My Sentiments Exactly.

I Want A Bus

Every couple of years, I get it in my head to buy an old school bus, paint it psychedelic like the Patridge Family*, populate it with my scruffy friends, and drive all over discovering America à la Ken Kesey.

There are a couple of problems with this idea, besides that this isn't 1968, and we all have jobs.

My major hindrance is that I'm going to be doing a lot of home renovations next year. My extra income is going to go to that venture. Buying a school bus – and I've looked into this, you can get 'em relatively cheap – is still a silly expense in my Middle Class, Middle Aged, suburban life.

Unlike a boat, which can be parked in a marina or your garage if you have room, a school bus sits out front like heavy lumpen matter. If the Partridge Family or the Merry Pranksters had a dreaded Home Owner's Association, they probably would have gotten an angry letter. My driveway near my garage just isn't big enough. I always see old people in RVs, going down the highway. I really have no idea where they store the things.

* Actually, their bus artwork was more Mondrian inspired.

"Further" the bus of the Merry Pranksters.

Pepper Spray

In the past few days we've had two high-profile incidents of pepper spray abuse, so extreme, that they seem to be inarguable examples of authoritarian brutality, more at home in the streets of Cairo, than baseball and apple pie America.

Not so! Says Fox News, the corporatist apologist network. According to Megyn Kelly, it's a mere "food product." As benign as anything you would find in your kitchen cupboard, right next to the nutmeg.

Deborah Blum, a Pulitzer prize-winning real science journalist, has a slightly different take on pepper spray, unfettered by a political agenda.

Toronto's Mad Hatter Tea Party

This is a fascinating read of a children's birthday party venue called the Mad Hatter. This local Toronto event was run in the 80s entirely without any adult supervision by surly teenagers. From the sound of it, these parties sound like across between a Chuck E Cheese party and the Stanford Prison Experiments.

From the article: “I was desperate to get to a Mad Hatter party. They were legendary: Studio 54 for 12-year-olds.”—Hilary Doyle, 34 

“In retrospect, I can’t believe how totally dangerous they were—the shopping-cart bumper cars. One person would push a shopping cart while another kid sat in it…very treacherous. At my party we just went through a random door—I don’t think we were being supervised by anyone—and we ended up in the mall’s underground parking lot, so we were smashing into each other and smashing into cars.”—Erin Oke

Some of the conditions were so outrageous, that one wonders how this birthday party service managed to not be closed down by multiple lawsuits.

From the article: “We were in cages. It was probably a big room subdivided by plywood walls, but the walls didn’t go all the way to the ceiling and I remember this chicken-wire mesh or something over top. There were these wooden benches that we sat on, and popcorn was strewn all over the ground, which was really sticky. And there was just a tray of hot dogs, like, boiled, with white buns and condiments. We were throwing them around. There was a party of boys next door and they somehow climbed up and they were looking down at our party and yelling obscenities, and, you know, showing us their penises.”—Erin Oke 

“The hot-dog room was my nightmare. There was just a table and they’d throw the food down like we were animals, and then you’d get to throw it at each other. All of the condiments, too. There was no method.”—Miriam Verberg, 34

Here is a message board of Toronto kids, now grown up, who still seem to be asking themselves if this Lord of the Flies of birthday parties was real. They seemed to remember this experience fondly!

This wild behavior reminds me of a documentary put out a few years ago by British television's Channel 4. In the documentary, Boys and Girls Alone, the kids were segregated into two communities by gender. The children were monitored by CCTV, but left to make their own decisions. This probably wasn't a legitimate social "experiment" but exploitation "reality" tv, but the results are still interesting. The boys erupted into violence and wanton destruction and the girls were exceedingly cruel to each other.

Pumpkin Galleries

Here are some fantastic pumpkins, that you dear reader, will never be able to carve. Unless perhaps you have a Fine Arts Degree in Sculpture.

"Girls Can't Resist..."

By day you can wear this "swank tie" and be fashionably attired for home or office. But after dark, this tie starts glowing, and women will be unable resist your charms.

Kick Ass Currency Designs of Yesteryear

The popular website, boingboing.net, pointed these out today.

