Janice's blog

Once upon a time I liked to see myself as given to critical thinking, and beyond superstition. Don’t we all? Alas, in my case, I realized that wasn’t entirely accurate. I can’t even imagine, much less comprehend, the fanaticism, ignorance and superstition that led 19 women to be hanged because they were believed to be witches. But there was equal opportunity in Salem 1692-1693; one Giles Corey was pressed to death for refusing to acknowledge the court…Shudder. Seventeenth century Salem, Massachusetts, certainly not the place to be for anyone who happened to piss the wrong person off.  Hysteria and superstition don’t mix well. One gives rise to the other until…today, three centuries later, these unjustly treated women are said to rest uneasily. And while their ghosts hover in Salem, superstition is alive and well, even today.

   Catching a falling star or finding a four leaf clover may bring good luck. But what happens when a black cat crosses your path? Aren’t you the least bit apprehensive, wondering what will happen next? Do you walk under a ladder or give it a wide berth? Do you just know that Friday the 13^th is going to be a lousy day? A day fraught with mishap. Take a ride in the high rise elevator. Going up! Don’t look for the 13^th floor button. In more than half the high rises there’s no 13^th floor; a little triskaidekaphobia going on. If not superstition, what?

   Leave the screens up. A bird flying into the house is a sign of death. Listen! The sound of bells drives away demons. Keep your hat on. It’s bad luck to put a hat on a bed and it’s good luck to find a penny heads up. Old wives’ tales; don’t you ever wonder who all those old wives were? And why did they make up all those tales? Luck is luck. Fate is fate. Sing synchronicity. Call out coincidence and dip your toes in serendipity. I am not superstitious. But I’m not taking any chances either; my Quan Yin faces the front door, the only elephants in the house have upturned trunks and the kitchen blessing hangs near the stove. No I’m not superstitious. This I swear by the whiskers of Maneki Neko whose upraised left paw beckons good fortune and luck my way. Okay, I know some say it is the right paw, but I’m saying left.

And we all lived happily ever after. It’s in the cards.

It’s a long way from the dark ages to the 21^st century. Living in caves on a flat earth, burning at the stake; beheading wives who displeased a king, binding of feet for beauty’s sake, shrieking in terror at a solar eclipse, and on and on. And we scoff at the ignorance of early day human beings. And we chase ghosts. And vampires exist. And we shriek in terror at demons. They’re as real as real can get. They’re beyond bad with their cloven hooves and ability to jump into our skin. They are the elementals; the dark, the negative. And if we’re not very careful, they are going to possessssssss us. Eeeeeeek! And it will be enough to make our heads spin. OMG what if vomit should spew forth? Some are not afraid. They are on TV each week taunting and talking shit to demons, ghosts and other assorted negative spirits. I challenge you to come out and show yourself.

And they never do, except in the form of a fuzzy, did-you-see-that shadow. Nonetheless the para-celebs keep calling them out, week after week. Do you seriously think any self-respecting demon is going to obey silly human commands? Come out, come out wherever you are.

Take that stake outta the vampire’s heart and know this. The demons do come when we least expect them. Passing through the walls come the succubus and the incubus…Lovely creatures intent on having sex with humans (cause we’re so damn adorable.) Can’t you see an unfaithful wife of long ago blaming her pregnancy on an incubus? Hubby was away battling it out in some ancient war. Out of sight, out of mind; enter the incubus. Wasn’t the work of a flesh and blood man, but that of an incubus. And just to keep things equal (hahaha) between the sexes along comes the succubus. She has her demonic eye on the man of the house. And men occasionally fell for her charms. And off they went, following the succubus from one corner of the flat earth to another. Oh those dreadful demons. Rockabye Succubi…Rockabye Incubi…Wake me when we’re really in the 21^st century.

     At the Grammys Lady Gaga made her grand entrance encased in an egg. She could have chosen some outlandish over-the-top designer creation. But no not for her; no simply sashaying in to the full accompaniment of ooooooooohs and aaaaaaaaaaahs for Gaga and her little monsters.

     Ours is a society in which every second counts and that’s about how long our collective attention spans are. If you want attention you’ve got to raise the bar…Madonna and countless others know this. So did Michael Jackson, Liberace and a slew of other entertainers resting in peace out there. No one wants to see, hear or be a fan of ordinary.

We can do that by looking in the mirror. Okay so you may be spectacular, but c’mon…are you planning on arriving anywhere, anytime soon in an egg carried by a gaggle of golden garbed people? Betcha aren’t! But back to grabbing our attention spans which convert to cash and admiration; garish, outlandish and a coupla good slaps at the mundane and we’re so onboard. We’re devoted fans. And we might even indulge in a little solipsism transference for a moment. Our idols exist. Oh absolutely they do. And of course they are aware of their own existence. The question is, do we exist apart from them? Or, are we just sleepwalking through life looking for autographs and phoney smiles from those we deem as celebrities? Those who arrive in eggs and other sequin sugar regalia meant to mesmerize the masses.

