24 Disarmers

Magic is so much associated with expressing how clever or “special” you are, that anything you do that undermines that notion is incredibly disarming to people.

It’s like the classic conman move where you give the mark something first (a little money or a small gift). That upfront generosity lowers suspicion, because if someone’s giving you value, your brain resists the idea that they’re trying to take from you.

In magic, I try to do the same thing—except instead of giving away money or favors, I give away the power behind the trick. Sometimes in a way that feels real, sometimes in a way that feels fantastical—but either way, it scrambles expectations. Because the subtext of most magic—whether it’s your seven-year-old nephew or David Copperfield—is basically: “This is a contest. I win if I fool you. And fooling you proves I’m special so you must clap or validate me in some way.” That’s the dynamic people expect.

I want to break that expectation. So in almost every trick I do, I frame it in a way that undermines that model. A framing that downplays my power. That’s very disarming for people who assume the only reason to do magic is to show-off. And it primes them to experience the trick in a different way.

I’ve been writing about this since the beginning of this site, but now I’m formalizing this type of technique with a name: A Dis (plural: Disses)

“Dis” is short for Disarm. But it also plays on the slang “diss” (as in, a diss track). Because in a way, that’s exactly what you’re doing—you’re dissing yourself, undercutting your own power on purpose.

Which brings us here. Below are 24 Disses—broad categories of framings you can use to strip your power when performing

Disses

1. I didn’t do it, someone else did.
   A real or imaginary third party is the one responsible for the magic.

2. I didn’t do it, you did.
   Spectator-as-magician/mindreader.

3. I didn’t do it, some formless power did.
   Fate, luck, coincidence, karma.

4. I didn’t do it, this mystical object did.
   A crystal, charm, cursed relic, haunted object

5. I didn’t do it, this new piece of technology did.
   A futuristic device, app, AI, gadget.

6. I didn’t do it, something paranormal did.
   Ghosts, spirits, ESP, aliens.

7. I didn’t do it. Nothing happened. You’re imagining things.
   Magic as gaslighting (or gaslighting as magic)

8. I didn’t do it, that’s just a weird quirk of mathematics.
   Probability, number patterns, statistics

9. I didn’t do it, that’s just a weird quirk of psychology.
   Suggestion, perception, memory.

10. I did it, but I didn’t mean to.
    Happy accident.

11. I did it, but I was trying to do something else.
    The effect appears as a mistake or failure, not something you’d take credit for.
    “I was trying to make it vanish, but it just shrunk a little. I suck at this.”

12. I did it, but the amount of time I put into this worthless skill is more pathetic than impressive.

    Undermining the impressiveness of what you did by suggesting you invested too much time/energy to make it happen.

    “Yes, I can cut to the aces, but only because I was a loser with no friends who could devote three hours a day for years to learning this skill in high school. You could learn it too if you invested that much time. In fact, you could probably learn it in less time than I did.”

13. I did it, but I don’t know how I did it.
    Performer plays confused or out of control.

14. I didn’t do it, this is just something that always happens.
    An improbability that bizarrely always occurs

15. I didn’t do it, nature did.
    Gravity, magnetism, animal intuition.

16. I didn’t do it, this old custom did.
    Tradition, folklore, rituals.

17. I didn’t do it, science did.
    Framed as physics, chemistry, or other science demo.

18. I didn’t do it, a temporal disruption did.
    Time travel, time loops, multiple universes.

19. I didn’t do it, your perception did.

    Déjà vu, lost memories, Mandela effect.

20. I didn’t do it, it was always going to happen.
    Destiny or inevitability frame.

21. I didn’t do it, the trick does itself.
    Framing something as “self-working” when it’s not.

22. I did it, but only because I cheated.
    Presented as exposure, but really layered deception.

23. I didn’t do it, this is just the way the world works if you pay attention.
    Magic presented as heightened observation

24. I want to do it, but I don’t really know how. Can you help me with this?
    Changes a trick from “Behold, my power!” to a humble, collaborative experience where they’re pulling for you.

Notes:

1. The audience doesn’t have to believe your framing to be disarmed by these things. The simple fact that you’re not explicitly taking credit changes the dynamic. They don’t need to buy that your childhood invisible friend is whispering the card in your ear. Just by framing it that way, you’ve shifted the experience out of “battle of wits” territory into an immersive fiction.

2. You do have to actually invest in the premise, though. If you just toss off, “Do you believe in fate? I believe I’m fated to win every poker hand I play,” before going into your card trick, it will just come off as patter. And they probably won’t even remember you said it.

