kitten coda

co·da
Pronunciation: 'kO-d&
Function: noun
Etymology: Italian, literally, tail, from Latin cauda

I lost a friend today.

Tigger found us in the parking lot a little over 15 years ago. It was a raw, bitter day and he was a scrawny, smelly little thing. That's how we managed to find all of our cats; rather, I should say, that's how all of them have found us over the years. (Don't get me wrong - we're not those cat people you see pushing shopping carts full of squirming masses. "All those cats" totals three, now down to one.)

It was obvious Tigger was a fighter. Undernourished, neglected, parasite-ridden, he had apparently survived off of scraps around the dumpster at our apartment complex. I guess we looked friendly, because when we pulled up and got out of our car that December day he latched onto us as if we had always been family. He curled around our ankles and purred, grateful for things we hadn't yet offered.

Noticing the sleet, we took him in to the apartment, much to the consternation of Punkin, the current owner of the domain. Punkin had shown up on our doorstep in much the same way a couple of years prior, although looking less bedraggled.

We fed and cleaned Tigger (the name was obvious; bright orange with stripes, and a vivacious personality despite recent hardships) as best we could, and took him to the vet as soon as possible. To do so I bundled him in a stocking cap of mine. I wish we had a picture.

Turns out young Master Tigger was a neutered male about a year old, more or less, and riddled with parasites but otherwise healthy. We left him with the vet for a couple of days to treat him and get the requisite shots, then picked him up, took him home, and let he and Punkin get acquainted.

The running joke at our house was that Punkin was never a kitten and Tigger never grew up. Even when Punkin played he would do it in an oddly wise way. Tigger, on the other hand, was always waiting for that next opportunity to explore, or that next butterfly to chase, right up to the end.

Punkin died a few years ago, and shortly after that Troubadour entered our lives. (Karma seems to think two cats is a good number for us...)

In the last couple of weeks Tigger had been acting odd: stumbling, and getting spooked by seemingly nothing. Then last night the symptoms became acute, and my wife and I compared notes and noticed he hadn't been drinking over the past couple of days.

I took him to the vet this morning, then got a call a little later. Kidney failure. The vet listed options and didn't state the obvious, but when I said I didn't want Tigger to suffer, all he said was, "It's the right decision."

I went over and signed a consent form. They asked me if I wanted to stay while they did it. Of course. I wanted mine to be the last face he saw, not just a roomful of strangers.

I didn't stay long afterwards.

We moved recently, and Tigger really liked the new house. I'm really glad he got a chance to enjoy it.

It's supposed to be in the 80s today. Interesting how it feels like another raw, bitter day

Why magic?

Face it, magic's an odd preoccupation. Our goal as magicians is to work so hard on what we do that it becomes invisible, in order to show people things that clearly can't happen. And people wonder why magicians are so odd.

The dichotomy really is crucial to what draws many (and I include myself) to magic. We tend to have odd views of the world, and are often not mainstream in other areas of our lives. Magic tends to mirror, if not correct, many of the oddities we find in our personalities.

I once got fed up with magic club politics and was bitching to a friend about it, threatening to quit magic. He told me I couldn't do that, because I didn't choose magic, it chose me. Once I thought about that I decided he was right. Magic really does have an insidious hold on me.

Why magic? I want to remind people, myself included, that there is still wonder in the world and it's worth seeking.

Today's link will take you to the bizarre side of magic.

The frustration of message boards

Ok, so I post something educational, enlightening and humorous in response to a question on a message board - I mean, you know it's the definitive answer because, well, it's me, right? Then I go back later and there are 17 responses after mine. A number of the responses mimic exactly what I've said, adding nothing, or say, "Me too!" A few say, "No way!," but provide no further information. Several point out spelling mistakes to some of the responses following my response. And at least one is a non sequitur that says something like, "But what about camera edits?," when the question asked about good books on mentalism.

Even if I gave the Rosetta Stone of answers to the poor git's question it'd be lost in the noise. But at least this blog's link would still show up in my signature, which was the whole point anyway.

A little less wise

I'd been feeling slightly out of sorts lately. And that's bad - I need all the sorts I can get. Until yesterday it had been sort of an indeterminate out of sorts. Yesterday it crystallized. I had teeth problems. Or, more specifically, I was pretty sure I had a tooth problem. Wisdom, that is.

I've never had a cavity. Not one. Zip. Nada. Zero. So in general dentist visits don't bother me. However, specifically I hate pain. So that was Problem One. Problem Two was that I figured out that this was a tooth issue on Friday. Late. And by then I was in fairly significant pain. My regular dentist isn't open at all on Friday, and not too many are open after 6 pm. So my wife and I did the reasonable thing: we started calling random dentists from the phone book.

