Mr. Van Man Learns Us Good: Just Say ‘No’ to Knock-Offs!
Last night, we read the story of two men with a group called
Pirates With Attitude ("PWA").
The Feds (as opposed to the "Well-Fed," which
describes us) claimed that the PWA folks were hacking software to take of the
copy protection and thus allowed anyone on the Internet to download the
software for free.
This was premium software. PWA thought that because they did
not charge for the downloads, they shouldn't be prosecuted of theft.
The Seventh Circuit Court of Appeals disagreed.
They stole, they got caught and now they go to jail.
It got us thinking — it could happen — of a novel method
to protect magic inventors intellectual property.
We don't know why this idea hasn't been suggested before –
perhaps because it is either too obvious or unworkable.
We, as magic-consumers, and we, as magic
dealers/manufacturers, could be honest about what we are buying.
We live on the east side of Mystic Hollow, Michigan and those familiar with the
neighborhood, know it has its seedy side.
The least offensive or dangerous character wandering our
realm is the guy in the tan, non-descript Chevrolet Astro Van.
We think the Van Man's selling skills must be week. He cannot afford to upgrade his wheels to
something made in this century. Or maybe
his customers recognize him by the van.
Either way, the Van Man won't get out of his home on wheels unless you
give him the nod.
He hasn't changed his van, his sales methods, or toothbrush
in the 15 years we've seen him work for customers.
As residents stroll along the tree-lined boulevards of
Mystic Hollow, the Van Man slowly pulls astride from a safe distance in the
roadway. Once he has your attention, the
Van Man politely inquires whether you might be interested in stereo equipment
or, and this is a recent addition, video games and consoles.
Mr. Van Man offered us a system he claimed cost in excess of
$2,500.00 in the stores. (We've since
checked the actual retail price for the products offered: it priced out at just
under $2,000.00 — close enough).
His price for the system? A mere $200.00 — cash.
Is it better to avoid temptation or to withstand its
attraction? We didn't have $20.00 much
less $200.00.
We're not noble, just poor.
Still, we'd like to think that if we had the cash, we would
righteously reject the offer.
Of course, we can also be convinced we would maintain our
vow (involuntary) of celibacy if Lindsay Lohan started stalking.
We think it was that dad character in Hamlet who said to his
son, ". . . [a]nd this above all, to thine own self be true." Of course he got stabbed through the curtain
and the two guys his son was leaving to find were dead. True Dat.
Let's return to the theme of this article: temptation, noble
causes, and temptation causing us to be less than noble.
We asked Mr. Van Man his source for the deeply discounted
product.
"Where'd you get
it?"
"Why?" he asked quickly but without an irritated
tone.
Mr. Van Man probably didn't make us for a law-enforcement
officer but looked us over quickly; perhaps out of habit.
"Just wondering," we said.
"I have a friend who had a store that went out of
business and they didn't get a last pay check — they were allowed to take some
of the stock. He needed money, not
stereo equipment, so he sold it to me."
So far the story sounded possible.
Michigan
is in the midst of a pretty bad economic downturn.
Mr. Van Man continued, "I was just driving home and
then I remembered my wife's gonna kill me if she hears I helped my friend out
or that I spent all that money on this stuff."
If we ignored the fact that Mr. Van Man is an institution on
the East Side of Mystic Hollow, this was a plausible story.
Sure, that could be the case.
It is possible Mr. Van Man's recently fired buddy needed
help; Mr. Van Man helped him out but now had buyer's remorse.
It was as our feeble brain considered the situation that we
became enlightened.
Mr. Van Man's plausible story was likely not the truth; but
it was plausible.
We would never knowingly
buy stolen goods. But perhaps we are
evil enough to buy stolen goods if we have a convenient or plausible
explanation for the incredible opportunity.
There is a saying amongst the farmers south of Mystic
Hollow, "Let's get down to the Lick-Log." The Lick-Log is a salt or sugar encrusted
piece of wood tossed into the pens of some animals to keep them happy. Eventually, the sugar or salt is gone and
you're left with a log.