   But if you build a premise around the frame, you can make it matter to people in a way that hooks them. “I haven’t really played poker in…gosh…over 20 years, I guess. I used to play every week back in college. But one time I was rushing to a card game off campus and I ran over my neighbor’s cat. She was this old woman—everyone called her The Witch. We meant it as a joke, but when I told her what happened, she just held out her hand, twisted her fingers into this awful shape, and muttered something in what sounded like Latin, or maybe something even older. Then she told me I was cursed to never win another poker hand. Ever. No matter what, the cards would always turn against me. I can show you. Let’s make it simple and just use 10 cards…”

Mailbag #148

I cringe at a lot of what comes out of many performers mouths but one in particular that is so easy to avoid is all this crap around one’s “favorite card”.  “Tell me your favorite card”.  “What’s your favorite card?” “Do you have a favorite card?” Etc.  this can be extended to all questions regarding the suits too.

News flash, normal people don’t have a favorite card or suit.  Normal people spend zero time thinking about decks of cards and certainly not individual cards or suits.  Bigger news flash, since most Magi’s almost always prefer female participants, the odds of that person answering these types of questions with any genuine response is near zero.  If anything it stunts the interaction because it’s such a weird dumb question that the participant has never pondered (nor should have).  I think it makes the Magi look really out of touch and negatively affects the effect.  Especially when it’s so easy to give a more genuine line.  Only semi serious+ card players have favorites and even those favorites aren’t usually single cards but rather a favorite dealt hold ‘em hand. 

Think of a card?
Think of a suit?

Pretty simple.

—SK

Magicians often share the mentality of children.

If a kid loves Paw Patrol, he assumes you do too. “Zuma’s my favorite! Who’s yours? Is it Rocky? Is it Marshall?”

And you’re sitting there thinking, I haven’t watched three seconds of this shit in my life.

Children are narcissists who think everyone should give a shit about their world and their interests.

Magicians are similar.

“What’s your favorite card?” comes from this mindset.

(In life, it’s always best to assume people aren’t as invested in your interests as you are. This means it’s incumbent on you to make them interested if you’re going to ask for them to devote some time to what you’re doing.)

Now, you may have a trick where the premise requires a card they have some appreciation for. In that case, you can just spread the deck face-up and have them remove “any card you’re drawn to.” This can be interpreted by them as a “favorite” card, or it can be interpreted as a random card they’re “drawn to” in the moment.

If you can’t spread the deck, ask for “a value you like” followed by “a suit that appeals to you.” This, again, can be interpreted as a “favorite” or just what they happen to be drawn to at that time.

And, of course, when it comes to mindreading you would generally want to steer people away from a favorite card. Don’t waste a method to end up “predicting” the Queen of Hearts or Ace of Spades for someone’s favorite card. They’ll just walk away thinking, “That’s probably a lot of people’s favorite card.”

But Andy, you’re thinking, it’s better to predict something personal to them. That’s why I ask for their favorite card.

I understand. But you’re forgetting the whole point. Most people don’t have a “favorite card.” If you actually wanted to reveal something personal, you wouldn’t be starting with a deck of cards in the first place.

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This time I’m not sure you’ll be able to help me—it’s more of a vent than a question. In my country there’s a curious phenomenon: bad magicians become hugely successful. A perfect example is the duo Henry and Klauss. They look more like a country music act than illusionists, but they went on one of the most popular podcasts and performed the classic “calculator trick” in the worst way possible. Even without understanding the language, you can see the trainwreck:

If you check the comments, 99% of the audience figured out the method. And yet, they’re billed as “the greatest illusionists in Latin America.”

That got me thinking: I do corporate shows, and I also consult for other magicians in that market. Even when we aim for the best execution possible, there’s always that inevitable comparison: “oh, I saw Henry and Klauss do that.” It’s striking how hard it is for audiences to notice the difference between a good magician and a terrible one.

In other professions, the distinction is clearer: people say someone is a good lawyer, a good doctor, a good mechanic—because they solve problems. When they don’t, they’re seen as bad or mediocre. In magic, that bar is blurred—just show up a lot and you become a “reference.”

My question is: how can you truly set yourself apart so that the audience actually notices? Because sometimes I think that even if it were you (or any other great magic thinker) performing the same “calculator trick,” the lay audience might not catch the difference. And I’m not talking about creating radical experiences like this.