Wonder of wonders, we found one who performed emergency services. They mentioned they don't take checks, only cash or credit cards. And they weren't on any insurance plans. However, we were pretty desperate at that point (did I mention the hating pain thing?) so we set up an appointment for 7:45.

When we got there they had me fill out the requisite forms, I handed them my medication list, which I had the foresight to print out (it reads like a short novel, what with the medical mess I am), then they took an x-ray. Impacted Wisdom tooth. "Surrounded by a bony mass." Hmmmm.

They used a local anesthetic, and said they could do it with or without nitrous oxide. You guess which route the coward took. (Did I mention the pain, and the hating?) Originally the doc said this would be a quick and easy procedure. However, our good friend Mr. Bony Mass proved to be quite the obstacle. 90 minutes and many implements later (I'll have nightmares about some of those...) it finally came out - in pieces. I'll admit the procedure didn't hurt at the time, even though they pried my jaws open wider than anything I've seen since a National Geographic special where a python swallowed a rabbit, and used tools that, I'm sure, were developed to extract information from enemy agents rather than teeth.

Once the anesthetic wore off things got interesting, and not in a good way (you know, the pain, and the hate?). Even the hydrocodone they prescibed didn't dent it much.

Things are much better today. They stitched most of the hole closed, so there is little chance of a dry socket. The pain is significantly diminished, and I still have my good friend hydrocodone, along with some steroidal anti-inflammatories, to help.

Now I just need to find the rest of my sorts.

Now there's an idea

I really need to start a notebook. I get spectacular ideas (well, in my estimation...) and then either don't write them down or write them down on a napkin and lose the napkin.

I know what the first entry in my notebook would be. I have a line I've wanted to work into a routine for a long time but have never found the right spot. Some day I'll forget the line. Here's that brilliant line I'm afraid of losing:

"How do I accomplish my miracles? Through a rare combination of Eastern mysticism and Western store-bought magic props."

OK, now that you're done rolling in the aisles... I know it may not be comedic gold to you, but it's a line that I think could really work for me - in the right routine, delivered the right way. And if I forget the damn thing it'll never happen.

If I just start that silly notebook, I'll have at least one entry, and my line will be safe.

At least until I lose the notebook...

Andy Mckee - Drifting - Acoustic Guitar - www.candyrat.com

Andy Mckee - Drifting - Acoustic Guitar - www.candyrat.com

Something I thought you'd enjoy.

Finding my voice

I was driving home yesterday listening to a Steve Forbert CD. "Romeo's Tune" (a song I love and that he dedicated to the memory of Florence Ballard, late of The Supremes) came on. I started singing with it. I do a pretty dead-on imitation of Mr. Forbert on that particular song. A friend once commented on how eerily I capture his sound.

Similarly, I do a pretty decent imitation of Elton John on "Candle in the Wind" - the one from the Live in Australia album, not the one from Goodbye Yellow Brick Road; I find the former has more emotion than the latter.

Even if a song is not in my key or my range I can transpose and still sound at least a little like the artist. For example, I tend to sing harmony rather than lead on early Beach Boys songs.

When do I sound the worst? When I'm singing 'cold,' without a recorded reference. In other words, I can sing like other people, but I can't really sing like me.

I think this is because I learned to sing from the radio and from records. My goal was to sound like the artists I was hearing. If I were serious about learning to sing I'd hire a teacher, learn to read music, and learn to sing like me.

What's the word?

It was session night with a friend, so we met at the usual place. (In truth, I'm not sure he's still a friend. I performed the cardinal sin of magic - I offered my honest opinion about something he was involved in. Haven't heard from him since.) Anyway, he brought along another guy, a relative newbie to the art of magic. After some general conversation the guy made a strange request:

"Show me a sleight."

Keep in mind I'd never seen him perform, didn't really know his interests or skill level, and even if I did it would be an odd request. Kinda like meeting a piano player and asking him/her to play a note for you!

I wish I could say the guy asked this because he was relatively new to magic. But stranger things have come out of the mouths of experienced magicians. I have heard (and been asked) this question more than once: "What's the best palm?" Now let's assume for the sake of a family audience that we're talking about cards - it's still way too open a question. Here is a partial list of the things you need to take into consideration before deciding which method to use to palm a single card:

Are the cards starting out face up or face down? Will the card need to end up with its face against your palm or with its back against your palm? Will it be held out for a very short time or for an extended period? What will happen to the palmed card - put back on the deck, loaded into a wallet, slid into a spectator's pocket? How many people present - one, five, two hundred? How big are your hands? What happens just before you want to palm the card? What palming methods are in your repertoire? etc., etc., etc.

It's a bit like being in the middle of a conversation and having someone say, in no particular context, "Give me a word." Well, I think the best word at that point would be, "huh?" In other words, context is everything.