     This is nothing 21^st century and new…Back in the black/white days of silent film, those who had clawed, slept or otherwise made their way to the top of the I-wanna-be-a-star-heap, were set apart by their handlers. Most of it looks foolish when gazed at from a century’s distance. Our worldlier and oh so jaded, 21^st century smirks at stories of how they rode in chauffeured cars with pet leopards. How they drank champagne from satin slippers (all dainty size 5) how they were of Russian descent, a count or two in their lineage. Noble blood coursed through the stars and starlet’s veins. No one ever came from Pittsburgh, or Castroville, or Milwaukee. If they did that fact was hidden. Mary Pickford was well in her 30s and still portraying a young girl in film, ringlets and all. It worked: she became a millionaire many times over.

     Entertainment! The film industry, the music industry and uh…the paranormal. Yes, the paranormal has become an industry. And we have our celebs, those who are different than the rest of us. The celebs are more in step with the world of ghosts. They, for some as yet undetermined reason, have more experience in ghostly matters than we do. They know about demons and ghosts. How to communicate, photograph, coax, record; prove if you will.

    Perhaps they, and we, are  all self-centered sleepwalkers, focused on the afterlife, giving little thought to the day to day events of our lives....Perhaps not..One thing is certain, our para-celebs  don’t dress any more outlandish than we do. You don’t consider black nails, skull encrusted t-shirts, and glo-in-the-dark earrings outlandish, do you?

Every ghost tour serves up a sob story. Like shave ice and snow cones. History turned inside out and righted again. As any sucker for ghost tours can tell you, there’s always a ghost floating about behind closed doors. The reason should be obvious. Murder most foul! Either that or romance turned wretched. Either way, it’s enough to keep the dearly departed from heading toward the light. Revenge! And so the tour guide obliges by opening up the family closet and bringing forth all its rattling skeletons, one by one. Gasp! Groan! Listen to the litany of sins. All guaranteed to be historically accurate in every detail. It’s enough to make a blue-blooded historian’s blood boil.

 The way the ghost tour plays fast and loose with historical personages. Was Abe Lincoln or was he not, given to scatological humor? Depends on who you ask.  But we’re talking murder. Sure Abe was assassinated, but it’s not the same as Fall River lass, Lizzie Borden who did the most unfilial things with her daddy’s axe. Now that’s got potential!  The ghosts of Mr. and Mrs. Borden would undoubtedly be pissed at Lizzie and decided to hang out and haunt whoever crossed their paths. Don’t even think about dispatching this duo. There’s no going to the light for them.

 Historians disagree on the Borden murder. No surprises there. Did Lizzie or didn’t she?  Look at the evidence, listen to the psychics and what do you think?

Now turn your cameras upward. On full moon nights, such as this, a sad specter is seen standing by that window right up there. If we’re lucky…really lucky, we might catch a glimpse of her.

But who is she? She’s the wife of a long ago whaling ship captain. He perished when his ship was lost one storm tossed night …Her ghost still gazes out to sea, waiting for his return…Never mind that the window faces in the opposite direction of the sea in question. Historians might tell you that the real captain’s house was torn down to make way for a freeway more than a decade ago. And some might even tell you that ghosts don’t exist. Perish the thought. This is the deluxe history redux, rattling skeletons and ghosts included. Shave ice and snow cones are extra.

The road to hell is paved, or so they say, with good intentions.  Landing in hell is easy if you're the forgetful sort.  Woe to the person who forgets February 14th..Flowers and candy and a card that bespeaks love and admiration are the required Valentine's Day tokens of affection.  Just know that your loved one's friends will hang around like hawks, asking  "What did you get?'   All the while flaunting their lover's largesse.  I am loved, I got roses and candy and oooh la la, just read this verse.  Does it matter that some underpaid writer in Wisconsin actually wrote the words? Not-a-bit!  This is Valentine's Day, and yes Night, and unless you want to find yourself in hell   your loved one had better have a damn good answer to that question. What did you get?

Evan a pair of cheezy satin baby dolls is a better answer  than nada, zilch, nothing. You do believe in satin, don't you? It's shiny and soft and catches the light, especially if its mauve or purple...Not to be confused with  Satan. And Satan of course is the man with the pitchfork and a plan. He gets the blame for all our failures and misdeeds.  And if you forget February 14th, he's a convenient scapegoat.  But take heart, all those lacy boxes of high calorie chocolates go on sale half price the day after. Make an excuse to avoid your sweetie on Valentines Day (good luck with that) and you're in business...But don't blame me if  you get caught buying romance on the cheap,  it was Satan that made me write this...