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

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.

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.

Improving it worse

"He improved it worse." [Al Baker]

The effect known as "botania" used to be a thing of beauty: vines would spring forth from a previously empty pot, then roses would sprout on the vines. Real roses. Then someone decided it would last longer if the roses were made of cloth. Someone else decided the effect could be made more cheaply by covering the pot between each phase, lifting the cover to reveal the results. And so on and so on, ad nauseum. It is no longer a thing of beauty.

Once upon a time I set out to learn the Paul Rosini impromptu thimble routine from The Dai Vernon Book of Magic (now how is "Dai" pronounced again?). I had trouble getting that fifth thimble to cooperate, so I did the effect with four. I figured people who had never seen the effect wouldn't know the difference. The guy who suggested I learn it was seriously unhappy. I got mad at him at the time but he was right.

Don't take shortcuts in your magic. Don't "improve it worse." Take time to work out all the details, and don't succumb to the temptation to cut corners. Our art is worthy of our respect and attention.

By the way, I handle that fifth thimble like a charm now.

Book 'em, Dan-O

One time our magic club had a "Discuss Your Favorite Magic Book" night.

I was able to narrow it down to 17.

I love books. I love the feel, and the smell, and the look of books. I also love language. I enjoy reading, writing, doing crossword puzzles, and playing word games. And, being a magician, I especially love magic books.

I have magic books in my living room, in a bookcase in my hall, in my bedroom, in the spare bedroom, in my car, and, frequently, in my bathroom. I have titles from the 18th century (reprints, alas) and ones released last month, and most years in between. I've read every one at least once.

I have books on card magic, coin magic, and mentalism. I have books on stage magic, general magic and the history of magic. I have performer biographies, books on magical philosophy, and things so odd I really can't classify them. I have hardbacks, paperbacks, pamphlets, handwritten notes and various combinations of the above.

Contrary to what a number of today's younger magic set say, I learn better from books. Don't get me wrong; I have DVDs and tapes, and I think they have their place. I just think that books are superior for most of what magicians need to learn. Want to know how much content is on the average DVD? Equivalent to two column inches in a newspaper. That's it - two column inches. A little surprising, huh?

And what do books put in all that extra space that DVDs don't have? Many times, in the best books, they put the things that make a good trick a great one, and a good magician a great one. The author will go into the thinking behind an effect: why "this" and not "that." He or she will go into the thinking behind an effect - the precedents, the false starts, the breakthroughs. Being able to get inside the head of an author like that allows us to really understand an effect. We know where it came from, and why it is the way it is. That allows us to be more thoughtful if we wish to make changes to the effect.

So what are some of my favorite books? Email me with your interests and I'll try to get inside your head a little, and make you think a little about my choices.

The way only good writing can.

Send in the hounds!

I attended my first magic convention in 1982, the same year I joined the International Brotherhood of Magicians and the same year I got married. 1982 was a pretty good year for me.

The convention was in Dallas. I don't remember the whole thing but a few things stand out really clearly. Vito Lupo premiered a new act there and it was brilliant. The late, lamented juggling troupe AirJazz received a standing ovation on both of their shows (and they also "kidnapped" my wife and had her take them to the Scarborough Renaissance Festival in Waxahachie - it's a long story...) Roger Klause did his usual brilliant lecture featuring the bill switch.

Shortly after I left the Klause lecture an interesting thing happened. A gentleman came up to me and asked if I was enjoying the convention. I admitted that I was, but that I didn't have much basis for comparison. He asked what I had learned. I explained about this bill switch thingie Mr. Klause had taught. Well, the guy sat me down for about an hour and showed me about 15 variations on the bill switch, some with the gimmick Roger Klause had used, and some without. I sat there stunned. He asked if I had any other questions and I just shook my head, dazed.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is how I met Karrell Fox.