Pill Imps

This might have been mentioned somewhere in your writings, and I'm doing a Marlo on you by suggesting an imp I forgot I read before. Nevertheless, just in case that it isn't so, here it goes.  

The idea is to talk about how when you were young you weren't good at a certain subject, let's say maths and at the time there was a study to use a medication to increase the skill. You show a beaten up pill container from a pharmacy with the label and all with the name of the medication (e.g. arithmeticalic acid) and you state that the study was eventually shut down. But you always thought it actually did help, maybe it was a placebo effect, but who knows? 

Now you go into any maths based routine, such as the Idiot Savant one. 

It will be fun and easy to create a label that looks real and just sand it down enough to make it look old but still legible. The pills could be any vitamin. 

I know for sure you mentioned taking a pill to give you temporary super powers. I'm just not sure you ever mentioned the idea of an actual prescription. —GT

Yeah, I don’t know if I’ve written about this exact idea, but probably 90% of it in the past. It’s good to re-mention it now with the Savant Deck release and the Idiot Savant post. “I’m great at math” is just too believable a premise. And I’d be devastated if someone thought I was actually trying to convince them of a real skill. So building a backstory is essential for me. They need to know we’re in the realm of fiction—or at least that I’m not taking genuine credit for being good at math.

To give it some “depth,” I wouldn’t just say, “These are pills that make you good at math. Now watch as I’m good at math.”

I’d set it up so the math thing was a weird side effect. Maybe I got put on these pills for being a hyperactive kid. They calmed me down, but also gave me brief bursts of hyper-focus with numbers.

“The pills worked to calm me down. And the math thing was just an added benefit. My parents were thrilled. But there was another side effect as well… they shrunk my testicles down to the size of peas. I may have been a hyperactive lunatic without the pills. But still, my parents were like, well… we can’t do that to him.”

I’d say I kept a couple dozen of the pills for decades and would pop one every few years just to see if the math thing still worked. And, actually… it did.

“Let me show you…”

By now we’re clearly in the realm of the fantastical, but when I do then perform some impossible mathematical feat, it still might make them second-guess what’s real—or wonder what’s going on with my testicles at that moment.

Mailbag #145: Magic and the Internet

Convince me people actually want to see magic anymore. The only things I see online that get views are people exposing magic tricks. Did the internet kill magic?—TW

Magic isn’t made for the internet. It’s meant to be experienced offline, between humans, in person.

Secrets are the only part of magic that gets traction online because they’re the only aspect that really works there.

It’s amazing how few magicians seem to grasp this:

Magic is a real-world, interpersonal experience.

Magic on the internet doesn’t really exist. Even on TV, you still need an audience there to replicate the person-to-person connection.

Saying, “People don’t like magic because all I see online is people exposing magic,” is like saying, “People don’t like romance because all I see online is hardcore pornography.”

Yes, but that’s because “romance” doesn’t translate well online either. Done well, in person, it’s wildly effective.

My friends have two daughters, Sarah (9) and Evie (13).

At the end of each season, their parents ask them to list three highlights from the past few months—special moments they want to remember.

At the end of June, my friend sent me his daughters’ “highlights” for spring. They were:

1. The taffy pull.

2. The beach scavenger hunt.

3. Forming their “band.”

Now, what these highlights had in common was:

  • They were all fully offline.

  • I was there for all three.

  • They took place over the course of about 10 hours.

A “taffy pull” couldn’t be less online. It’s the sort of thing you would find done at a party, like, 100 or 200 years ago.

The “scavenger hunt” was really a magic trick where a bunch of clues led us to a deck of cards. A card was selected and signed, and the rest of the deck was assembled to reveal a treasure map on the back of the cards. We followed the treasure map to find the card they just signed, buried in a locked box. (A variation on a trick from one of my previous books.)

The “band” was me and my girlfriend teaching them to play “When U Love Somebody” by the Fruit Bats.*

My point: these are two girls who live online. The 13-year-old often has one earbud in, streaming TikToks while talking to you. But their seasonal highlights were entirely offline. The things they remembered and wanted to remember were all in the real world.

