Humorist celebrates birth of the uncool

by Beth Teitell
Tuesday, June 18, 2002

Every profession has its tricks, and journalism's no exception. So when a book comes out, on grilling maybe, or shopping, or nightlife, it's a given that at some newspaper somewhere, an editor, having been worn down by a relentless publicist, will say ``We'll see what we can do'' and assign a reporter to barbeque with the author, or hit the mall, or go bar-hopping.

But when ``The Day I Turned Uncool: Confessions of a Reluctant Grown-Up'' (Villard, $19.95) arrived at the Herald the other day, even the seasoned assignment desk was baffled.

What should you - or in this case, I - do with an uncool guy?

We could have gone for a root canal, I guess, or checked out those ready-made bifocals at a pharmacy, or comparison-shopped for a major appliance, or applied for a mortgage, or better yet, refinanced an existing one, and had a long discussion on points and pre-paid interest.

``You could come over for an egg-white omelette,'' Dan Zevin, Mr. Uncool himself, suggested when I called. ``And I can show you before-and-after pictures of the house.''

I don't know if you're familiar with Zevin's work, but his first two books, ``Entry-Level Life'' and ``The Nearly-wed Handbook,'' are very funny, as is his work for Rolling Stone and Boston magazine, among other publications.

Over the years I've always thought of Zevin not as an uncool guy, but rather as a very cool guy. So when I heard about his latest book, I assumed he'd simply thought of a good gimmick and gone with it. But any notion that Zevin was faking it for literary fame was dispelled when it emerged that he wasn't kidding about the before-and-after shots. He really, really, wanted to talk home and backyard improvement - subjects that happen to make up the second and fifth chapters of ``The Day I Turned Uncool,'' as in, ``Confession: I spend a great deal of time engaged in home-improvement projects,'' and ``Confession: I take pride in my lawn.''

``I still see dark spots,'' he said looking out at his beautiful yard in North Cambridge, and mentioning that he'd rented a thatcher to get rid of roots.

``When did this start to set in?'' I asked.

``It has a lot to do with home ownership,'' he said, adding that he's been told he has ``no business'' writing about being uncool since he doesn't have children, and has never experienced the uncoolest emotion of all: stroller envy.

``I never noticed lawns before,'' he said. ``It didn't occur to me to have a lawn.''

We could have whiled away the whole morning on such fun subjects as dead roots and decaf and golf, but it was getting late, at least for someone who rises at 6 a.m., and Zevin was hungry. It was time to make the omelette.

``This is my little trick,'' he said, attaching a plastic bag to the stove top for easy yolk disposal. ``This way it doesn't smell in the garbage can,'' he added, cracking away.

We were talking about the joys of reduced fat cheese, and I guess Zevin let down his guard, because disaster struck: A yolk dropped into the pan.

Yikes!!!

Luckily, Mr. Uncool kept his cool, and scooped out the yolk. He took his concoction off the stove, added a ``Rice Slice,'' which looks like Velveeta, but is actually some kind of soy-free organic rice product, and let the whole thing sit for a moment. As he waited, Zevin reflected on his diet - and his life. ``Sometimes,'' he said, ``when I'm shopping at Bread and Circus, and getting all my special food, I say, Who is this guy buying Rice Slice?''

Sometimes, I've found, it's better not to ask.

Dan Zevin will read from his book on Thursday at 7 p.m. at the Brookline Booksmith.