Romantically inclined aka. the ingrown fingernail annoyance.

I have this really sore finger right now, my right hand pointer, the nail is kina ingrown and the cuticle on that side is kinda peeling off so all in all it's made typing slightly more annoying than it should be. "Now, I told you that story to tell you this one." -Bill Cosby.

I recall as a kid that I never really had any ambition at all, when faced with the question "what would you like to be when you grow up?" I never had a real answer. My go-to response was to mention that everyone saying they wanted to be a doctor or lawyer were fooling themselves, that they just were thinking of the money and there was no way that that many kids could become doctors and lawyers anyway. I guessed those who said hockey player or actress were doing the same kind of thing as the doctors but had less domineering parents.

I do remember seeing homeless people and thinking that it was possible to end up like them, not that I would, but just that it was as possible as any of the other careers out there. I recall the weird old guy with a huge red growth on his nose who walked around my neighborhood all the time, he was creepy, but I did like his style. I never was into construction or firetrucks. I liked the "magic truck" that was stone and sat over a garage entrance on ndg avenue. My dad used to tell me that the magic truck came alive at night and drove around the neighborhood.

I wanted to be a magician for a while, and I learned a bunch of card tricks, around this time I started liking video games too, they were just as wonderful but the feeling was much more easy to implement. Imagine I had followed the magicians route, not the magician of my childhood imaginings, but the real whiskey stained tuxedo magician, the second rate standup comic with a deck of cards magician, the working at the local wal-mart magician? I aint built to excel at any one thing, neither are 95+% of you.

I think the best kind of magician is the grandfather magician. I liked David Blaine for a minute, and respect the fact that he does what he does. I recognize the thrill of the unexplained, and I once paid a guy 2 bucks to show me how to do a vanishing cigarette trick at copa cabana (he was hustling for cabfare by breaking the magicians code, kudos). I think that a good mysterious piece of art is magical. A still life is an illusion. Sculpture is crafty. Performance art is third rate stand-up comedy.

I'd like to cast a spell on a worthy dame someday. More and more I see myself amazing children with through hitherto unknown facts, baking soda and vinegar volcanos and rubber pencils gripped between index fingers and thumbs.

Sometimes I'm amazed that I crawl out of bed. I live in a world of wonders where absentmindedness and superficial interpersonal relationships keep me off the ball. I can talk about nothing with noone for a good 15-20 minutes before my tank starts to run out. When I do talk from the gut I start to sweat, it rarely happens, most often when I'm alone and don't have to put a finger on it.

Slight of hand depends on two things, misderection and the ability to be misdirected, one you have to practice, the other is assumed.