1. I’m getting really excited for y’all to see this year’s ghost stories. Yes, those of you who bought the book and read it will have already seen them, but you can still come here and talk about which ones you like and which ones you hate and why.
2. I’ve scheduled my five for Pith! I think I have a good mix over there. I’m hoping the Nashville Feed guys will do “All the Same Old Haunts” (which reminds me, I need to get with them), which I used as my last story at Pith (I also did “Laura,” the Baptist Sunday School Publishing one, “Lucy White,” and one I’m not remembering off the top of my head) but, other than that story, I’m going to try to tell different stories different places so that, if you bump into publicity for the book, it doesn’t suck because it’s just the same stories over and over.
3. Speaking of Pith, I think I have a couple of good ones over there today. One on how unrealistic it is to assume that Muslims get along better than other religious folks and the other on witches infiltrating Belmont. I especially appreciate them letting the Parsons/Hubbard crack go through, because Hubbard’s links to Crowley are really fascinating to me.
4. Barry Mazor linked to this awesome story on his Facebook page, so I’m sharing it with you.
5. This awesome thing that Mick Foley wrote about Tori Amos will break your heart. I believe professional wresting is an art, an amazing art that takes a lot of skill. Foley was an amazing artist. The thing for me is that so was Chris Benoit. It takes no effort for me to picture him coming off the top rope, his arms spread, his legs straight behind him, the mat far below him, and, for a second, you thought he might never come down. And then his brain turned to mush and he killed his family and himself. Because, we’re learning, that’s what happens to folks who take repeated, even minor, head injuries–wrestlers, football players, even Lou Gehrig probably didn’t die of the disease named after him, but instead, of this brain mushing.
I love wrestling, but I just can’t watch it any more. I feel like I’m watching drug-users commit beautiful, slow-motion suicide in front of me and I have to turn away.
I’m afraid for Mick. I hope he stays okay.