you do in life, in which case the notion seems somewhat dangerous. Because in every aspect of existence, you’re likely to fall a bit short. Soon, every meal–and every night’s sleep–would become a disappointment rather than a pleasure. Which is why I tend to set the bar a little lower. And for me (in contrast to Harrison) that (bar-lowering tendency) extends to writing as well.

In my last post (“My New Calling”), I carried on rather shamelessly about my newly-discovered talent as a caption writer. In my deluded state, I assumed I was going to win the first New Yorker caption contest I had ever entered. But today I learned that was not to be. Not only did I not win the competition outright, I was not even one of the honorable mentions (i.e., “also rans”). Well, you can say there’s always next week in the caption-writing game. And generally speaking that’s true. Still I had a comeuppance coming to me, and come to me it did. In the meantime, I’m casting about for a new calling. Perhaps blindfolded Rubik Cube-solving will turn out to be “the next big thing” for me.

At times like these, as I cast about for an idea to put in my daily posting, it is worth considering the sage words of Jungle Jerk (see link on right): “If you don’t think too good, don’t think too much.” I’m going to take a liberty here and add a line (because I can; because it’s fun; and maybe because it’s my calling). Besides, I’m sure Monsieur Jerk (a close friend) will not mind: “If you don’t think too much, don’t say too much.” And that’s all I have to say on the subject, just enough but not too much.

I’ve been gone a week, though it seems longer, “fishing” as it were. But now I’m back and it’s time to catch up. Not only was I not working last week, or contributing to public discourse through the forum known as “Call Me Snake,” I also fell way behind on my TV viewing. Upon returning tonight, I caught my favorite show, “The Office.” During one of the “commercial breaks,” they aired an ad for a new horror movie called “The Hitcher” that will open on January 19. That’s 15 days away–actually 14 days away now–and I don’t think I can wait that long. Not that the movie looks good. Quite the contrary. But still, 15 days is a long time, especially after watching a few scenes of the hitcher terrorizing the typical teenager or 20-something couple in the relentless fashion demanded by this genre. Now that we’ve gotten a taste of that, can we wait two whole weeks? And if we do, miraculously, manage to get through those two long, arduous weeks of waiting, who in his right mind will bother to see the movie?