A nephew comes in handy

Move over, Mr Whippy, there's a new kid in town. He's 11 years old and because he's related to me and sometimes likes me too, he's unlikely to sue if practice goes wrong.

Normally reticent to get involved, yesterday my nephew proved quite keen to dress up like (as Jade pointed out) a Monty Python Holy Grail extra and let me cut playing cards in half with a whip while he held them between his fingers. Not only that, he demanded I also try to knock a pop can off his head and disembowel a couple of balloon animals as he clutched them.

The cards worked well. The pop can took time (it's a different move I haven't practiced), and the balloons failed badly. Man, can those things absorb abuse! Whack whack whack and they still come back for more.

Jonas, my nephew, has even requested that I use him as my victim during my show at Turner Valley Discovery Day next month. The venue is close to where he lives so if I fail he's only a short limp from home.

Sideshow Bob

I've compensated for the fact that we still don't have rabbits (despite a recent fact-finding mission to the Calgary Humane Society, an outing which by all accounts ought to have seen us return home with at least three more mouths to feed) by adding to our family in other ways.

I've built a plywood silhouette in our back garden and named him Sideshow Bob. It was either that or Mr. Whippy but if I'm going to get done for copyright infringement I'd rather get sued by the Simpsons than a New Zealand ice cream van franchise. (Actually, now that I put it in writing the Kiwi thing sounds a bit cooler than it did.)

Sideshow Bob's sole function in life is to hold playing cards in his outstretched hands so that I can cut them in half with a whip. He was born of necessity: I couldn't find anyone willing to stand in the garden with a bucket on their head and welding gloves on their hands, pinching cards between their fingers while I make mistakes with a stockwhip for an hour at a time.

Go figure.

When a person holds a playing card while wearing welding gloves the available target is about 3" wide, so it's taken me some time to get reliable enough with the whip. Missing the card to the outside is fine; it builds suspense. Missing the card to the inside is not so good; no one likes to get their hand whipped, even while wearing gloves. I tried larger targets like balloons and was amazed at how much force the balloons could absorb without popping. Generally they just moved out of the way with a 'thwup' sound. Fine for practice as it means putting up new targets less often, but a bit of a let-down if you're in the audience.

The routine is part of the new variety show I've been putting together for my Victorian alter-ego Parker Doodlebug. The show is making its debut next week at the Canmore Children's Festival, at which point I will indeed be using a real volunteer. With a bucket on their head and welding gloves on their hands.

Check out the bucket, too - a little bit of paint, an angle grinder, some foam insulation and chicken wire and you too could have protective headgear that lends you a certain...je ne sais quoi.

It's a tough job, but...

My friend and fellow-magician Paul Spenard called yesterday to bring me in for a last-minute booking at an up-market 'lifestyle salon' opening in Calgary. Quite a big do - superb catering, ballerinas in the window, Marie Antoinette-types lounging languidly on setees, a Rat Pack crooner in the lobby and Paul and colleagues taking photos of anyone and everyone.

Paul Spenard snapped this photo at the end of the evening.

It's a tough job, but someone's got to do it.

Ooh. Pick me. Pick me.

Odd requests

A couple of days ago via an agent I work with I got a late-notice request from a client looking for entertainment for a golf club season's opening dinner, which was to take place tonight. They wanted a mime, I was told. Had I ever done any mime?

That's one of those questions you answer very carefully.

Yes, I told them, but I'm not actually a mime.

Never mind, came the reply. Do what you can.




It was to be a strolling gig, interacting with guests during the cocktail hour before dinner.

Trying to get an idea of what they wanted, I asked if they had a theme, or even if they knew what kind of character they wanted. 'You decide,' they said.

Dangerous words.

So I decided on a cross between a Tim Burton character and Mr Bean. It won't become a regular part of my repertoire but for a one-off event, it worked. A chance to be delightfully, innocently, inadvertently creepy. And you'd be surprised how many older women will not only happily let their husbands trail behind as a ghoulish figure in a frock coat offers his arm and leads them away, but will flirt like Armageddon is scheduled for the following morning.

Competition 2010 redux

I got my copy of the Calgary Magic Circle newsletter a couple of days ago - a newsletter published 'Whenever we feel like it', according to the byline.

It included an article about the 2010 Regional Competition that took place about six weeks ago. Bear in mind that, having been back in Canada for barely three years now, my experience with this competition is limited, but in those three years it's always been good.

The last paragraph in the article reads:

"The audience turnout was the largest in the history of the competition. Over 120 spectators came to watch 13 competitors compete for $100 grand prize and trophies - an incredible turnout considering that just 5 short years ago this competition was held in a small room with 4~5 magicians, no spectators, competing for a troll doll nailed to a plank."

I was never offered a troll.

Bald-ass prairie

I had a gig on the weekend in a small town in south-central Alberta, which is probably a lot like south-central L.A. but withouth the people or the buildings. Or the climate. And with a greater life-expectancy.

Actually, it's nothing at all like south-central L.A.

It doesn't take long once you get past the foothills to reach a landscape sometimes affectionately (and other times not-so-affectionately) referred to as 'bald-ass prairie'. Yes, but early in the morning it's gorgeous. On the drive home I passed a coyote, some deer and two hawks all within ten minutes. Oh - and geese. Yup. Geese too.

And the gig? Good. It was held in the town's one and only bar and, as I had been told it would be, it was virtually dead until 10pm. Ten p.m. - the witching hour. The place began to fill up and we ended up having a great time. It's probably a good thing the place had been quiet until then - if they'd had three hours to drink before my show, they might not have followed ANYTHING I was doing.

Following photo: only makes sense in Canada.

Easter

Easter weekend - always a good time for gigs and despite the potential of facing a mob of sugared-up kiddie widdies, they've always proved me wrong on the day. This time it was two days at the Calgary Zoo, next to the elephant enclosure. Wisely the stage was not too close. Not that there's any physical danger, of course, but if you have to compete for an audience's attention, a 160-lb magician is no match for a 15-ton troupe of pachyderms, even without microphones.

Then Chateau Lake Louise on Sunday. Yes, it's a bit of a drive but if you have to do a 5-hour commute for work it may as well be on a sunny holiday through the Rockies.

The hotel may be known for its stellar location and panoramic view of the lake and its bowl of surrounding mountains, or its almost-fairy-tale architecture, or simply the fact that it's pretty swish overall, but for me the selling point is that they have a resident Golden Retriever to greet people in the front lobby.

Frankly I suspect she's part of their plan for dealing with disgruntled guests. Complainants are probably told to sit with the dog while they fetch the manager because, let's face it, it's hard to get angry when your hands are full of retriever.