This currency is part of the 1896 "Education Series."

Costume Deadline Approaching

I haven't thought too hard about my Halloween costume this year. I will probably use an old one that is in the closet. I've been pre-occupied with my year-long magic costumes. I guess my magic costumes will have to do double-duty this year.

Drugging Grandpa

Harvest Home

A Scientific Investigation of Dunking.

Skeptics in our modern age recoil at the idea of testing for witchcraft. We are taught since grade school, that Trials by Ordeal such as dunking accused witches in water to see if they float, are to be dismissed as stupid superstition. But if we are to truly be empiricists, we must approach these claims as scientifically as possible.

I went down to the local New Age bookstore and asked self-professed witches to volunteer for this experiment. If they were really indeed witches, they would float as most witches are not baptized or have renounced their baptism. My offer was refused. An experiment was set up with a small doll-size simulacrum of a witch and dunked into ~475 ml of water. 

As you can see by the preliminary reaction. The small doll rested comfortably on the bottom of the beaker of water. The doll was dressed as a witch, but the preliminary result of this test for witchcraft would have vindicated her as innocent. She did not float at all, as witches must. It is suspected that water is the most pure element, and witches being in communion with Lucifer, and other Agents of Evil, would naturally float away from water.

On the next day of the experiment, I observed massive changes to the doll. The body was distorted and bloated. As unpleasant as it is to contemplate, dead bodies in water become bloated. I thought nothing of it. Again, our "witch" was nothing of the sort.

The following day, my heart sank as the doll continued to grow. I should have ended the demonstration but curious as to the effect, I continued the experiment.

The next day, as the photo shows, her witch hat pokes out of the water. Her feet are barely touching the glass. I fear for my sanity but continue the experiment.

I was shocked to discover this shocking tableau on the final day of the experiment. The witch is no longer floating, and is now commanding my own pet cat. I have always heard stories that witches were able to influence wild beasts. I immediately halted the experiment and took the witch outside. My pet returned to normal.

I conclude that Trial by Dunking is an adequate test of witchcraft, but it must be done over the course of a few days.

She just needs a makeover.

I was intrigued by this sordid story of a young lady who is apparently so addicted to a ubiquitous product, that she broke into and robbed her neighbor's house so she could buy more. I thought what she was looking for was free. I've researched it a few times on the internet and was never asked to pay. I often get emails in my Spam folder encouraging me to indulge in this particular product. 

Many of the comments on The Smoking Gun were about her skin problems. I'm not sure if this acne, or an addiction to meth. Either way, this poor, confused girl is actually pretty.

With just a minimum of a few Photoshop tricks, I was able to reveal her beauty.

My expertise is in automotive advertising. Imagine what an artist from Vogue could really do.

Masked Persona Feedback Loop

Mr. Edison's Anti-Gravitation Under-Clothing

Our Vile Ancestors

Today is the first day of Autumn, and in the good ol' days, they used to celebrate in a very special way.

"It was the custom to burn a basket, barrel, or sack full of live cats, which was hung from a tall mast in the midst of the bonfire; sometimes a fox was burned. The people collected the embers and ashes of the fire and took them home, believing that they brought good luck. The French kings often witnessed these spectacles and even lit the bonfire with their own hands. In 1648 Louis XIV, crowned with a wreath of roses and carrying a bunch of roses in his hand, kindled the fire, danced at it and partook of the banquet afterwards in the town hall. But this was the last occasion when a monarch presided at the midsummer bonfire in Paris. At Metz midsummer fires were lighted with great pomp on the esplanade, and a dozen cats, enclosed in wicker cages, were burned alive in them, to the amusement of the people. Similarly at Gap, in the department of the Hautes-Alpes, cats used to be roasted over the midsummer bonfire." Frazer, Sir James George. The Golden Bough, (1922).

Open Stage Tonight

I'm going to be performing magic tonight at Open Stage.

Check it out if you're able.

"Life begins on the other side of despair." – Sartre

The popular image of the zombie is one of a ravenous, hungry monster. George Romero highlighted this by having his cinematic zombies run amok in a shopping mall. Dawn of the Dead is a not-so-subtle, but still clever commentary on consumerism.

