Tuesday, October 22, 2013
His voice echoed in the still darkness. "Ted, I really don't like this."
What's Corb complaining about now? Well, here's the thing: it's nine o'clock on a Saturday night, and instead of partying like the rock stars we are, like we do every Saturday night, OF COURSE, the two of us are walking about at the Mount Hope Cemetery in North Attleboro, MA, on the trail of the elusive dancing Jesus statue.
Who would have thought? A dancing Jesus. What does he do, the hokey pokey?
All right, all right, it's pure hokum, I agree with you. Some nonsense dreamed up by someone trying to make some noise. However, the location is close to Eldredge, and the site is legitimately categorized on the web as an alleged haunted location. Hey, it's on the internet, so it must be true, right?
Apparently, if you stare at the statue long enough, it will start to undulate and dance. Is this a fricking statue of Elvis or Jesus?
We weren't close to seeing it dilate, much less undulate. Instead, we were walking through the cemetery, all alone, navigating through the narrow twisty roadways, my mustang about a quarter of mile away. Searching for the elusive Jesus, we were. Me, with a camera in my hand, and Corb, with a big ass flashlight. It ws a perfect night for ghost hunting, the air cool and crisp. No one around for miles. And here was Corb, getting more creeped out by the second.
Think of him as the Costello to my Abbot. Or would that be the Elvis to my Costello?
Either way, all I know is this graveyard was way too large for us to be alone in it so late at night. This is a lush, old fashioned cemetery, dating back to the 1850s, and during the day it's lovely, filled with stately old trees, lovingly maintained, nestling side by side with row upon row of quaint New England headstones. At night, however, the lack of modern conveniences, like, say, electrical lighting, make it something else entirely. It's like walking through a garden, only it's pitch black and there's a whisper of past lives all around you. It would be the perfect place to reenact the legend of Sleeply Hollow, and Corb increasingly had no desire to go the way of Ichibod Crain.
"Ted, we need to turn around."
"Ted, we need to get back to the car."
"What was that? Ted, I don't like this!"
"Wait a minute." I stopped, pointed ahead of me. "Is that it?"
Cue the choir of angels. There in front of us, a large white statue. Jesus, arms spread wide, certainly looking happy, surrounded by a mess of flowers. The two of us stopped and stared.
A minute went by. Two. No movement.
"Should I break out some disco from my iPhone? A little mood music?" I asked. "Would that help?"
"Shhhhh." Corb stood there, staring at the statue. Another minute passed. And then finally, firmly. "It's just an optical illusion. A trick of the eye. That's what I figured."
"Are we done here?"
Corb nodded. Well, that was certainly anti-climactic. The trip there was scarier and more thrilling than the actual main attraction. But isn't that the way it is for most real life ghost adventures? I snapped a few photos and we turned around. The ghost busters had busted their ghost/not ghost. "Let's get the hell out of here," said Corb, the fear returning into his voice.
Now for the next challenge: figuring out how the hell to get back to the car.
Posted by nocompromises at 11:53 AM
Monday, October 14, 2013
From the Reader's Mailbag: "Katie Couric is such a genuine person, she deserves happiness! Dying to know what her girls think of the lucky guy." B. Green via Facebook
I mean, dying? Really?
Honestly, there are very few things I'm dying to know. The secret lady handshake, maybe. The answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything, absolutely. The day Corb will actually admit I'm right about something, fer sure. But anything involving that "genuine gal" Katie Couric, her lucky guy, or her girls? I'm sorry; not really.
Why on earth do people get so obsessed with celebrities? I just don't get it. And yet, I see it all the time. I have a friend who reads these rags religiously, and she'll go on and on with some of her friends, prattling aimlessly about Miley and Liam breaking up, or what a dog that Lamar was to Khloe. All of it conducted on a first name basis, by the way, as if she actually knows these people. As if by vicariously reading about them and their puffed up PR pieces in some general circulation national magazine, she's been officially made an inner part of their sanctum santorum. Like she's somehow been become a lifelong friend of the bosom.
I mean, I guess I can understand (to a certain extent) the obsession some people have with royalty, which is similar, but at least somewhat justifiable. That sort of hero worship dates back for centuries, back to a time when royalty considered themselves divine. Those things linger, and besides, everyone likes a good fairy tale every now and then. Even then, though, I must confess that I always find myself tuning out whenever I hear talk about Harry this or William that, or the royal bump or baby or what have you. I haven't really paid much attention to any of that stuff since Princess Diana. Married. That was some time ago...
I guess it passes the time. Adds a little color into this world, by squawking about the peacocks. Still, it's one thing to casually talk at the water cooler about the latest lifestyles of the rich and the famous, and another thing altogether to be hanging on the edge of your seat waiting to find out how Katie's kidlets reacted to meeting her lucky guy. Did the squeal with delight? Did they giggle with glee? Who really gives a shit? Well, except maybe Katie Couric and her family, I guess. That's their business.
Oh, I get it. This poor Facebook reader who wrote to People magazine "via" Facebook was simply engaging in a bit of hyperbole (and by the way, I'm still trying to get used to the fact that via now means "by means of" as well as "by way of.") Even so, all this hero worship takes precious time away from talking about the important things in life.
Important things like talking about the bride who pushed the groom over the cliff, for example...now THAT's important.
Posted by nocompromises at 11:51 AM