I See Your Evil Eye and Raise You Ronnie James Dio's Grandma

LYRIC O’ THE DAY:

They looked backward and said goodbye. . .she had become like they are

She had taken his hand. . .she had become like they are

--Don't Fear the Reaper, Blue Oyster Cult

Envy. 

A deadly sin capable of leading to eternal damnation.

But envy may be more than just a threat to your soul, it could affect your neighbor's as well.

Envy is associated with the evil eye, aka the matiasma, malocchio, or mal de ojo.  The evil eye is the belief that the act of envy can transmit bad luck, illness, or in some cultures, impotence.  

Something as simple as a compliment gets the eyeball rolling.  Although the name evil eye implies a victim being cursed, the true meaning is closer to coveting, and generally is done without ill will.

The concept probably started in ancient Greece and later passed to ancient Rome.

Medusa, the evil eye on steroids.

Most strong believers are in the Middle East, central America and Mediterranean Europe, but more than one third of the world’s cultures believe in the evil eye.

A Berkeley professor by the name of Alan Dundes has a unique theory about the origins of the evil eye folklore.  He links it to water and its importance in the more arid regions in the world.  He cited that the afflictions blamed on the evil eye included babies vomiting and becoming dehydrated, breastfeeding mothers (or livestock) losing their milk, fruit withering on the tree, and impotency in men.  Basically, to give the evil eye is to cause another to "dry up."  Given dehydration and its effects were a serious threat in these areas, this could be a plausible etiology of the superstition.

"Maybe you just need a glass of water?"

The evil eye typically is not done with malicious intent, but some people may have the power to cast an evil eye--whether they want to or not.  In Southern Italy and Sicily they are called jettatores.  They are not necessarily evil people--just cursed with a terrible power.  How to tell if you’ve met up with a jettatore?  Although envy is commonly associated with a green eyed monster, those with blue eyes are reputed to be more likely to carry the affliction.  You should also avoid the more hirsuit--unibrows are a sign of a jettatore as well. 

You really wanna know what happened to Mr. Hooper?

How do you avoid passing on the evil eye?  In some countries, it is customary to spit after giving a compliment, thereby removing the potential blight of the praise.  Others believe a true annointment of spit is needed--although this is probably better reserved for blood kin. 

In cultures more wary about swapping spittle, you may just touch the person who you compliment to take away the focus of the evil eye.  And what if someone praises you and doesn’t follow these rules of evil eye engagement?  Some cultures have special prayers of protection.  If you aren't one for memorization, another method is to speak ill of yourself to negate the praise.  I always knew self deprecation had a purpose. 

For those of you with a heavy metal side, Ronnie James Dio offers this simple hand gesture to aid in avoiding the evil eye. 

  

RIP Dio

The sign that Dio learned from his Italian grandmother (and now is flashed by legions of metalheads) is actually an ancient hand gesture called the mano cornuto, or “horned hand” in Italian.  Contrary to popular belief, the mano cornuto does not represent the horns of Satan--this is a more recent appropriation of the gesture.  The horned hand historically symbolized the horns of a virile animal, usually a bull.  Pagan religions used it to represent the male consort of the Earth mother goddess.  It's the hand gesture equivalent of showing off your manhood, no power tools or flexing necessary.  When used as an offensive gesture, it indicates to another man that he has been cuckolded.

A French satire representing cuckoldry with horns.

Some anthropologists give the mano cornuto a more feminine view, believing it represents the sacred lady garden--i.e. the fallopian tubes and uterus.  (I have two friends who are anthropologists, and believe me, everything leads back to sexuality eventually.)  Their explanation for the use of the gesture to ward off the evil eye is simple:  when the thumb is inserted between the index and middle finger, it becomes a representation of the phallus nestled safely in the lady garden, unscathed by the hairy eyeball of emasculation.

What to do if despite all of your spitting and gesturing you have been evil eyed? First you may want to confirm your affliction.  The Greeks do this by performing a xematiasma in which olive oil is poured into a bowl of water while chanting prayers--if it forms an eye shape, the curse is confirmed.  If you are lacking oil, try rubbing an egg all over your body and then breaking it open--if the yolk looks like an eye, the deed has been done.

If you can find the person who is responsible, have them spit 3 mouthfuls of water into your mouth to lift the spell.  If that doesn't work, get their phone number and try dinner and a movie instead.  Taking another egg and rubbing it over your face and body, then burying it in a shaded place hidden from the sun is also a cure.

There are many talismans used to repel the evil eye.  The simplest (of Kabbalah and Madonna fame) is the single red string tied around a wrist. 