Want a word? OK, the word for today is "lagniappe."
Want the best palm? It's the one that serves your purposes at the time.

Waiter, there's a man in my soup!

Once upon a time my wife's car died so she drove me to work in my car. My work has a security gate that requires a badge to enter after 5:00 p.m. There were several problems with that, especially that particular day:
1. I get off at 6:00 p.m., and
2. I had my badge, which I needed to get around the building, so
3. my wife stopped outside the security gate, which is 150 feet or so from the building proper (remember my bad knee) and
4. it picked that day, at that time, to rain like hell. I was soaked when I got to the car.

We decided to go out to eat. My first stop was to the restroom to towel off as best I could (read: I was still sopping wet).

The restaurant had a strolling magician. The food was good. The magician was not. I'm not even particularly talking about his tricks. I just cringed at how he approached the table and how he treated the patrons. Some examples:

• He carried a large wooden case with a drawer that contained his props. When he approached the table he touched peoples plates (with food on them) to move them to accommodate his case. Don't do that.
  
• He then asked people to shift their chairs around and pay attention to him rather than their food. Don't do that.
  
• He started his routine by saying, "We're going to play a game, and you can't win." Don't do that.
  
• He then did an incredibly long routine while the people were trying to eat. Don't do that.
  
• He invoked religion in the middle of the routine without gauging his audience. Don't do that.
  
• He performed for more than twenty minutes at the one table. Don't do that. (I could tell they wanted him to leave, and other tables wanted him to perform for them. He was oblivious.)
  

The sad thing is that I'm sure if I asked the guy he'd say he had a very successful performance. After all, he stayed at the table for twenty minutes, right? And that gave him one more notch in his belt - one more "successful" performance.

I was discussing magic with a friend one time, and the various skill levels among people despite the fact that some had been in magic a very long time. He then said something that stuck with me, and that I think of when I see someone like our strolling clueless wonder (worker). He said, and I'm paraphrasing, that some people have thirty years of experience in magic and some people have one year of experience thirty times.

I once did restaurant magic for a living (for a very short time). I was very hesitant to approach a table. People were there to eat - I was a surprise, and, contrary to most magicians' beliefs, not everyone likes surprises, and not everyone likes magic. I tried to be in tune with my audience, and if they weren't up for what I was doing I would cut it short and thank them for their time. I also tried to work from my pockets, and I seldom set anything on the table. I never touched plates or utensils that were still in use. That just struck me as wrong. Still does. If food came I wrapped up and moved on unless I was specifically requested to stay. In that same vein, I kept my routines short, and the few routines that ran a bit long were modular so I had several stopping points in case I needed one.

If I were to do restaurant work again I think I'd have table tents printed (or talk the restaurant into having them printed) that say something like, "Place this card near the end of your table if you'd like to see the magician." Something like that would be relatively cheap at your local Kinko's, and it'd serve a dual purpose: it would inform the patrons that a magician was on premises, and it would give them a method to signal said magician and let him/her know they were up for a performance. Then you could approach a table and know you weren't interrupting.

Do that.

*************

Since writing this I've been informed that several performaers have used the table tent idea. I've heard the names Don Alan, Scott Guinn, and Eugene Burger, among others, mentioned. Great minds...

My other passion

Other than magic, another passion of mine is music. I grew up in a musical household. I love music of all kinds, from classical to rock to jazz to folk to blues to rap to electronica to alt country to stuff I really can't classify.

To my chagrin I don't play an instrument. My mom and her mom both played piano and organ. Some day I may learn. I tried learning harmonica once upon a time but my cat would have none of it - he howled and tried to rip the harp from my hands. Damn music critics.

In light of my love of music, I thought I'd introduce any readers I may have (hello? HELLO?) to a music site a co-worker shared with me: http://www.pitchforkmedia.com/. Wonderful alternative music (whatever that is these days...alternative to what?) and free downloads.

Enjoy.

Primate motivate

I don't know where he first heard the phrase, but I'm sure it's not original with him. We were watching a young magician who (so far) had learned all his magic via video. He apparently knew no complete effects, but he could shuttle pass, Sybil cut, and Sylvester Pitch with the best of them. BS Andrews turned to me and said two words:

"Move monkey."

Perfect. Those two words said it all.

I still chuckle when I think about that moment.

"Move monkey."

Mothers, tell your children

A story about one of my weirder gigs:

A friend from work knew I was a magician. He also knew some folks who were getting married and were looking for entertainers for their reception. He asked me to come down for an audition. I agreed.

I showed up at the audition. A number of other people were there. The couple getting married were Vietnamese; I was the only Westerner present. I did my bit, they liked it, I got booked and I hung around. The band (two people; a guitarist/singer and a guy with a keyboard with a number of sampled sounds) was jamming and various people would grab the mike. They came to a song I knew so I figured what the heck.

