Hexes and O's

I'm not completely sure, but I think it's really bad luck to interrupt a voodoo priest when he's on the phone trying to order more snakes for his next ritual. Anyway, that's what happened yesterday in the lobby of the New Orleans Historic Voodoo Museum during my quest to learn about this city's long and bizarre association with the occult. And ever since, my Super Bowl karma has been on E.

After placing his order for more serpents, like a guy dialing up for takeout Chinese, the gentleman behind the counter informed me that interviews with the museum's curator could be arranged for $150 and, for my convenience, the underworld was now accepting Visa and MasterCard. I passed on this offer with a hearty laugh (thus earning my first hex of the day, something about a perpetually broken TV remote) only because in New Orleans, where sorcery and black magic have been around since the 1700's, psychics, voodoo priests and general witchcraft wackos are more prevalent in the French Quarter than takeout daiquiri booths. There are vampire tours, ghost tours, daily seances, witching seminars and even a place called the Society for Paranormal Research that, according to its brochure, is "Pioneering the Paranormal." And all this time I thought the person doing that was Jerry Jones.

With so many options at my disposal, I wandered on and soon came across the Great Marie Laveau House of Voodoo. Ms. Laveau is, of course, the last great voodoo queen of New Orleans, having reigned over the city's spirits, after quitting her job as a hairdresser, from 1819 to 1869. Inside this particular House of Voodoo are death masks, skulls, chicken claw key chains, High John the Conqueror voodoo soap, All Purpose voodoo dolls, powders, potions, candles, coins, books with titles like: King Tut's Dream Book and, finally, a giant altar to Laveau with a sign next to it that says, Please, no photos, you'll lose your camera . . . and your soul. Yikes.

Sitting toward the back of the shop was a creepy looking woman named Norma. I asked Norma if she could help me locate the spirit of Vince Lombardi to see what he thinks about Breathe Right nasal strips and football teams that use the color teal. She said no. So I asked about putting a tiny hex on Art Modell. She said no, again.

"I'm sorry, we just do not do black or evil magic here," she said. "And we will not put hexes or cast spells on the Packers or the Patriots if that's what you want. We're getting 20 people a day asking for that kind of stuff. But that only comes back to you and gives you bad karma. I think until the Super Bowl is finished we need to put up a sign, No Hexes."

"OK, well how about the super duper deluxe hex on the Saints, was that your work?" I asked. "Or, how about the one on the AFC in the Super Bowl? Who did that one? A little strong doncha think?" Norma did not answer, she just mumbled what sounded like a hex about an eternally malfunctioning Spellchecker. I am batting 1.000-two houses of voodoo visited, two curses hurled my way. Somehow, in the middle of the world's most charmed city, I'm outta luck. I feel like Rich Kotite.

But before leaving the French Quarter I decided to take one more crack at straightening my crooked karma. I sat down with tarot card reader Keith Carson who has been reading cards on a rickety table near Jackson Square for 30 years. One of just a handful of licensed card readers on the square, Keith was taught the trade by his grandma when he was 10. And right away, he impresses me with his vision.

"Readings are $20," he says, scanning my thoughts. "And the nearest ATM machine is over there. Don't ask, I just know these things, that's all."

Turns out, old Keith was just getting warmed up. After describing several family members all the way down to their eye color, careers and zodiac signs, he encouraged me to ask three important or critical questions I might have about my future. So now, I know that A) my dog is going to live another eight years and then die of a heart attack, (you have to know when to cut these people off); B) Cleveland will indeed get another football team, and; C) no one, Keith promised, will know the difference if I buy everyone back home their Super Bowl souvenirs on Monday when the prices drop 50%.

Finally, Keith flipped over all of his directional cards, enlisting the spirits to predict a Super Bowl champion. They all came up North and West.

"There's no question," he said. "It's going to be the Packers."

Just as long as I stay away from 'em.