Sunday, September 21, 2003
I know, I wrote about this last week while guesting for The Spoonbender, the Shaolin master of jibes, gambols, songs, and flashes of merriment.
But it's still on my mind. Something is in the air about curses. Particularly, perennial losers struggling against curses. The Boston Red Sox and the "Curse of the Bambino." The Chicago Cubs and the curse of the billy goat. At this moment, these two teams could possibly be on the verge of... ahem.
Yet a hapless, hopeless wonder has broken through. The Hanshin Tigers (Osaka, Japan) have broken the Curse of the Colonel. As in Sanders. Believed to have been cursed for 18 years by none other than Mr. Eleven Herbs and Spells, the Tigers just won the pennant this week.
This has me thinking. Maybe there's hope for our blame-free, shame-free, sue-happy society: curses. Tired of being mocked for suing those who cause you to be fat because you eat their fried food, thrown through windshields just for choosing to ignore seat belts, or unable to avoid being burned when you (as is your wont) pour hot coffee on your loins? Yet blaming yourself is still too alien and weird?
Look no further: curses. You're cursed! Gas prices too high? You're not too dependent on oil... there must have been some tramp who had a heart attack mid-sink-bath at the Arco. Back from the pauper's grave... wreaking revenge on light-truck owners!
See? Vaporous superstition is much easier to deal with than responsibility.
This is big. Curses could be the new biorhythms.
Today's FOCR: "Voodoo Child (Slight Return)," Jimi Hendrix, Electric Ladyland