Others are amulets in the form of an eye, a hand, a horseshoe or some combination thereof.  By wearing an eye, you mirror back the evil eye, thus negating it.   A blue bead gives similar protection--possibly a crude representation of the blue eyed devil that is apt to give the evil eye.

Again, some scholars cite sexuality as a link to the use of an eye-like symbol as a talisman.  The eye worn as protection symbolizes feminine power--aka the cervix.  In the male, an eye mimics the one eyed wonder worm looking right at you.

I'm thinking Anthropologists may put some of the best erotica writers to shame in terms of creativity.

In India, cloth crocheted with tiny mirrors can be a way to avoid the eye.  The hand of Fatima is also a charm, often incorporating an eye within the palm to represent the reflective power of God's grace.

For men, a talisman in the shape of a horn, often cut from coral, may be worn to protect the family jewels.

Since the moon goddess is said to be the mentor of mothers and milk, any crescent shaped talisman will also do the trick.  In ancient Egypt, an amulet carved of red jasper called the Girdle of Isis was popular as a talisman against the evil eye.  When the anthropologists got involved, some postulated that this buckle shaped bauble was a representation of


--wait for it--


the menstrual pad of Isis.

The Menstrual Pad of Isis?

Menstrual blood was considered by many ancient cultures to be all powerful and representative of the possibility of creation of life.  Wearing a symbol of that blood was protective against threats to fertility and sustenance of life.  Interestingly enough, Isis was the mother of Horus, whose eye symbolizes luck, wealth and good health and is often used as a talisman to ward off the evil eye.  A modified version of the eye of Horus even graces U.S. currency.

If you’re not a jewelry person, there are other ways to ward off the evil eye.  In Sicily, a lemon pierced with nine nails can be placed above the threshold, thus barring a jettatore from entering.  Snakeskin also neutralizes the power of the evil eye.  For those with more culinary leanings, a head of garlic with only one clove is often used by gypsies as a talisman. And as recently as the the early 20th century, it was customary to dress little boys as little girls in order to ward off the evil eye.

For men, even if you’ve been caught without a talisman, you’re in luck.  Just grabbing your anthropological source of power may be enough to thwart any malocchio.

The Biebs is just warding off the evil eye, y'all.

Have a beautiful week!  Stay tuned for some disturbing factoids about myself courtesy of a plethora of taggings recently.  There will be nudity.  And maybe an anthropologist.

.

Writing: A Jesus Pancake for your soul

LYRIC O' THE DAY:
I've seen this happen in other people's lives
And now it's happening in mine.
--That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore, The Smiths

Last night Blogger ate my original post, which I took as a sign that I needed to go to bed and/or I was within minutes of being smited.  Maybe I should have referenced the Jesus Fish Stick instead, it is Lent after all.

Welcome to the first spring installment of fearless Ninja captain Alex J. Cavanaugh’s Insecure Writers’ Support Group.  I was planning on posting a list of things to do instead of being insecure, like surfing Ebay for Jesus-shaped food items or decoupaging images of Oprah, but then I found this:

A little investigation and I found that the quote is from Vonnegut's work A Man Without a Country.  The full quote actually says, "If you want to really hurt your parents and you don't have the nerve to be gay, the least you can do is go into the arts."  Now that first part doesn't ring true in my microcosm of the world but the rest of the quote really resonated with me. 

Much of my insecurity comes from trying to define my success.  What do I want out of this life?  Is this really my path?  What do I want out of my writing?  What will make me finally feel worthy?  Somebody give me a sign.

The true Breakfast of Champions?  Vonnegut humor.

We are surrounded by a sea of talented people, all waiting for their own version of the Jesus pancake (or whatever your religious and culinary preference).  What Vonnegut so simply states is that creation IS the reward.  It's the divine blessing; it makes us rise above the dirt, the amoebas, and the Snookis.  The flow of ideas from within fill up your soul and make you successful.  The ultimate reward is realizing how incredible it is to embrace an art and make it your own.

The worthy create.  


Although a trip to IHOP never hurt anyone, either.

  

Eleven, One Louder

LYRIC O’ THE DAY:

Swallow my doubt, turn it inside out

Find nothing but faith in nothing

--Inside Out, Eve 6

The fabulous Annalisa Crawford passed me some questionable bloggy loving!  Wait, that sounded wrong.  What I meant to say was I have been challenged to answer 11 questions from the depths of Annalisa’s mind, and then to make 11 questions of my own to pass on to unsuspecting--and perhaps questionable--bloggers.  I’m calling this little meme “Eleven: One Louder” in honor of that quintessential mockumentary, Spinal Tap.