At its most basic level, Mr. Van Man was hoping to make us a
fence for the stolen goods and to sweeten the deal, he would throw in the soul
assuaging, plausible explanation.
Michigan
codified the statute years before our encounter with Mr. Van Man. A "fence" or possessor of stolen
goods of more than $500.00 in value is guilty of a felony and subject to more
than a year in prison.
So, where is the Magic Lick-Log? Was Mr. Van Man selling magic tricks as well
as stereo equipment? What is the relevance of this story? Is it possible people searching Google for
"Lick" and "Log" will find this story and wonder why they
were directed to a magic news site?
The application to our current crisis in Magic isn't that
difficult — but that doesn't mean we can't write about it a very confusing and
convoluted manner.
Let's divide magicians and manufacturers into a few
categories:
First: brand-new
magicians without any experience or knowledge of the craft's history;
Second: magicians
with some knowledge of both the market place and the recent magic history;
Third:
manufacturers or dealers just starting out in the business (such as a mom and
pop shop); and,
Fourth: experienced
manufacturers or dealers.
We want to encourage young people to get into our wonderful
art form.
The new magician is unlikely to purchase a counterfeit
version of David Copperfield's latest illusion.
The rookie magi will probably find satisfaction practicing
Cups-and-Balls, Chinese Sticks, or Cut-and-Restored Rope.
For the most part, novice magicians will purchase effects in
magic's version of the public domain.
The amateur or semi-professional or professional magician
should not receive the same benefit of the doubt extended to beginners.
A magician at this level knows or should know certain tricks
are not in the public domain. They may
not know the true inventor but they can discern those tricks we've had in our
craft for decades versus a more recent entry into the commercial magic market.
A "real" magic shop always has the hand-written
sign, "No Refunds. The Secret Is Told When the Trick Is Sold." It is de rigueur in the magic shop cohab.
We'll venture out onto a sturdy limb to suggest all
magicians know this maxim.
When we bought Jerry Andrus' Linking Pins we didn't really expect the cost of the five (?)
safety pins made up most of the $25.00 price.
We were buying the secret. We
were paying for Mr. Andrus' innovative routine and secret.
Are you still with us?
Let's review. If you're a new
magician, you probably don't know any better.
If you're a professional or semi-professional you do know or should know
whether a trick is in the public domain or the property of a magic
inventor.
Karl Marx said if one was going to object to his economic
philosophy, they would have to object to his most basic premises. Once you accept the premises, he said, the
philosophy and structure is logical and invulnerable to attack.
So if you accept our premise that we have responsibility for
acting in an ethical manner, you are ready for our logical exploration.
The experienced magician knows or should know that the price
tag reflects not the raw materials but the innovation of the trick's inventor.
We are not audiophiles but we generally know when something
is too good to be true.
(We're definitely not any kind of audiophile but we almost
were, we think. Eight years ago, we sort
of made out with a person at a family reunion who we kind of thought was our
cousin but it turned out we were wrong.
So, we didn't really do anything wrong after all. Our true cousin was really angry when we told
her the story though. She couldn't see
any similarity between her and the 82 year-old man rummaging through the trash
cans).
If we bought the stereo equipment, Mr. Van Man would get a
windfall and we'd get a stereo system at a crazy price. The true owner of the equipment would get
zip.
So didn't we have a duty to the victim of Mr. Van Man's
theft?
Sure. And not just
because we didn't want to break the law.
It was more than illegal, it was wrong.
We sleep with a loaded .38 under our pillow and our arm
wrapped around our 22 year-old Sony Betamax Video Player. We'd hate to lose the machine. Sure, we don't really sleep that well –
we're worried we'll fire the gun while dreaming about being fitted for a new
bowling ball — but the Betamax has value to us. It may not command much on the street but it
means something special to us.
(By the way, have you noticed there are less and less tapes
available for the Beta format? We
haven't seen a new release since The
Daring Dobermans Go To France).
You protest.
Hey Mr. Moral, who are you to judge whether a seller is
legitimate?
What if they have a plausible case for claiming the right to
sell a particular trick, isn't that good enough?