That’s just not viable in the corporate setting. Of course, you can insert more immersive moments (and I already do), but is there really a way to stand out when we’re often using the same effects as everyone else?—XX

You’re right, I can’t help you. This site is of limited value to someone performing in the corporate setting, as my whole “style” is designed around capitalizing on interactions with friends in social situations.

That said, I will try to give you a “bright side” to consider.

For most of my life, “professional magician” was treated as the gold standard because the bar for social magic was so low. On forums like The Magic Café, you’d get dismissed as “just an amateur” or “just someone who performs for friends,” as if most of these professional magicians weren’t just doing recycled tricks with recycled patter for half-interested audiences.

Here’s the bright side: Recognizing the limitations or professional performing means that you’ve seen how great the potential is in social performing. That’s a good thing. It’s like you’ve been giving lap dances and you realize it will never quite be as intimate as making love. Certainly that’s better than giving lap dances thinking, “This is as good as it gets.”

If I were in your position, I’d accept there’s a ceiling to how strong magic can be in those environments. Hit that ceiling consistently, and don’t worry about it beyond that. Congratulations, you are now a successful corporate performer.

If your goal is something bigger—TV, a theater show, whatever—you’re not going to leap straight there from corporate gigs anyways. At best, those shows open the door to making new contacts. The real opportunities come when you can meet with and perform for those decision-makers outside the corporate environment. These are moments where they see you as more than “the guy who did tricks at the conference.” Those are the pivotal performances worth pouring your creativity, ingenuity, and uniqueness into.

And if you’re happy staying in the corporate lane, just acknowledge its limits and make sure you’ve got an outlet elsewhere. Use social performance as a laboratory to do the personalized, affecting stuff you can’t get away with in a ballroom full of salespeople.

Dustings #130

This trick seems to be, essentially, an AA battery that you can turn on and off by remote control. So, by extension, you can turn on or off anything that uses AA batteries by remote control.

Perhaps you can introduce your lover to your Psychic Vibrator. They pick a card, shuffle it back into the deck, and hold the psychic vibrator against their clitoris. As you deal through the cards and get to their selection, BZZZZZZZZZ.

That’s my Card!

This is what Darwin Ortiz described as Strong Magic.

Shove it up your ass and it’s an EDC.

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This is pretty funny: Murphy’s Magic had AI write the ad for John Carey’s new book, and it went ahead and invented a quote from Ben Earl. Murphy’s—showing not exactly the highest standards—just rubber-stamped it and sent it out the door.

Here’s Ben’s response…

Concerning Misattribution of a Fictitious Quote:

Dear colleagues, customers and community members,

I am writing to address a concerning matter.

In their promotional copy for a new book by John Carey, Murphy’s Magic attributed a quote to me that I did not provide. In fact, the quote in question was entirely fabricated!

This was the leading quote on their sales page for the book and therefore the leading quote on every sales page of every magic shop which stocked the book, and it was at the top of every mailshot email I've seen for the book too. It was everywhere and yet completely false.

I promptly contacted John Carey, who was equally unaware of the origin of this quote. Similarly, Murphy’s was initially unable to provide clarity on its source. Subsequently, Murphy’s disclosed that the promotional copy—including the fictitious quote—was not only generated by ChatGPT, but the copy hadn’t then been checked before release!

While I sincerely hope this was an unintentional error, this incident raises serious concerns about the practices employed. At best, it shows negligence; at worst, it suggests deliberate misrepresentation. Either scenario undermines the credibility of Murphy’s promotional efforts.

To give Murphy’s some credit, once contacted, they acted swiftly to remove the quote from their page before informing other shops to do the same. However, the cat was already out of the bag, many sales had been made and countless emails had already been sent to prospective customers.

In light of this, I feel obligated to caution both creators and consumers alike. Creators, I urge you to diligently verify that your names and statements are not being misused or misattributed in promotional materials. Likewise, consumers should exercise caution and critically evaluate the authenticity of testimonials and endorsements.

I trust that this matter will be received with the seriousness it warrants, and I encourage all parties to uphold the highest standards of integrity in their professional practices.

It truly saddens me to send this type of public message, but I have no other option.

Sincerely,

Ben Earl

The quote in question is this one, I believe (which is still on many ads for John Carey’s new book):

“The way Carey thinks about magic is exactly how we all should-clear, efficient, and deeply magical.”
– Ben Earl

Which, if you know anything about the Ben Earl’s material compared to John Carey’s, really doesn’t make a lot of sense.

My advice to companies that write magic ad-copy is to ease up on the AI.

