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When I was a kid, I owned all 12 volumes of the Charlie Brown ‘Cyclopedias. The complete set looked like this: Man, I loved those books and I learned a LOT from them. In Grade 4, when Mr. Poilievre asked us what the most important muscle in our body was, I was the only one who knew it was the heart. In Grade 8, I knew the difference between weather and climate before Mr. David explained it to us. I also learned that the cells in our fingernails are the exact same cells in a bull’s horns (explain that, Mr. Darwin) and that the planet Saturn is so light that it would float on water. To be fair, some of the facts in the Charlie Brown ‘Cyclopedias have since been disproven. Volume 1: Your Body claims that different parts of the tongue pick up different sorts of taste (bitter, salty, sweet) and this has since been rebutted. Taste buds are all over the tongue. If you’re being forced to eat mustard, you can’t escape the taste by only letting it touch the tip of your tongu

Nonsense. That word was uttered by Sigfried & Roy, a team of European illusionists who once dominated the entertainment scene in Las Vegas. Their show was filled with exotic animals, elaborate costumes, a flashy set, music, choreography, and lots of standing ovations. Once someone opined that anyone could put together a show like Sigfried & Roy’s if they only had enough money. Nonsense. * In a lecture to his fellow magicians, Harry Anderson talked about the late Doug Henning’s Broadway show, Merlin , which Mr. Anderson described as “terrible.” The critics agreed with him. One of them penned this scathing line (and I’m paraphrasing here): “The show proves that anyone can be a magician if your father is willing to buy you some magic equipment.” Ouch. * I feel compelled to note that Doug Henning was a fantastic magician who did a lot to increase magic’s exposure on television. Merlin was a career low, not business as usual. * All of this to say that if you’

As luck would have it, I’m having a fun Labour Day right now. It is early in the morning of Sunday, Sept. 4, and I am lying on a couch in a friend's living room . On the other couch is Kelsey , still fast asleep. Soon I will wake her so she can realize her dream of seeing Niagara Falls.   The last time I was at Niagara Falls was when my friend was leaving for Colombia with her husband . That was not over Labour Day weekend. It was early July of 2009.    I have been doing a project called photo-a-day everyday since 2008. Because of that, I have a pretty good idea what I’ve been doing over the past nine Labour Day weekends. Here is what I did:   2008: Did research in Ottawa.    2009: Took photos of Ashley after she dyed her hair and gave an old man a ride home and then looked at a chair.   2010: Dyed my hair brown and then did a magic show in Long Sault.   2011: Did magic at the Stormont Fair.   2012: Did more magic at the Stormont Fair and bought a Nexu

Here is a conversation that never happened. I wish I experienced it when I was a novice in magic. It probably would have helped.   There are two characters. One is a magician and the other is a very smart spectator.   Magician: Pick a card.   Spectator: Why?   Magician: Uhhh... because I asked.   Spectator: So. Why does that mean I have to take one?   Magician: Because I want to show you a magic trick.   Spectator: And why do you want to show me a magic trick? Is it because you want to show off your sleight-of-hand skill so you can feel good about yourself?   Magician: No, I just want you to take a card.   Spectator: Okay. But what do I get out of this transaction? What are you hoping I’ll experience? Awe? Wonder? I doubt I’ll experience either of them. Probably the only thing I’ll experience is resentment because all you’re doing is showing off something that most people can’t do.   Magician: Well, what about that juggler over there? Is he show

For starters, spaghetti has never come out my nose. Milk probably has but I don’t remember it. However, I do remember one occasion when Coke came out my nose. My best friend, Jason, made it happen. I was in junior high. The TV and the VCR were in my dad’s den, which was in the basement of our house in Haysboro. It was the start of the weekend. Jason and I had finished our Friday night routine, which was to hike over to Glenmore Landing, eat something at McDonalds, and then rent a movie at Video Show Place. We’d rented Christine, which was about a car that killed people. So we’re downstairs and we’re watching the movie and I’m drinking Coke out of a glass stein and Jason says something really funny and Coke comes gushing out of my nose. My beverage was ruined. Through my tears, I looked into the glass and saw something that looked like a glob of margarine floating in it. You probably didn’t need to read that. I wish I could remember what Jason said. It probably wouldn’t be funn

I have told this story before. Now, it seems, I am destined to tell it again.   The year was 1997. I was 24, living at home, going nowhere in life. I’d been kicked out of two different acting schools and I was starting to realize that I didn’t have the talent, skill, or drive to make it as a professional actor. I’d spent the past three years working a thankless bunch of nowhere jobs - shuttle bus driver, courier, hotel lackey. I had only one ambition, which was to write a novel.   I told my parents that I wanted to spend an entire year saving my money so I could move away from home, rent an apartment in a small town somewhere, and dedicate myself to the act of creation. My parents thought that was a fine idea. I think they wished that when I came back, I’d have a plan for my future. They didn’t tell me that though. They were kind enough not to hinder my creativity with pragmatism.   My friend, Natalie, lived in Redvers, a very very small town in southeast Saskatchewan. She