People worry that face-to-face interaction has been replaced by the internet and AI. It hasn’t. If anything, those pale imitations make real-world connection more valuable.

Do magic online, and you’ll find people chasing secrets.

Do shitty magic in person, and you’ll find people wishing they were online.

But do fascinating things for real people in the real world and you will find an unending pool of people who enjoy magic.


* Teaching a group of people “When U Love Somebody” by the Fruit Bats is one of my favorite things to do. You can teach non-musicians the keyboard part (you don’t need a keyboard, you can play an app on your phone), the “drum” part (just banging out quarter-notes on an empty box) and the tambourine part (anything that jangles) very simply. The lyrics are easy to pick up too.

I do the guitar part myself, usually. But if there’s someone else in the group who knows guitar or ukulele, I’ll give it to them. It’s very easy to pick up. I just wouldn’t try and give those parts to an absolute beginner. But they can handle everything else.



Dustings #129

Vanishing Inc. is once again advertising Joshua Jay’s Collapsible Wine Glass.

Or more accurately, it’s the ““Collapsible” “Wine” “Glass.””

Some might take issue with the fact it’s not made of glass, but obviously you don’t want this thing to shatter in your carry-on.

A stronger complaint is that it doesn’t quite look like a wine glass. If you did an image search for “wine glass,” you’d get carpal tunnel from scrolling long before you found something that looked quite like that. No one would imagine that shape if you said, “Picture a wine glass,” If you said, “Picture a wine glass designed in Minecraft specifically to hold a deck of cards,” then maybe you’d be in the ballpark.

But for me, the issue here is the word “collapsible.”

“Collapsible” means something that can be folded into a more compact shape.

Here’s what the “collapsible” wine glass does.

They mean it separates into two parts.

By that definition, an English Muffin is collapsible.

Separating into two pieces isn’t collapsing. Thank god they’re just writing magic ad copy and not a newspaper.

Vanishing Inc. Daily Herald

Bridge Collapses!!


For owners of the last book, some ideas from Chris Rawlins on Dragomir and Janus have been added to the Digital Appendix.


This guy isn’t doing much to disabuse people of the notion that most magicians have never been invited to—and have no idea what goes on at—a “party.”


I’m getting too old and out of touch. And I’m fully at the point where I frequently don’t understand what the effect is with some new releases.

For example, what is this trick?

Is the trick: The thing you wrote down is also on my little e-ink display on my keychain?

That seems like it would be a shitty idea for a trick that would entertain no one.

But if this is supposed to be masquerading as something normal, then… like…. what is it supposed to be? It doesn’t look like a sticker. It doesn’t look engraved. It doesn’t look like plastic. It doesn’t look like any normal keychain.

If it was $18 then I’d say, “Well, yeah, it’s stupid, but it’s cheap.” But it’s $250.

What am I missing? Help an old man navigate the world of magic in his dotage.

Who Is This For?

There are some tricks that are just fun to perform. They’re constructed in such a way that you feel like a little watchmaker crafting something elegant as the routine unfolds. I do the Elmsley Count here, and that sneakily positions their card so I can do the double-lift with no get-ready. And now I can do the lay-down sequence and all the diamonds will automatically be in this pile, and now no matter which pile they choose I can show them my prediction was dead-on.

Or the trick might rely on a sequence of sleights that just feel good in your hands. Like, for me, I’ve always enjoyed tricks where you’re doing a lot of small-packet counts that seem to show what you’re holding over and over. Maybe it’s a packet of jokers that turn over one at a time. And then you turn it over everything at the end, and they’re the four aces. It just feels good to me to have them watch as I count through this packet, and the whole time I’m hiding these Aces. It feels right and… elegant in some way.

I’m not denying the appeal of a satisfying method that just feels good in your hands. But recognize that this can lead you down a bad path. That path is focusing on the method rather than the spectator’s experience. Very often, the tricks that are the most enjoyable to practice are the least fun to watch.

