"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.