How is a simple magician to know the true owner or inventor
of every trick I want to purchase. I don't
live at the Magic
Castle or breathe the
rarified air of the elite historians. I
am just trying to make it month to month and have to shop solely on price.
We can't judge you or your motives. We can tell you, however, purchasing magic
based on price alone will often reward the thief and punish the inventor.
Let's head back to the Lick-Log for a second.
In your heart of hearts, your deepest self, you know you can
discern knock-offs from authentic magic effects.
Whether shopping at a brick and mortar magic shop or on the
internet, you know if there are two very similar versions of the same trick but
with disparate price points, one of the two is the knock-off.
The salesperson or web site will probably not tell you the
difference in price is because knock-offs cost him much less than the authentic
version of the trick.
But you don't need that explanation. First because we're telling you here and now;
and second, because if you possess the skills to use the internet or get to a
magic shop, you have the innate intelligence required to discern something that
is too good to be true.
Sure, it's possible the more expensive effect is a knock-off
or even just a better quality version of the authentic version authorized by
the inventor. We play the odds everyday
in our real job and we're willing to bet great price disparity evidences a
knock-off.
Test our theory.
Pause before pushing the purchase button long enough to post an inquiry
on Magic Café, the Genii Forum, SAM Talk, or the IBM Listserv. You will receive feedback almost instantly.
You can turn a blind eye to the issue but we all know not
seeking the truth is ethically no better than doing what we know is wrong.
The manufacturer and dealers are held to a much higher level
in our ethical model.
Whether a "mom and pop" magic store or a
sophisticated magic dealer or manufacturer, the dealer/manufacturer knows or
should know the history of the effect they are buying and selling to the magic public.
This is a radical concept.
It is tough to measure, impossible to enforce, and there is no official body
to sanction buyers or sellers who buy knock-offs. We have integrity and when the integrity fails
to keep us honest, we should be able on the peer pressure and support of our
magic brothers and sisters.
The costs are potentially very high if we ignore our ethical
responsibility to inventors. Eventually,
we will force the quality and innovation out of our art.
Categories: Magic Stories Tags:
Dorothy Dietrich, Houdini Museum Featured
From our very short and limited involvement with television network production (Court TV covered most of our first trial) we know there is an economic and strategic bias against covering stories unless they are in one of the top three television markets.
It is tough to blame the network producer. They need to bring the project in under budget. A story from Chicago, New York, or Los Angeles is easier and less expensive to produce than one from, say, Scranton, Pennsylvania.
So, given the choice between two comparable stories, the twenty-something producer will cover his or her bacon by shooting the story in the major media market.
This economic bias is exactly why we are impressed with Dorothy Dietrich and Dick Brooks. Despite the fact that their Houdini Museum is not within a top-three market, their work and the museum are frequently featured in world-wide television coverage.
In support of our theory we offer the news that the Canadian Travel Channel's Magic Road Trip begins this Friday and will feature the duo and their contribution to magic history.
We were exicited to learn his the production crew recorded some of our favorite Road Trip Destinations. Canadian viewers will have a chance to see some very special footage of Lance Burton "[his]act is so enchanting he was signed to the longest-term entertainment contract in history," as well as Quinlan's Inside Magic's favorite The Houdini Museum in the Poconos.
US viewers may have previously seen portions of the program when it ran on The Travel Channel.
We were impressed by the show's coverage of The Houdini Museum. Clearly the producers found Dorothy Dietrich and Johnny Bravo's work and performance worthy of highlighting. We couldn't agree more — so we won't even try.
The following episode will feature Penn and Teller, former Michigan magician Franz Harary, a magic show in Manhattan and a visit to the Magic Circle of London.
We look forward to hearing our Canadian friends' review of the episodes.
Categories: Magic News Tags:
Thoughts of Criss Angel on a Perfect Day with a Perfect Idiot
We were enjoying a warm, blissful morning at our favorite
bistro on the main boulevard in Mystic Hollow.
We?re sure you?ve had similar mornings.
Not
a care in the world, just enjoying all that nature chose
this very morn to give us. Loving what we had set
before us.
We saw a very good, nay, intimate pal of ours walking our way
and we beckoned him to come hither.