I'm a pretty good singer. I'm not as good as most professionals but better than your average karaoke singer. When I was done the room erupted! They asked me if I would sing at the wedding as well as do magic. They wanted me to do the song I had just performed. I tried to argue but they would have none of it.

I wasn't arguing out of false modesty. I was arguing over song choice. The song I had arbitrarily grabbed the mike for on that fateful audition? "House of the Rising Sun." That's right, the song I sang at a Vietnamese wedding reception was an American blues number about a boy whose life was ruined because he visited a house of prostitution.

In retrospect, a perfect wedding song.

A night on the town

Yeah, I'm ready, baby! Ready for a night on the town. I've got my derby, my vest, my rainbow suspenders, my "I'm a Magician!" button and my bunny button with the flashing eyes. My rainbow silk shirt is clean and my dice cufflinks are ready to go.

My pockets are loaded:
two thumb tips, sponge balls, sponge bunnies, sponge ding-dong, hot rod, color changing knife, two thimbles, eight pieces of rope prepared for cut 'n restored, one pair of scissors (ooh, better move those a little...), breakaway wand, mini set of linking rings, a Kiss the Magician packet trick (strangers love to do that, ya know!), and fifteen assorted trick decks.

I know all the gags:
"Show me your hand... no, the clean hand.... oh, I guess that was your clean hand."
"Show the card to all your friends... that shouldn't take too long!"
"Hey guys, this ever happen to you?" (Show breakaway wand "wilting.")

Man, Taco Bell will never know what hit 'em!

******************************************

Disclaimer
This is obviously fiction, because:
A. nobody knows anybody who really acts like this, and
B. the batteries on my bunny button are dead.

Resolutions

It's that time. I could do the standard peace on earth, good will toward all, cure all disease, yada yada, blah, blah, blah, but hey, this is a magic blog. Check out my liberal wimp blog for that other stuff.

So what to resolve? The items below are just suggestions.
If you want, print it, cut on dotted line, fill in the appropriate blank and stick it (on your refrigerator, that is).

-------------------------------------------------------

I, _____________________ hereby resolve to

• practice my Tenyo tricks at least once before showing them in public
  
• read at least one of the books in my library
  
• wait at least a week before buying the trick I just saw Blaine do on tv
  
• change at least a couple of the words of patter of the trick I just saw Blaine do on tv
  
• work on sounding sincere when I say, "Interesting use of that principle," when a fellow magi just fried my brain
  
• try to keep name-dropping to a minimum (for example, I would have to have seen Max Maven from a distance at a minimum of two conventions before saying I know him)
  
• know at least a sloppy French drop before calling myself a coin worker
  
• have at least a letter to the editor published in a minor magic magazine before calling myself a published author
  
• cut my spending on magic props from half my income to a third
  
• redo my business cards to add mentalism and bizarre magic to my list of specialties which already includes stage shows, parlor shows, close-up, kids shows, adult shows, trade shows, hospitality suites, grand openings, birthday parties, bar mitzvahs, bat mitzvahs, weddings and funerals
  
• get bigger business cards
  
• upgrade my publicity photo (note to self: make appointment with Glamour Shots; bring bunny and card fans)
  
• get rid of cheesy purple velour tux - find classy blue velour
  
• find yet another prop like that sponge ding-dong (that thing kills!)
  
• write Jim (zazenmagic-blog@yahoo.com) and tell him what a cool blog he has
  

That's all I can think of at 7:22 a.m. after a Diet Coke hangover. Feel free to add to the list.

Oh, and have a safe, happy and magical 2007.

Performing for magicians

I frequently hear magicians complain they don't like to perform for other magicians. They're worried that the technical aspects won't be up to snuff, or that "everyone has seen it before." They then rush through the trick, skipping the presentation and just showing the mechanics. There are a couple of things wrong with this attitude.

First, if you're worried about your technique for magicians but not for lay people, you're shortchanging your lay audiences. If you're worried about your technique at all you shouldn't be performing the piece, period. Lay audiences notice more than we know. (Note: this doesn't mean you shouldn't show the piece to people with the express purpose of improving it. This just better be prior to it being a 'performance piece.')

Second, in my experience most magical gatherings are composed mostly of magic fans, not really magicians. They are there to see good magic.

Third, by rushing through or eliminating the presentation, you are eliminating the one piece of the construct they're guaranteed never to have seen before: your unique point of view.

When I think back to the magical performances I've really enjoyed, they've all been the ones that were fully fleshed out, from Jeff McBride's mask routine to Bill Malone's "Sam the Bellhop" to local performer John Jolley's cut and restored rope routine.

When you perform for magicians, treat them like a lay audience and give them the best show you possibly can.