Malocchio!

I just found out yesterday, that a woman I believe to be highly sensible and rational, totally believes in the evil eye. Once upon a time, she said, a guy asked her out and she said no, and he gave her the malocchio, which caused her to fall and sprain her ankle later that day. It, of course, had to be cured via that oil ritual thing that people do.

To quickly explain, the evil eye is when someone thinks bad thoughts about you (sometimes disguised by a compliment), and then bad shit happens to you. It is considered fact, not superstition, by many people in my family.

I sometimes suspect that it might be a thing that exists. It's kind of an odd thing because it's not like you always give it by announcing "I place the malook on you!" or whatever- it's not always conscious. You can give it by admiring something and being envious of it at the same time. Because of the color of my eyes, I'm supposed to be especially inclined to give people the malocchio. If it does exist and is something I do, I'm totally an asshole, because I can name like, 50 bad things that have happened to people after they've pissed me off significantly. But so can anyone, I would imagine, if they think hard enough on it- these things are just coincidences.

I also think that sometimes things of that nature are self-fulfilling prophecies. Once upon a time, back in NY, this one chick went and tried to put a curse on me. I found this out because my friend's aunt and uncle ran a Santerian store, and she happened to be there that day. Despite my rational nature, I gave second thoughts to every crappy thing that happened to me that week. I also used to believe that there was a curse on my birthday. I believed it so much that I'd end up freaking out over every little thing that happened on it and blaming it on the curse. It was pretty spooky though- one year a tree branch fell on my new car and totalled it. I think a Ramone died on my birthday as well. I also broke my foot one year. But it stopped when Reagan died on my birthday and I decided that that meant the curse was over. Nothing bad has happened since.

I don't really believe in these superstitions, but if I were you, I'd be nice to me.

The Ur-Drummer

So... the other night I ran into the ur-drummer. The first in a long line/near constant stream of drummers I have dated/seen/hung out with what-have-you... that have all basically been the same dude. It's kinda weird, but life tends to carve out patterns like that. For a string of years something broke every year on my birthday (my foot, my heart, my car...).

But, well, with the drummers it goes like this- an overenthusiastic beginning (on their part), quickly followed by a catastrophic end, nearly always brought about by a jaw-dropping lack of basic manners and tact on the part of said drummer. This one was always late, and then, when he was supposed to meet me at a showing of The Purple Rose of Cairo (which was like, my favorite movie ever at the time), called me ten minutes after he was supposed to meet me at the theatre to say he couldn't make it. This, however, is absolutely nothing in comparison to the insanity that followed it from any of the others in his wake. At most, it rates a 1.5 on the scale of douchebaggery I have been exposed to. Trust me, I could tell you some stories (which I totally will. Also, uh, I write them- which you think would cause some sort of self-censorship on their part, but no.).

But this is the thing, the curse on my birthday? It stopped after Reagan died on it. I'm sort of hoping that running into the ur-drummer will put an end to this Groundhog's Day-like pattern of dudes. Which would be pretty rad, because frankly I need something new to write about. It's getting a bit tedious, don't ya think?

Old and rickety

It is now June 5th. I am old and rickety! Did you know that there was once a curse on my birthday? It's true. I broke my foot one year, and another year a tree fell on my car that I'd only had for a week, and a lot of other things happened... until Reagan died on my birthday, and then everything has pretty much been ok since. However, in the words of Miss Ruth Gordon, discussing how old one is, is the very temple of boredom.

Did you know that Ruth Gordon is basically my personal idol? Seriously, she is. I watched Rosemary's Baby again the other night, and I love her guts more than you can possibly know. It's true. And not just because she was Maude in Harold and Maude, although that's a major part of it. In case you didn't know, she and her husband Garsin Kanin wrote Adam's Rib, and Pat and Mike, and were supposedly the inspiration for Tracey and Hepburn's onscreen personas (gush! I know, I'm lame.). Also, she played a character based on Dorothy Parker in some play by George Oppenheimer. So, like, basically, she rocks my face. If she were alive, and a man, I would want to marry her and have all of her babies- even if they were actually Satan's. It's true. And I don't like short chicks!