The Cups and Balls and the Linking Rings didn’t become classic magician’s tricks because audiences were clamoring to see twenty-two variation on the same minor miracle in three minutes. They stuck around because they’re fun for magicians—to futz with, to finesse, to work out the choreography. There’s a built-in sense of accomplishment that comes from just practicing these things. “I made it all the way through and didn’t fuck up!” Congrats! Now you get to bore people with it.

We’re often drawn to the dopamine hit of mastering a complicated method. One that taxes our dexterity or our minds.

But when I think about tricks that get me the strongest reactions, they’re almost always the ones with simple or sloppy methods.

When I lean forward to grab the pen off the coffee table, I’ll stuff this deck in the couch cushion and grab the other one from behind the pillow.

It’s not fun to practice methods like these. You get no thrill out of them. The only thrill is in seeing the outcome they generate.

But, of course: That’s all that really matters.

Even for me—someone who is writing about this stuff all the time—I have to ask myself, “Who is this for?” when I have a trick that feels especially enjoyable to rehearse. Is it enjoyable for me? Or for the person watching it?

I’m not saying you need to cut every trick that leans more toward “for you” than “for them.” But if your goal is to genuinely capture people, I’d keep those tricks under 20% of your repertoire.

A few weeks ago, I got an email from reader Cadence L. that began like this:

“Here is a presentation idea I had for David Roth’s routine, “The Funnel.” It requires keeping up a very bizarre premise for a very long time: namely, that you and your friend are making commercial first contact with a federation of sentient isolationist rats.”

The method they provided was a kind of slapdash amalgam of ideas that when duct-taped together would allow you to present this story of you interacting with the rat trade delegation that lived in your heating vents.

There was nothing method-wise that was really appealing about this. But I thought to myself, “I’d love for someone to perform this for me.”

Too often, as magicians, our instinct is to say, “I’d love to do this trick.” But a better metric—the one that actually points to strong material—is when you find yourself saying, “I’d love to have this performed for me.”

Examining Everyday Objects

Let’s talk about examinability and a little rule I try and follow when doing tricks with (apparently) normal objects.

That rule is this:

Everyday objects should be examined after the effect.

(I say “everyday” here to differentiate from the times when you’re introducing something exotic, like a time-reversing moon rock. That’s going to have different rules for when it should be examined. Here I’m talking about a bottle cap, a coin, a piece of string, or something.)

Of course, in a perfect world, everything you use would be able to be examined whenever the spectator shows an interest. But in the real world, that’s not often possible.

An example

I hand you a pen and a dollar bill to inspect. I take them back and push the pen through the bill. Then I show that the bill is fully restored.

This isn’t ideal. Because now—after the magic—is when you want to see the objects. Not before, when you didn’t know what to look for.

It’s almost unnatural to invite examination of a normal object before doing something extraordinary with it. It’s like asking someone to lick the raw ingredients before you bake them into a cake.

Pay attention. What happens when you ask people to examine a normal object at the start of the trick? They hold it awkwardly. Shrug. Say, “Uhm…yeah… okay.”

What does “examine” even mean at this point before you’ve done anything? Are they supposed to go CSI: Office Equipment mode and break out a jeweler’s loupe and a black light?

No. They do a casual once-over and hand it back.

And a “casual once-over “doesn’t help reduce suspicion once the trick is done. At the end, they don’t think, “Well, I looked at it beforehand, so I know it’s normal.” They think, “Wait… I didn’t look closely enough. I want to get my hands on that now.” And if they can’t, they’ll confidently decide it was a trick pen or a gimmicked bill, and they just didn’t know how to spot it. Because they weren’t in detective mode at the start.

On the other hand, if you don’t let them examine the pen and the bill beforehand, but then hand them out afterward, you are weaponizing their suspicion against them.

They will watch the trick, thinking there is obviously something special about the pen or bill. So when you hand the objects out afterward, they are doubly-fooled.

In fact, with a normal object, I usually choose not to hand it out before the trick even if I can, just to build a little tension and heat on it. That way, when it’s examined at the end, that suspicion feeds into the astonishment.