ELEVEN:  ONE LOUDER

1.  Which book, that you're supposed to love, do you actually hate?

Lolita.  I just could not get past the pedophilia angle, no matter how beautiful the prose.  I get that it is an examination of darkness and perversity, and perhaps it is brilliant because it made me truly uncomfortable.  I just can’t read novels that involve crimes against children; it makes my heart hurt.  Perhaps that’s why I stick to romance and the paranormal. 

2.  What was the last film you saw at the cinema?

I’m not sure if I should admit this, what for fear of having Noxema and other key items of teen angst hurled at me, but it was Breaking Dawn.  A good friend who has a Twilight fetish made me do it--she promised me wine and buff werewolves.  The Bella-Edward deflowering scene made me laugh like a demented cheerleader.  And then I wished I knew a vampire.  Breaking headboards and shredding linen?  Whoa.

3.  Name four people (dead or alive) you would like to invite for dinner. 

This question always intimidates me, because I feel like I should say somebody really monumentous in history.  But then I’m like, if I invite Mother Teresa to dinner, WTH would I say to her?  Would we discuss my hard core fascination with Highlanders and the HEA?  The virtues of bikram vs. ashtanga?  My borderline obsession with finding the perfect running tank?  Seriously, I would probably just sit there and try hard not to spill on myself and feel really, really pathetic in moral terms.  And who wants that kind of pressure?  But I guess, since this is a fantasy dinner, for that night I can miraculously morph into super hostess, fully of witty repartee and social commentary.  I think I’d like to get a big group of very different people together and just watch the dynamics:

John Lennon.  

Johnny Carson.  

John Wayne.

Lucille Ball. 

My Grandma Hulinsky.

And just so I wouldn’t be too freaked out by being surrounded by all dead people, Margaret Atwood.  And maybe Robert Downey Jr., because I just love him.

4.  Can you remember your first teacher?

So I had a bizarre kindergarten experience because my dear older brother and sister had already taught me to read and such, so when I got to school, the powers that be stuck me in an accelerated class for munchkins two days a week.  So the first real teacher I remember was Mrs. Redfern, who had earrings that swung like pendulums, smelled like rose water, and taught me to play with an abacus.  This pissed me off to no end, because everybody else got to design macaroni pictures and play with Little Tikes plastic while I was clacking beads on a wire.  When I got older and had a tiff with some of the mean girls on the playground, one of their favorite digs was to tell me I needed to go back to kindergarten because I missed all of the lessons on having friends.

Those bitches were so wrong.  

The first teacher I will never forget was Mrs. Anderson.  One day during recess she told me I could not play matchbox cars with the boys because that was not a proper game for little girls.  She pulled me across the gym, handed me a jump rope, and said “This is what little girls do.”  Fast forward a few years, and an essay on how little girls should ignore the Mrs. Andersons of the world is what got me into medical school.  To rip off Holden Caulfield, everywhere you go in this world there’s a Mrs. Anderson.  Just don’t let her tell you what you can and cannot do.

5. In which order should Star Wars be watched: IV, V, VI, I, II, III or I, II, III, IV, V, VI?

I’m not sure if order matters, but amount of red wine consumed before each certainly does.

6.  Which fictional character would you like to be for a day?  


I should say someone respectable, like Nancy Drew or Wonder Woman.  Maybe Winnie the Pooh, because he just seems so Zen.  But I think I want to be Rhage from J.R. Ward’s Black Dagger Brotherhood series.  Because he’s a vampire that morphs into a giant dragon and eats bad guys.  And that just sounds amazingly testosterone filled, and if I get to be something else for a day, I think I want to be a man so I can try to understand the motivation and thought patterns of the burlier sex.  Maybe there is a flawed neurologic connection that truly does prevent them from putting dirty clothes in the laundry hamper instead of on the floor.  I could also be Merry Gentry from the Laurell K. Hamilton fairy series.  Because she has a magic vagina that can save the world.  ‘Nuff said.

7.  Sweet or savoury?

Savoury.  Or vinegary.  I have mad love for salty, vinegary things.  I can eat an entire jar of pickled beets in one sitting.  And interestingly enough, then your pee turns red.  As does other things.  Just FYI in case you think you are hemorrhaging internally.

8.  Do you have a tattoo? How many?

I have a tattoo on my shoulder that I talked about in Bohemian vs. bohemian.  I got it about a year ago in homage to my Eastern European heritage and I am really proud of it.  My next ink will be my sons’ names on my right wrist.