Thomas indulged us and joined us at the simple but oh so
wonderful table to partake in a discussion.
So there we were having a delightful tête-à-tête if you will, and frankly why wouldn?t you?
"Thomas, my good man, how goes thee on this the most glorious of all the days?"
Thomas
is a sprite, a wit, and never cowers from a hefty argument or fruitful
debate on virtually any issue and so it was no surprise he chose to
engage immediately.
Oh, such good sport.
"I
am fine," he said with a nod but the gleam in his eye told me one of
two things: he was ready for a debate — a battle of wits — or he
misapplied his toothpaste that morning.
(Witty R Us, no? Gleam in eye? Oh dear, we do go on).
"Why do you say this is the best of all possible days?" he asked sipping a bit of his morning libation.
"Oh, dear man, good friend, how could I say any other thing and still consider myself to be a honest fellow."
I sniffed deeply to morning aromas that circled the Catina here on the main avenue in Mystic Hollow.
"It is so wonderful, I wish I could stop time to hold it forever." Thomas, always the joker responded quickly.
"Are you drunk or something?"
He took another sip of his beverage.
"This is like the worst day ever," he said. "It is hot and sticky and the smell is going to make me vomit."
Hyperbole, a wonderful tool of the witty.
"The 'smell' as you say, dear Thomas, is a wonderful aroma of
glorious tidings. A melange of nature's finest offered for our
pleasure."
"Whatever!" Thomas signed as he expectorated towards but not quite all the way to the road just beyond our table area.
"Smells like a clown threw-up. Like cotton candy and Sterno squeezings."
Oh dear, where does he come up with these similes?
Incredible man.
Darling banter.
"Still, Mon amigo, it is a glorious day."
Thomas shook his head and looked towards his lap. He was searching for something.
"Do you have a cig I can bum?" he asked in the street parlance so popular in these modern days.
"A 'cig'?" I laughed. "Why my good consort, why would you think I
would have a cigarette? I don't smoke such things."
He responded, "You must be smoking something because you stink like an ashtray."
Touché.
I
responded to his barb appropriately, "yes, indeed, I have just this
hour stumbled from an all-night session of magic and some of the good
fellows there were smoking cigarettes of all exotic types. Perhaps some
of their hearty residue found residence in my garb."
Thomas sniffed me again and looked towards the street.
He
stepped towards the curb of our town's main street and picked up the
remnants of what was once a full-sized cigarette of uncertain brand
name and without filter.
"You have a light?" He asked as he shoved the crumpled stick between his lips.
I accorded his request and enabled the burn he apparently needed so badly.
Poor man.
Poor Thomas.
The devil weed of tobacco had clearly taken him for hostage.
So
deeply lodged were nicotine's talons that he was forced to take up the
horribly unsanitary search for cigarettes not fully consumed by some
unknown passerby.
Their litter, their regretful habits of smoking and littering
actually fostered Thomas some relief from the anxiety.
Symbiosis by any other name, no?
He breathed deeply on his newfound cigarette.
He was likely its last owner.
We dare say he would smoke it to its end and not leave any part for a fellow scavenger.
"Did you see any good tricks?" He asked as calm began to return to his previously troubled visage.
"Why yes, yes I did, Thomas." I
took another sip of my own drink and a nibble from a delicious pastry
created apparently just for my own craving for something sweet,
substantial, and sublime.
"Whatcha see?" He asked, donning the 'street' in his talk.
"Oh, you know the type of tricks one sees at a session. Usually
unprepared and not fully routined but miraculous nonetheless."
"Who was there? That fat guy and his bald wife?" Thomas asked as he took the last full draw from the cigarette.
He apparently burned his fingertips in an effort to savor the last bit of his exotic purchase.
"Do you mean Guy Tussle and his assistant and life mate, Veronica?"
Veronica wasn't bald by any means.
She suffered a bit of alopecia from a bout of the nerves. They were
planning on taking the plunge, if you will. Diving head-long into the
seas of matrimony.
"She's not bald," I said rather bluntly.
I was surprised by the indignant sound in my voice and my curt ejaculation.
"She suffers hair-loss when she is anxious and she is indeed anxious as would be any bride-to-be."