Idiot Savant

One of the highlights of the Savant Deck release is a trick called Rainman. With the right spectator, the deck can be shuffled, a group of cards is cut off by them, those cards are spread on the table and within just a couple of seconds you can tell them the total of all the values of the cards.

I’m not quite sure how I feel about the trick. Honestly, I can’t even consider performing it as-is, because I just don’t have many people in my life who do consistent riffle shuffles. And for me, the spectator shuffle feels essential to the strength of the routine.

So I created my own method for the trick.

It has its pros and cons compared to the Savant Deck version.

The downsides: it requires a set-up deck (though technically, so does the original), and it involves a bit more mental math—nothing a third grader couldn’t handle, but still.

The upsides: it uses a spectator shuffle that they can’t screw up, they don’t need to tell you how many cards they cut, and you’re left with a normal deck you can use for any other trick afterward.

Set-Up

I use a marked deck for this.

Start by building the 12-card stack shown here:

Then, from the remaining cards, pull out 10 cards and total their values. You might want to pick cards that add up to a memorable number—like 69—so you don’t forget the total. Place a memorable card (e.g., the Ace of Spades) at the face of this 10-card group to serve as a visual marker.

So at this point, you have:

  • A 12-card stack

  • A 10-card “bank” totaling 69, with a visual cue card on the face

Now build your deck like this:

  1. Place the 12-card stack face-down on the table.

  2. Place the 10-card bank face-up on top of that.

  3. Place the rest of the deck face-up on top of everything.

You’re now ready to perform.

Performance

Part One: The Shuffle

Begin by removing the cards from the case so that the 12-card stack is face-down at the bottom.

Slide off about 15 cards from the face-up portion of the deck and hand them to your friend to shuffle.

When they’re done, take them back and place them face-down underneath the deck.

Next, spread through the deck until you reach the Ace of Spades (the key card at the face of your 10-card bank). Hand your friend all the cards above the Ace to shuffle. When they return them, also place this group face-down underneath the deck.

Finally, spread the remaining face-up cards and hand them over as well. Refer to this group casually as “the final third.” When they’ve shuffled, take them back and place them face-down on top of the deck.

Position Check

You now have:

  • Your just-shuffled 10-card bank (totaling 69) on top

  • Your 12-card stack preserved just beneath it

  • The rest of the deck below that

  • The entire deck is face-down

What they perceive

From your friend’s perspective, you casually handed the deck over in three chunks and had them shuffle each section. In reality, you protected your 12-card stack in the middle of the deck.

Alternative (For Multiple Spectators)

If you're performing for three people, you can tweak the handling:

  • Give one person a random chunk of 15 cards

  • Give another person another random 15 cards

  • Give the third person the 10-card bank

  • You keep the stack for yourself

Each person shuffles their group (you false-shuffle yours), then reassemble the deck as above: bank on top, stack second, everything else beneath.

Either way, you can now turn the entire deck face up and give it an overhand shuffle, mixing only the top half of the face-up deck. After shuffling the cards themselves, your friend is now seeing an obviously real mixing of cards face-up. It would be difficult for any layperson to fathom the cards aren’t genuinely mixed.

Part Two: The Selection

“I want you to cut off some cards. Not too few or it won’t be impressive. But not too many that we’re here all day. So shoot for about a third of the deck. Anywhere from 10-20 cards or so.”

Or, alternatively, simply say: “Cut off about a third of the deck.”

That’s it. It’s very straightforward.

They do this while your back is turned. You don’t need to know how many cards they cut off.

Part Three: Knowing the Number

This step might sound a little tricky at first, but I promise you’re not too dumb to figure this out.

You need to note the card on top of the remaining cards on the table. You can do this when you turn around or as you set those cards aside.

If it’s a red card

  • Subtract 1 from its value

  • Multiply the result by 10

That gives you the total value of the cards removed from the stack.