But what of the zombie who merely exists, and is full of apathy and ennui? These zombies walk amongst us, and you can see them on your commute to work, and maybe even in your office. These quiet zombies will never get their own movie, or Halloween decoration, but they are the scarier of the two.

You, dear reader, can turn into one of these zombies, gradually, like an infection.

Don't let that happen.

White Cruiser of the Clouds

Charisma

Costumes!

I've found a new source for pre-owned costumes. These costumes are old, from an theatre in England, and were created in Pre-High Fructose Corn Syrup days, so if I purchase one, I 'll have to lose a few inches off my waistline. I guess that's okay.

My wife says she's keen to start constructing costumes, as my recent public magic performances doesn't look like a fluke, and I'll be doing this for some time now. Constructing a costume, as opposed to buying a moldering one from a theatre company, has its advantages, namely that it will be cheaper. I'm a little hesitant, as Chris seems to hate the process of sewing, and when she does, she offers a steady stream of expletives to anyone who will listen.

For my part, I see no reason that I can't learn to sew. A sewing machine is a complicated machine, full of arcane subjects like thread and bobbin tension, but I'm reasonably intelligent – I think – and should be able to learn its secrets.

Stopped By A Train

I don't mind getting stopped at rail road tracks; I like looking at graffiti, but only if it's well done. This morning on my way to work, a train halted all the traffic.  It was going extremely slow, which gave me a chance to really inspect the graffiti. Some of it was inspired. The graffiti was as exotic, colorful and unreadable as any alien alphabet. Unfortunately, the train came to a stop, and the train cars in front of me were very pedestrian efforts.

Instead of T-BOZZ! in subtle gradations of color rendered by stolen paint cans, I had to endure tossed-off squiggles. The artist – or as they say on the street, tagger – looked like they were just trying to mar the surface and no effort of artistic intention was present. I realize some people like that kind of thing, but I find it even more pretentious to intentionally obfuscate one's graffiti craft in a pose of throw-away insouciance.

We work commuters sat in traffic, and some of those with trucks, could no longer contain themselves, and jumped the curb and drove their trucks through a field, presumably to a road somewhere. One businessman in a BMW, got out of his car, and went up to the stopped train to see if he could see the end, or perhaps to see if any better graffiti was on its way. The businessman was on the phone, presumably complaining about the quality of art. I gave him a look that said, "I hear you buddy. These inferior scribbles aren't worthy us." He was so disgusted by the feeble artistic effort that I feared he would bottom out his BMW trying to jump the curb. 

A guy in front of me, in some tricked-out "Rice Burner" warned the angry businessman that his car was too low to try some kind of get-away. I certainly wasn't going to try and jump the curb, as if I were the Duke Boys in the General Lee. A bent axle is the last thing I needed, and I've seen bad art before.

After fifteen minutes, the train eventually moved again. There were some better artistic efforts. 

This might sound elitist, but I really think that would-be "taggers" need to present a resumé to a National Academy of Graffiti. I think embarrassing displays like this morning would be lessened.

Trampoline Tot With The Power Of The Dark Side.

Monday's Magic Performance

Last monday, I did my brief act for the Open Stage. I wanted to try a different presentational approach to my magic, so I wore a black, leather mask, and I've continued my experiment of not speaking. I haven't seen the video yet – there are teams of photographers and video people working even as we speak– but I think I was successful in communicating by movement and not by using facial expressions.

I've come to the conclusion that I'm not interested in the culture of magic hobbyists. I think it's a good thing to go to seminars and dealer shows, but that has nothing to do with performing. I keep running into magicians who have rooms of crap they bought at some magic dealer trade show, gimmicked decks, color changing silks, kitschy-looking crap, but these items are never performed. I suppose that is ok, especially those who enjoy collecting things, but it is akin to practicing guitar or piano, and never playing for anyone.

I've been an active participant of my magic club and that has helped me to have the balls to get on stage.

Because I Can't Be Trusted...

I've decided to move my blog to blogger.com as I have a nasty, yearly habit of accidentally deleting my blog off of my website.