Thomas spit again towards the street. This
time the recent smoke must have given his saliva the needed viscosity
to hold its shape throughout its tremendous arching travel to the
asphalt.
"Good shot, sir!" I thought but did not say. I did not want to condone spitting.
"She's been married about fifteen times. What does she have to be nervous about?"
Veronica
or "Ronnie" as she is called at the watering hole for all great
magicians in this very magical village, The Thumb Tip Inn, has been
married several times but certainly not fifteen times.
"I hear," Thomas said, "she's been stoking up crystal meth and the fumes screw with your hair."
How crass. How crude. How utterly unfounded. I
felt I should come to poor Ronnie's defense.
Although she had a bit of
a reputation for fun and frolic in our small hamlet, she was by no
means a 'meth addict.'
"Thomas," I said, "You don't know that. How dare you insult our
friend, Veronica. Why didn't she used to be your eye's prize a year or
two back?"
"No, she was just using me to get some cash. She was going out with Bug behind my back."
'Bug,' gentle reader, is the awkward and somewhat cliché nickname given to Guy Tussle, magician.
"Well,
that explains your angst, your regretful statements against her purity
and integrity; as well as your lack of compassion for her hair-loss." I gave a forgiving nod in his direction.
"Whatever. Was Ronnie and Bug there?"
"Yes, in fact they were."
"Was she high or slurring or doing that thing with her jaw?"
I did not want to get into a debate or discussion about poor Veronica's mannerisms or tics.
"I didn't notice," I said. "Say, we had a cracker-jack discussion
last night about the popularity of magicians outside our country's
borders."
Thomas seemed distracted by the visual hunt for another cigarette remnant but ever the gentleman, he responded.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yes."
"Like what?" he asked.
"For instance, do you thing Criss Angel is known around the world or is he just a American icon?"
Thomas
responded thoughtfully as he dodged an oncoming Toyota Prism after
snagging a rather full-sized cigarette butt from the street.
Darn
those hybrid cars — while they may be ecologically friendly, it will
take a while before pedestrians recall they are almost silent when
driving in battery mode.
I lit a match and held it out for Thomas as he sat down with stick of stink in position.
"He's
just a US thing," Thomas sputtered as he exhaled, looked at the
cigarette fragment, wiped what appeared to be lipstick or lip gloss
from the non-lit end and replaced it.
"Blaine is known everywhere. Angel is just like Thurston and Blaine is like Houdini."
"Wait, what?!" I sputtered.
I was losing my composure. This was inane.
"You heard me. Blaine is like Houdini — travels the world, does
crap on everyone's TV and is a household or hut-hold name."
I was becoming emotional.
I record the remainder of our dialog but not without shame and regret.
I dropped to or even below his level.
"First of all, Tom, there as no television in Houdini's day here or in Europe," I said.
"Same thing. However they shared news back then. Houdini was on it
world-wide and Thurston was the biggest name in cow towns doing his
rising card deal." I pushed the table away from my
chair.
"Forget the Thurston insult. Blaine isn't known for magic outside
of the US. He's known for sitting in a box and relieving himself in the
public's vision for more than a month."
"He didn't relieve himself in public. They had a facility for that," Tom said.
"Whatever, my point is that it wasn't magic. The Brits saw some guy in
a box for a long time but that doesn't make it magic. He's not known
for magic. Criss Angel is known for magic. He's a magician."
"Whoa, partner," Tom the moron sputtered.
"What are you like all Broke-back for Criss Angel or something?"
"What?!" I exclaimed. "You're
a jerk. I'm just saying Criss Angel is known as a magician and as he
continues to develop his career, he's reputation as a magician will
continue to . . ."
He cut me off.
"You're a little sensitive about Criss Angel," he said.
"You may be out of luck cuz I think he's getting married or something."
"I'm not sensitive about Criss Angel or anything. I don't care about
his love-life. You're trying to change the subject because you know
you're wrong."
Tom became positively immature: "Why don't you marry him and kiss
him all day if you love Criss Angel so much?" he taunted.
"Why don't you take a big bite out of crime — your mother's fat butt," I blurted.