Example: If the card is the 3 of Hearts
→ 3 − 1 = 2
→ 2 × 10 = 20

Now just add the value of the bank (which is always 69) to get the grand total of the values of the cards in their hands.
→ 69 + 20 = 89

If it’s a black card

  • Subtract its value from 10 → that’s your ones digit

  • Subtract 1 from that result → that’s your tens digit

Example: If the card is the 6 of Clubs
→ 10 − 6 = 4 (ones digit)
→ 4 − 1 = 3 (tens digit)
→ Total = 34

Then just add the 69 from the bank:
→ 69 + 34 = 103

I can’t stress how easy determining the total value taken from the stack is. If it sounds complicated, it’s only because it sounds complicated. Not because it is.

Why This Works

The 12-card stack is made up of six two-card groups, each consisting of one red card and one black card, and each group totals 10.

  • The red card’s value in each pair tells you its position in the stack (1st pair, 2nd pair, etc.)

  • So if you see a red card at the top, you know they removed an even number of cards from the stack

  • If you see a black card, they removed an odd number of cards

With a red card:
You just want to know how many complete red-black pairs were removed. That’s always one less than the red card’s value.

With a black card:
You're seeing the second card in a red-black pair, so you work backward to figure out the red card's value.
That gives you how many pairs were taken—and lets you compute the total.

Summary

  • Red card? Just subtract 1 and add a zero to the end

  • Black card? Subtract from 10, subtract 1 again, and build the two-digit number

Examples:

A red 5 = 4 × 10 = 40
A black 9 = (10−9 = 1, then 1−1 = 0) → 01

Always add the fixed 69 from the bank.

Part Four: The Instant Sum

The work is done. You know the total of the values of the cards they hold without even seemingly knowing how many cards they hold.

Now it’s the time to have the cards deal out. Or riffled towards you. Or fanned and flashed to you. Or however you want to do it.

I think the question at this point is why?

If it’s just, “I can add up card values quickly”—as it’s presented in the Savant Deck demonstration—I think it falls a little flat.

He said he was going to add up the card values quickly, and he did.

A more interesting story might be what you’re doing that’s allowing you to do this feat of mental math.

Or what it’s costing you to be able to do this lightning calculation

Or maybe you’re not doing it quickly. Maybe you’re shifting their perception of time so it only seems like you can add up the numbers fast.

Or maybe you make it about something other than your ability to do math quickly at all.

That’s the direction I’m leaning toward. I have a few ideas I’ll be trying out in the coming weeks. If the reactions are strong, I’ll flesh out the full presentation in a future publication.

Mailbag #144

Curious if you think the new levitating phone version of Leviosa has the same issues you had with the floating deck version. —SC

Let me start by saying, I love the ambition behind this trick. A phone floating from the ground into someone’s hand is a wild effect, and I admire that there are people like João Miranda attempting something so bold and difficult.

That said, there are a lot of issues here.

The first is one of basic human perception. We have a deeply ingrained, evolutionary sense of how physical objects should move. Even without touching something, we can judge its weight and solidity by how it travels through space. Our brains are wired to pick up on these cues.

And I don’t think this passes that test.

That is to say… this moves like a lightweight fake phone, gently wobbling and swaying as it rises up, pulled by some unseen strand of something.

Now, you could argue, “Well, maybe magical levitation would look like that. Maybe the phone is dangling from a ‘string of telekinetic energy.’” Sure, you could try that angle.

But most people aren’t going to think “psychic thread.” They’re going to think: string.

Second, structurally, the trick is messy.

The phone flips over. The flashlight goes on. Then it levitates.

The phone flip makes the phone look lightweight (to me). It looks like a stiff breeze could blow it over. This not only burns the surprise that you can make the phone move, but also puts the spectator on edge that maybe the phone isn’t moving like they would suspect.

Then the flashlight turns on, which barely qualifies as a magic moment. A phone’s flashlight turning on is not going to impress anyone.

By the time the levitation happens, it’s already lost some of its punch. You've already shown the phone can move from a distance, so the escalation feels flatter than it should.

Assuming you can do it this way, I would just make the flashlight come on first. This is about the most unremarkable thing you can do with a phone, so it’s not going to get much of a reaction. Then make it rise. When it moves fully out of the blue like that, I suspect the levitation will hit much harder.

Third, the phone can’t be examined at the moment people actually want to examine it.

Sure, they’re shown a normal phone at the start of the trick—but that’s not when the phone is interesting. And no spectator is going to say, “Yes, the phone I saw at the beginning was definitely the one that levitated later.” They’re not scrutinizing it that closely. And if you prompted them to pay close attention at the start, they’d also likely notice when the phone goes out of sight for a beat.

Look at the reaction in the demo. I would say the responses are in line with what I would expect from people reacting to a fake phone levitating up to someone’s hand. They’re somewhat surprised and pleased. There’s definitely a “magicalness” to it, whether the phone is real or not. But that’s not the response I would expect from people who felt they were seeing a real phone floating.

I would say their responses are less intense than what I get when I use a Loop to “flip up” a borrowed pair of sunglasses.

Fourth—and most egregiously—there’s the presentation.

Now, you can disagree with everything I’ve said so far. You might think the float looks great, the phone looks legit, and there’s not much heat on it afterward. And if that’s how it plays for you? You’ll probably be happy with the product. I’ve owned a couple of João Miranda’s items myself and been satisfied with the quality.

But here’s the thing that should absolutely infuriate you—if you’re the kind of person who gets infuriated about magic tricks. (You shouldn’t be. But still.)

Let’s take a look at the patter used during the switch, when the real phone is secretly swapped for the gimmick under the pretense of getting a pen:

I'm pretty sure that you know this, but we have plenty of notifications, right? This is so nice. This technology is so nice because we can get in contact with anyone around the world and we just get an answer in a few seconds. This is so nice. I mean, years back, this technology doesn't exist. Do you know what they used to use? Let me show you.I think I got it here. It's here. They used pens to write letters and they ship those letters and they had to wait like weeks even months to get an answer back. Right now with mobile phones you get an answer in seconds and technology and let me know if you think about it too but technology provokes an impact right something happening in another part of the world we can feel that impact here thanks to technology. Let me show you what I mean.

Let’s take a beat and really think about this.

You’re about to levitate a fucking phone right in front of them. This should be one of the most amazing things they’ve ever witnessed in real life.

And how do you introduce it?

With a meandering little essay on phones and how people used to write letters with pens.

What does that have to do with anything? How does that build toward the moment you’re about to create? It doesn’t. It’s dull, retarded filler.

It’s a big fuck you to the audience, too. “I need to grab something from my pocket to switch in a fake phone, so I’m going to ramble about technology and pens. Doesn’t matter what I say—just needed the cover. Got your ass.”

They spent months, if not years, working on the mechanics of the trick. And absolutely zero time coming up with an impactful way to present it that respects the audience at all.

I’ve had farts that lasted longer than the amount of time they put into this presentation. That is not hyperbole.

Now, you might say, “Okay, sure, it’s dumb. But you can just change that part.”

True. You just need an excuse to go to your pocket. And yes, you can come up with a better rationale. But the fact that this is the script they chose to showcase the trick? That tells you how little consideration went into anything beyond the gadget.

And the fact is, most magicians are going to do it just like this. They’re going to spend $250 to leave their spectators mildly amused, and in part that’s because they’re trying to build up what should be an impossible moment with the dumb, “Have you ever heard of a pen before?” presentation. Then they’ll wonder—once again—why no one gives a shit about what they do.


What’s the best way you know to decline to perform for someone who asks? —DC

I don’t do that very often. But if I have to, I will do so by suggesting there’s something I want to show them, it’s just not quite ready yet.

“Oh, actually, there’s been something I’ve been looking into that I think you’d be perfect for. I’ve been wanting to try it with you, but I don’t have it with me. Next week I promise to bring it.”

Builds anticipation. Doesn’t seem like you’re brushing them off.

What if I won’t see the person again so I can’t delay?

In that case, I either show them something simple or let them know—genuinely—what’s pulling me away:

“I’d love to, but I actually have to [meet someone / be somewhere / do something] in a few minutes.”

That’s usually enough. Most people understand.