Sep 30 2017
The Fear
- Sometimes, it’s good to feel “THE FEAR”.
You know that feeling when you pull off a risky overtake in a not terribly speedy hatchback and pull back in just before a whopping great big logging wagon flies past in the other direction? Your heart’s pounding. You forget to breathe. You feel alive! No? Just me then?
Or how about that feeling when you weave through the traffic on a fixed wheel bike? Knowing you’re only a quickly opened door or a swerving Transit away from lying spread eagled on a warm car bonnet. Once again. It’s quite a buzz. No? Just me again then?
Or how about that feeling as casino security waves through to the vault? As you wear your navy blue suit, holding a clipboard, hoping to god that they don’t look too closely at your freshly laminated security pass, or ask you to open your briefcase containing cutting tools? No? Seriously? Just me again then?
Or even that feeling when you quit your reasonably lucrative day job (twice!) in order to earn a crust by getting invited to parties to show magic tricks despite the protestations of your hungry family. “Not bean on toast again daddy.” I get it. Just me. OK. This is getting ridiculous.
Even so, there’s a lot to be said for feeling “THE FEAR”.
Magicians maybe don’t get it, but the (slightly weirder) entertainers known as escapologists certainly do. “Can I escape these shackles before… I get impaled by spikes / plummet to my doom / get run over by a roller coaster / drown / get licked by these really rough tongued cats?” You get the drift. Real fear. Real excitement. Really feeling alive.
Escapologist thrive on a bit of fear. And, audiences lap it up. As do the cats.
So, is there a way I can inject THE FEAR into close up magic? Heart stopping, stomach in the mouth fear?
Well no. Not impaled by spikes / licked by rough tongued cats fear anyway. But I do manage to inject a little (Houdini inspired) fear every gig. You see, Houdini himself once said the finest trick possible was a card trick. A trick where the magician places a card face down on the table. Commits himself if you will. Then he asks a spectator to think of a card and name it out loud. Then he asks them to slowly turn over the tabled card…
As you can imagine, if you can pull off “Houdini’s favourite trick”, you have a seriously magical moment on your hands. Breathtakingly magical. Gaspingly magical. Can’t get to sleep that night wondering how on earth it was done magical. Get it wrong, and you look like a big buffoon. A dipshit. A chancer. Not magical at all.
So, that’s how I get “THE FEAR” doing close up magic. Place down that card and commit myself. The next minute is pure fear. Like being on the wrong side of the road as the logging wagon draws closer. Will I pull it off and create astonishment, or fall into the buffoon / dipshit / chancer category? (I’m pleased to say it’s usually the former. I am quite good at this kind of thing you know).
What’s that? You don’t believe card magic can ever be scary? How about you come along to my next gig and feel “THE FEAR” for yourself?
I’ll even give you a lift there.
Through logging country…
Nov 7 2019
Breaking Bad
If you could get away with it, would you turn bad?
Would you break the law? Would you lose your morals? If you knew nobody would find out, would you be tempted?
Based on the speed of motorists on the Coast Road once the speed cameras were taken away, I would say, “Yes”. If you knew no-one was looking, you’d push the rules.
Plato went further.
He reckoned that even the most just amongst us would go rogue if we knew we couldn’t be detected. Even worse, a little law breaking wouldn’t cut it. Once we’d “Broken the Seal” of immorality, we wouldn’t be satisfied until we’d killed the king, bedded the queen and become emperor of the world.
Don’t believe me? Look up his work, “The Ring of Gyges”, it’s all in there. Plato (who incidentally is in my top three Greeks*), suggests that we only act in a just and moral fashion because we crave the respect of others. If we know we can get away with it, then stuff respect. We’re off to rule the world.
“Why are you banging on about this?”, I hear you ask. “You listen to one philosophy podcast Jack, and you think you’re Chidi Freaking Anagonye.”
(To be honest, it’s not the first time I’ve dabbled in such thoughts. It wasn’t too long ago that I talked about “Breaking the Seal”. And back in the early days of this sub-viral blog, I concluded that the ultimate goal of every magician is to pull off a casino heist)
“But surely”, you’re thinking, “You haven’t turned bad Jack. You haven’t set foot on the slippery slope of rogue and dipped a toe in the waters of criminality”
Brace yourselves readers. It’s going to get very dark, very quickly.
(If this blog were a film, it would go a little hazy now. Maybe shimmer and wobble. You know – flashback to the past kind of thing…)
It was a Saturday afternoon. I was in town, dressed like a magician, ready to astonish some guests at a 40th lunch. I tapped my pockets to check everything was in place. Check. Made sure I hadn’t got that half collar in, half collar out thing going on that sometimes happens with my tweediest waistcoat. Check. Rubbed my fingertips together to check they were suitably sticky to perform the trickiest of sleights. Oh bollocks.
In my rush to get to the booking, I’d neglected to put on my obligatory squirt of Norwegian Formula. I’m not kidding here. If I don’t get Neutragenad up before I do a gig, then some sleights are just not going to happen. (The one handed top palm is especially fiendish if your right little finger tip is just the tiniest bit dry)
In other words, If I don’t have this…
There’s no way I’m doing this…
Fortunately for me, Superdrug was smiling at me from across Northumberland Street. I dived in, found my product then stared with dismay at the humongous queue. There were at least 10 minutes of customers in front of me. The booking was due to start in 5 minutes time.
AAAAAAARGH!
This was the moment. The pivotal moment. Sliding doors. Breaking the seal of criminality. Checking around for CCTV and security guards, I sneaked the lid off the hand cream. Squeezed a gram and a half onto each palm. Replaced the lid and popped it back on the shelf. Walked out looking innocent, whilst secretly rubbing the stuff in. I seem to recall whistling. Can’t look guilty whistling.
And there you have it. Seal broken.
If Plato was right, then I’ve set sail on a dangerous path…
Anyway, moral of the story – I owe a couple of apologies. If you bought some Norwegian Formula from Superdrug in Newcastle recently and only got 47 grams instead of 50, then I’m terribly sorry. Get in touch, and I’ll give you a couple of squeezes of my tube.
I also should apologise to the casinos of the North East.
Because, lets face it, it’s only a matter of time now.
By Jack Strange • Blogging, Bloody ridiculous, Casino Heist • 0