"That doesn't even make sense," Tom said.
I hate that smile he gets on his face. I wanted to knock it right off.
He continued.
"Blaine is described in the press around the world as a magician."
"And so is Criss Angel," I said.
"No, no he's not," the fungus-brained dolt said.
"Yes, as a matter of fact, he is."
"No, as a matter of fact, he is not!"
"Yes."
"No. Hey,
give me another light."
He had found another piece of dried up
cigarette somewhere and was sucking on it like a crack baby on a bender.
I threw the lighter at his chest and it bounced off his rolls of fat onto his lap and then onto the sidewalk.
"Thanks," he said.
He was trying to act like it didn't hurt but I know it did.
I was calming down. My assault was apparently a fine release for my psyche.
"Criss Angel is having his shows shown in Australia, Europe, and India."
"No he's not," the human cancer study said between greedy puffs.
I
hoped the reason the previous owner threw the cigarette away was
because he was in the midst of some kind of horrible seizure from a
very contagious form of TB or Strep or something.
"Uh, yeah he is, Moron!" I said.
"Uh,
look who's calling who a 'moron,' Mr. "I only know one force and that's
the criss-cross force and I still do it like a retarded monkey with
gloves on."
That was low. I do the Classic Force. I can do a bunch of forces. He's lying.
"Oh wait," the closest thing I'll ever see to a real Jaba the Hutt
said. "You can only do a 'CRISS-cross' force. How cute! You even do
tricks named after him."
"You're a jerk," I said. "Ronnie was right to dump you. She said you always smelled like mayonnaise."
That stunned him.
"What?"
"She said you smelled like mayonnaise all the time," I said.
"No, wait, you said Criss Angel is having his show on television in India. Are you just making that up?" he asked.
"No," I said. "I read it in today's edition of Indian Television."
"Don't jerk me around," the bully said. "I've got money riding on this."
"You've got money riding on whether Criss Angel's A&E show is
being aired in India? Who would make that kind of bet?"
He shook his head and spit again.
What a pig!
"No, nut-jobber," he tossed back my lighter. "I bet Bug that you loved
Criss Angel so much you'd be like some kind of stalker or something. He
said you weren't that obsessed. If
you're reading Indian Television Today to learn about Criss Angel,
you're one step away from going all Jodie Foster on him."
He continued with glee, "Bug said you were all freak-a-doodle for
Lindsay Lohan because he saw your apartment and it's like all-Lindsay
Lohan all over."
He started walking away — apparently to go collect on his stupid bet.
"I just think she's a talented actress, that's all."
"What paper did you see that story in, Stalker-Boy?" he asked over his fat shoulder as he waddled away.
"Indian Television Today," I said softly.
I tell you, gentle reader, I felt stupid.
"It's known as 'Your One-Stop Source for Everything Related to Indian Television."
"Oh My God!" he giggled. "What a complete freak!"
"The article is on the web here."
I said for no apparent reason — it never makes sense to talk in
hyper-links. HTML is really more effective when written.
"Is that where you read about Lindsay Lohan's mastery of The Charlier Pass?"
He was mocking me. He knew that news came from The Irish Times.
("The Magic's Back for Miss Lohan — So is the Red Hair," Irish Times,
July 2nd, 2006). Fans in her ancestral homeland were greatly
irritated when she gave into the popular culture by denying, literally
her Irish roots by becoming a blond and loosing far too much
weight).
I felt like an idiot.
But
I'm no stalker and I don't even like Jodie Foster and I just really
think Criss Angel is a great performer who is unfairly attacked by the
so-called "cool" magicians; while David 'Inanimate' Blaine gets the
press and the rep."
I felt sick in my stomach.
I regretted eating that fifth donut and ever engaging in the argument.
I couldn't believe Bug set me up. I should never have let him see my apartment.
His drug-addict floozy wife-to-be probably needed more money to buy stuff she couldn't steal.
Whatever.
Still it was kind of a nice day.
I could walk to the bookstore and see if they had any new magazines
about Criss Angel and Lindsay Lohan and whether they're dating and
stuff.
Categories: Magic Stories Tags: