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In Slate, Daniel Riley reviews the case for cockroaches surviving a nuclear holocaust. Will cockroaches really inherit post-apocalyptic earth? “…Studies over the last half-decade, such as those conducted by the United Nations Scientific Committee on the Effects of Atomic Radiation, have found that these “other insects” are more likely to reign in the age after humans; the cockroach might, in fact, be one of the first bugs to go. More recently, the television show MythBusters tested the effects of radiation on several kinds of insects and discovered that tiny flour beetles were the hardiest—with some surviving a dose of 100,000 rads…”

I was feeling glum for no good reason (which is better than being depressed with good reason) so I thought I’d cheer myself up by watching Wanted. Excellent idea: the movie blew the gloomy thoughts out of my head. Tibur Bekmambetov’s (Russians Russians everywhere I look; really must move to St Petersburg) adaptation of the graphic novel (My sister says they changed it substantially) is ridiculous, exhilarating, insane, and fun for anyone not overly attached to the laws of physics (You mean the trajectory, not the bullet!) or probability. In it, James MacAvoy’s cubicle rat shmoe is recruited for a fraternity of assassins formed in the medieval period. (His minder is Angelina Jolie, who is more lethal than any of the men.) The Fraternity was founded by a weavers’ guild, so I kept imagining the members of the Fashion Designers’ Association of the Philippines hunting down the evil and corrupt and garrotting them with tape measures.

The Fraternity call themselves “the assassins of fate”, “fate” being represented by a loom which churns out cloth, the warp and weft of which they translate into binary code and then into the names of their targets. So if I decide that I am the instrument of fate and I eat a bowl of muesli for breakfast every day (The Bowl of Fate), and I discover a pattern in the cereals which corresponds to the names of actual people…The point being, don’t think too much and you’ll enjoy the flick.

The new, highly-anticipated Indiana Jones movie is called Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. (Highly-anticipated especially by me, since real life is not up to movie standards—I listened to two archaeologists yesterday and neither one had a fedora or a bullwhip. Although I was tempted to let a snake loose during the lecture. . .) According to the posters it opens May 22. The whole production is shrouded in secrecy, but we can assume it’s about the Aztec or Mayan crystal skulls, twelve of which are known to exist.

Now the Musée du Quai Branly in Paris has announced that the crystal skull in its collection is a fake. It’s not ancient Central American, but 19th century Alpine. But they’re still going to put the crystal skull in a special exhibition to coincide with the Indy movie’s release. It will be “hidden” in the museum, and visitors can try to find it. Alors, le museum has picked up ze lesson from ze Louvre’s handling of Le Da Vinci Code: Oui, it is absurd! Heedeeous, vraiment, but les touristes zey love it. Kacheeng-kacheeng.

Does this finding affect Indy’s box-office? Hell no, unless you believe he found the Ark of the Covenant and when the Nazis opened it their faces melted.

They’ve got an ad in The Daily Telegraph, demanding the formal restoration of the order. The last time anyone heard from them was in 1314, when their grand master was burned at the stake. Apparently they’re represented by a West London accountant who also does the books for the Wiggles. Patrick Barkham investigates. First the Ark of the Covenant is reportedly found, then the Templars—supposedly the keepers of the Holy Grail—allegedly resurface. Funny these news should emerge on the year of a new Indiana Jones movie. 

According to the Old Testament, the Ark of the Covenant was a wooden box that contained the Ten Commandments. It could also zap people and reduce them into columns of ash. The Ark was reportedly kept in the Temple of Solomon, which was razed by the Babylonians. According to Steven Spielberg and George Lucas, the lost Ark was found in the Egyptian desert by the intrepid archaeologist Indiana Jones (who, considering the amount of time he spent away from his university and the fact that he never seemed to publish any papers, would’ve been kicked out of the academe). The Ark was then snatched by the Nazis, who did not do their research—they looked when the Ark was opened, and were promptly incinerated. Spielberg and Lucas go on to say that the Ark is now stored inside the Library of Congress or some other building in Washington D.C.

According to Professor Tudor Parfitt of the University of London’s School of Oriental and African Studies, the Ark—or a replacement container—is currently on dusty shelf in a museum in Harare, Zimbabwe. In the 80s, Parfitt supported the claim that a South African clan called Lemba was a lost tribe of Israel. Subsequent DNA tests supported this claim. The Lemba venerated the ngoma lungundu, a drum that contained ritual objects. It also zapped people and reduced them into columns of ash. Parfitt concluded that the ngoma was the Ark, which the Lemba had brought to Africa.

Naturally this theory would be greeted with skepticism, but it is fascinating stuff. Interesting how this surfaces while a new sequel to the Indiana Jones movies is in production. By the way, one thing has troubled me since the last Indiana Jones movie, The Last Crusade. Anyone who drinks from the Holy Grail becomes immortal, right? And Indy and his dad both drank from the grail. Does that mean they’re immortal?

You know Last Song Syndrome, where the last song you hear keeps playing in your head and you can’t make it stop? Well I often have First Song Syndrome—I wake up and there’s a song already playing in my head and it just keeps on going. It is usually a song I have not heard in a long time. Days later, I hear that same song being played somewhere—in a restaurant, over the end credits of a movie, that sort of thing. Could be just coincidence, yes, but I’m inclined to think otherwise. I’m from the school of “Everything means something, the refusal to say anything means something, nothing is something.” (See the Coen Brothers, below.)

Sometimes I remember conversations I haven’t had yet. For instance, I distinctly remember Chus telling me that Myrza (of Marie-Claire) had won a Palanca for short story. He ran into her, and she told him the good news. (This would be in August 2006.) I remember which restaurant we had this conversation in (Segafredo Greenbelt, now closed), where we were seated (by the window), and what time it was (around 6.30pm). Weeks later, I told Chus I was gatecrashing the awards dinner the next day (September 1), and I’d probably see Myrza.

Why, Chus asked, Did she win? Of course she did, I said, You told me. No I didn’t, he said, I didn’t know she’d won. We spent the next 15 minutes arguing over who said what. Finally Chus called Myrza and asked her if she’d won a Palanca.

Myrza said, No, I haven’t heard from them. Chus said, Maybe you should call their office to make sure. Meanwhile I’m sitting there thinking, Did I imagine this? Am I going bonkers? But I’m certain that Chus told me that Myrza had told him. There was no one else I could’ve gotten the news from—I wasn’t privy to the judging process and I’m not in with the awards people.

The following morning Chus called me. Myrza had called the Palanca office, he said, and it turns out she did win a prize! (The guard in her building put the letter in a drawer and forgot it.) So the information I “remembered” was correct, except that it was delivered backwards. Weird, but according to Special Relativity, everything that will happen has already happened anyway.

Back to FSS. I woke up this morning and “Jacksons, Monk and Rowe” by Elvis Costello and The Brodsky Quartet was playing in my head, loud and clear. It’s a very pretty song about divorce, not likely to have been blaring out of a passing jeep, not on the typical radio playlist. It’s on my iPod but I haven’t listened to it in a long time. But there are worse things to have in your head.