9.  Do you still have your first teddy bear? (I do.)

I don’t.  I do have my baby blanket and my first Betsy Wetsy doll.  I also have several bald Barbies that I went hairdresser on when I was a toddler.  I actually just recently bought a Barbie--the Tokidoki Barbie with the pink hair and tattoos.  Now apparently she is on Ebay for lots of money, but I love her too much to sell.

10.  Oggy, oggy, oggy... Does anyone know what comes next? (hehehe)

Hmmm.  Maybe, honey, can you get me a breath mint?

11.  What are you reading right now? 


 I just finished the Karen Marie Moning Fever series.  A very cool twist on fairies.  For something completely different, I just started The Prague Cemetery by Umberto Eco.

And now here are my 11 questions:

1. Paper or plastic?
2. What cartoon do you still secretly enjoy watching?
3. If you could pick up an instrument and immediately know how to play, what instrument would you choose?
4. What is the song that most defines your personality?
5. What’s your anger style?  (i.e. simmer and steam, etc.)
6. What do you think will be the downfall of modern society?
7. What is the best character name you’ve ever come across?
8. What is your most bizarre beauty ritual?
9. What is your favorite scent?
10.   Could your Significant Other identify you by just one body part, and if so, which one?
11.   What moment in your life would have won the $10,000 on America’s Funniest Home Videos?

The 11 questionable bloggers that get these babies are:

D.L. Hammons at Cruising Altitude

Cynthia Chapman Willis at Laptops and Lattes

Julie at Empty Nesty Insider

Raelyn Barclay

Angela Orlowski Peart

L.G. Smith at Bards and Prophets

L.B. Diamond at Diamond-Lucid Dreamer

Delores from The Feathered Nest

Melissa Bradley at Melissa's Imaginarium

Stephen T. McCarthy at Stuffs (just 'cause I'd love to hear the answers and we share mad love for Spinal Tap)

Girl Wizard (on hiatus, but I'd love to get at least question #4 from her)

Answer none, one or e--lev--un.  Ha, that rhymes.  I'm a poet and I didn't know it, but man, my feet show it.  They're Longfellows.

Good day to you all!

I'm Burning For You: Spontaneous Human Combustion

LYRIC O’ THE DAY:

So pardon me while I burst into flames

I’ve had enough of the world and its people’s mindless games

So pardon me while I burn and rise above the flames

--Pardon me, Incubus

There are times when I feel like I am on fire, figuratively speaking.  I’m focused, productive--a whirling dervish of epic organization and creativity.

And then there are the other 364 days of the year.

But I guess a figurative fire in your soul is better than a literal one, which brings me to the subject of today’s mythbusters.  Spontaneous Human Combustion (SHC) is the burning of a living human body without obvious source of external ignition.  In theory, some internal milieu creates an ideal environment for the subject to burst into flames.  In the last 300 years, about 200 cases of the phenomenon have been reported.  With over six billion people in the world, this makes human torchdom an uber-rare occurrence except in comic books.

There are a variety of explanations for the phenomenon, ranging from the paranormal to the physiological.  Almost all cases involve people who are sedentary, either due to obesity or age, and most are in poor health or otherwise impaired by drugs or alcohol. 

The earliest suggested case of SHC was in Italy in 1470 when Polonus Vorstius, a knight known to love his wine and women, supposedly quaffed a particularly wicked brandy one evening and then spewed forth flames and died.  I had a similar reaction after drinking a concoction my bestie at the time made for me called The Three Wise Men.  Jim, Jack and Johnnie were never meant to be mixed.  (FYI, if you add Jaeger, it’s called The Four Horseman.  And you should definitely prepare for the apocalypse if you’re still standing afterwards.)

The first scientific evaluation of Spontaneous Human Combustion came from Danish physician Thomas Bartholin in 1663.  He described a woman in Paris who seemingly burned alive while sleeping--however, the straw mattress she slept upon remained intact.  Fifty years later, Nicole Millet, the alcoholic wife of a wealthy French landlord, burned to death while seated in her chair in the family kitchen.  After her death, Monsieur Millet was arrested for her murder. Using the defense of spontaneous human combustion, he was acquitted of all charges.  Jonas Dupont, another Frenchman, was so inspired by this story that he published a collection of SHC cases in his “De Incendiis Corporis Humani Spontaneis” in 1763.

A famous U.S. case of human combustion involved a physician named John Irving Bentley.  Bentley, a 92 year-old pipe smoker, was found in his bathroom by a meter reader--or at least the lower half of his right leg (slipper intact) and his walker were found.  The charred hole that surrounded the doctor was approximately two feet square, but the remainder of the house was intact.  Given the condition of the body, the coroner could only comment that death was likely due to asphyxiation and burning of the body, possibly with pipe tobacco as an ignition. 

