A rather dull day beer-wise. I had one celebratory Michelob Ultra for managing to figure out how to configure my notebook to work with my dad’s monitor, keyboard and mouse and two Bud Lights with dinner. I promise to branch out at Native New Yorker this week at trivia night.
Cursed in New England: Stories of Damned Yankees by Joseph A. Citro, copyright 2004, published by Pequot Press
Like many books published lately, I was notified that no part of [the] book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means. No doubt a curse would be forthcoming.
If you go back to when I first started this blog, you would see my posts on Haunted Happenings by Robert E. Cahill. You remember Mr. Cahill? The guy who took photos of Barbie and claimed it to be a spirit? Oddly enough, or perhaps not odd at all, Mr. Cahill features in this current books as being among the cursed. As a one-time sheriff of Salem, he believed that he suffered from the Curse of Giles Corey, a poor sod who cursed the town of Salem and its authorities whilst he was being tortured to death for an accusation of witchcraft.
How was Mr. Cahill cursed you ask? Well, during his tenure as Sheriff, he suffered a rare blood disease, heart attack and a stroke and was forced to retire and photograph Barbies. He also claims that all the previous sheriffs as far back as he could trace, also suffered heart troubles. Hum Twilight theme here.
My favorite story so far is the Curse of Black Agnes. Black Agnes is, in my opinion, a rather attractive piece of graveyard statuary located in Montpelier, Vermont.
It is unknown why the statue became known as Black Agnes, but the rumor goes as follows: If you dare to sit in her lap by the light of the full moon, you will suffer seven years of bad luck and possibly even death. After further reading it turns out that Black Agnes is a carving of Thanatos, the Greek God of Death. That’s right. Agnes is a he.
Now for the film of the week. I use the word film much in the same way one would call the No-Tell Motel a hotel.
The Man with the Iron Fists was written and directed by rapper RZA (which explains the bad hip-hop soundtrack) and produced by Quentin Tarantino (which explains the abundance of blood). RZA also stars (i.e., attempts to act) in this badly written ripoff of Rocky, Enter The Dragon, X-Men and Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. Costuming was apparently provided by Hair Bands R Us. The sales rack.
Russell Crowe and Lucy Lui should be embarrassed.