Forensic photo taken of the remains of Dr. Bentley

Some religious zealots use cases such as these as a sign of the Big Guy laying down some heavenly smiting.  Why an elderly man on his way to the loo deserved smiting remains unexplained, but in April 2011, a man supposedly burst into flames while watching videos in a San Francisco porn shop.  I don't believe the case was divinely orchestrated, but is an impressive feat of friction to say the least.

The most researched case of SHC is that of St. Petersburg, Florida resident Mary Reeser in 1951.  Mary was a portly woman who settled down in her armchair with a cocktail of sleeping pills, alcohol, and a cigarette one night, only to awaken a victim of SHC.  When she was found, her skull had burned to the size of a baseball, but most of the chair, as well as the surrounding room, was unscathed (granted, her apartment was floored and walled with concrete).  The FBI and some of the nation’s best forensic scientists were involved in her case.  

Reeser’s case exemplifies the hypothesis of “the wick effect,” in which a small external flame--in this case, the cigarette--chars the clothing of the victim, eventually splitting the skin below.  In a more rotund person that is impaired with mother’s little helpers, this slow burn may not be sensed.  Fat is released from the wound, which is then absorbed by the clothing.  And now you have a wick for a very human candle.  Forensic scientist John DeHaan experimentally supported this theory using a dead pig wrapped in cloth.  

Not part of DeHaan's experiment.  Saliva is a poor fire extinguisher.

The fire fueled by the pig's body fat released less than 80 kilowatts of heat--no more than a large waste basket fire.  This explained why surrounding items often do not ignite and why there is usually lots of sooty, greasy residue left behind.  Essentially a body becomes a large tallow candle under the right circumstances:  impaired victim, ready amounts of fuel (i.e. copious corpulence), and some kind of ignition, be it cigarette, misguided ember, or electricity.   For those of you partial to CSI, Grissom and his band of merry forensicists replicated DeHaan's experiment on an episode dealing with SHC.   

If the wick effect doesn’t light your fire, there are still other explanations.  Skeptics often believe that most of these incidents are actually murder coverups and an accelerant is just never identified.  Others suggest that special circumstances in the victim combined with high energy particles or static electricity may serve as an ignition source.  Alcoholic victims are thought to be more susceptible due to that tasty accelerant in their bloodstreams.  That theory was supported by Charles Dickens when he used it to kill off his character Krook in the novel Bleak House.  However, if the ignition of an alcohol requires a mix that is around 40% ethanol, but death via alcohol poisoning occurs at around 0.5% blood alcohol level, the likelihood of a human consuming enough alcohol to ignite is nil.  Unless you’re Keith Richards.

Do not light that cigarette, Keith.

Larry Arnold, a self-proclaimed SHC expert, suggested there is a subatomic particle called the pyroton that is responsible.  This particle (whose existence has never been confirmed) interacts with human cells to create a mini-power generator and explosion.  Sort of like nuclear fission on a cellular level.  Other less explosive theories include spontaneous MASER (microwave amplification by stimulated emission of radiation) beams, which can occur in nature from decaying atoms and geomagnetism.  

For all of you yoga lovers out there, the pyrokinetic powers of kundalini have also been implicated.  Kundalini is described as a dormant energy within all humans, normally coiled at the base of the spine.  It often is represented by a serpent.  Through meditation and yoga, one can awaken the kundalini and make it rise until it reaches the top of the head, producing a powerful awakening in those who experience it.  It is suggested that those who cannot channel this heat energy properly may find themselves injured.

Cobra pose at your own risk.

My favorite explanation for Spontaneous Human Combustion comes from that bastion of reliable scientific information, South Park. 

Randy Marsh, father extraordinaire, explains SHC as a new lover’s phenomenon.  Victims try to avoid passing gas in front of their new sweetheart, and in doing so create a methane bomb waiting to happen.  This cartoon theory actually has a factual basis.  Hydrogen and methane are flammable gases produced by bacteria in the gastrointestinal tract, mainly the large bowel.  There are case reports of intraoperative explosions ignited from the combination of cautery, methane, and the high oxygen environment of the surgical suite.

The idea of bursting into flames due to flatulence should serve as a lesson to fraternity boys across the nation.

Have a wonderful week!  I am looking forward to some days off after being on service for the past month so I can catch up with blogs and writing!  I also need to post responses to some awesome blog awards I received last week, so stay tuned.  Thanks Annalisa, Trisha, and Kathleen for thinking of me!