Here’s the thing: writing magic ads is one of those rare niches where AI just doesn’t cut it. Why? Because magic isn’t something you can sell based solely on its measurable properties. It’s an emotional experience for both the performer and the spectator. We want to hear what makes this trick (or book) so good from one of those perspectives. Sure, AI can take a stab at guessing, but it doesn’t actually know. If you’re selling a car, AI can rattle off horsepower, safety ratings, and gas mileage all day — but magic doesn’t come with a spec sheet.

When I read an ad that feels mostly AI-generated, my reaction is, “Wait, wasn’t there anyone close to this product who wanted to tell us what makes it special? Did they really have to hand that job off to a bot?” As more and more people become accustomed to AI’s polished but bland “voice,” this will be the reaction of more and more consumers.

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Tragic, really, that Joshua Jay isn’t writing a regular column anymore. He should launch a blog or something, otherwise the magic world will be cruelly deprived of his endless brilliance. Insights that truly changed the art of magic.

Creep Updates

A couple months ago I received a number of emails asking if I was going to be kicking some magician named Reza out of the GLOMM because he was accused of breach of contract of a sexual misconduct settlement.

I don’t think so. The rule is you need to be convicted of a crime. I genuinely can’t figure out what is going on with that story, but from what I can tell, there’s been no conviction.

I’ll be honest, the story certainly makes him sound like a creep. But not—as of yet—a criminal one.

Plus, hasn’t he been punished enough? Judging from his pictures, he saw Justin Bieber 15 years ago, developed a big-time crush on him, shellacked his hair into a knockoff Biebs cosplay, and then got cursed by a gypsy to keep it that way for life. That’s the only explanation, right? Certainly, he still wouldn’t be wearing that hairstyle unless some hex had shackled him to it.

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Jason McCully has been kicked out of the GLOMM.

As Jason notes in his Facebook bio, his interests include “mayhem” and “photography.” These interests are perhaps best exemplified by his primary hobby: taking videos of women and underage girls while they went to the bathroom.

Whenever I’m notified by someone of a magician that needs to be kicked out of the GLOMM, I always search my email and pray that I won’t find some email from that magician that’s like, “Hey, big fan.”

Fortunately, that hasn’t happened yet, but I did find this:

This dunce thought he’d send me a penny via paypal and get a receipt like, “You sent $0.01 to Chester Dupree.” And then he was going to “bust” me by revealing my name.

Guys, I know how the internet works. I knew I couldn’t A) remain anonymous and B) set up a bunch of stuff under my own name. I kinda cracked the code on that long before I set up even my first magic blog back in 2003.

If you want to know who runs the Jerx PayPal, who registered the site’s URL, or even whose name the phone I use for magic apps is under, I’ll gladly tell you—it isn’t me, and none of it brings you any closer to me. Covering myself that way was the easy part of remaining anonymous.

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But, Andy, you don’t understand. I want to do what I can to support my local sex criminals.

Well, then you’ll appreciate my new feature here at The Jerx.

Catch A Predator

Here I’ll inform you where you can catch your local sex criminal performing.

According to the email below, Jeff Carson aka, Jeffrey Leach, Ron Geoffries (see here and here) will be lecturing on the Nest of Boxes for the Society of American Magicians #4 (Philadelphia) at the House of Magic.

What this email makes clear (beyond the fact that SAM #4 is struggling for cash—really guys? you’re not going to chip in for the Christmas party?), is that if you want to go to the lecture and call Jeff out for molesting 10-year-olds you can do that.

It’s only the following month’s lecture (the Fun Mix) that is a “no judgement [sic] zone.” On September 18th you are free to judge all you like.

Invitations

There are certain sentences no one wants to hear:

“Have you heard the good news about our Lord and Savior…”

“I’m looking for a few motivated individuals to join my team. If you’re tired of your 9-to-5 and ready to be your own boss, this could be exactly what you’ve been waiting for.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am. Has anyone ever told you that you look like a female Craig Petty?”

Right up there with those, I’d put the sentence: “Do you want to see a magic trick?”

Sure, there are people who light up when they hear that—but in my experience, they’re usually the exact people I’d least want to perform for.

For everyone else, that phrase can carry some baggage. Most peoples’ only experience of live magic is bad magic: tricks that bored them, tricks so obvious they had to fake surprise to protect the ego of the child (or man-child) showing it, or tricks that genuinely fooled them but felt so hollow the only takeaway was, “Well, I guess I’m stupid.”

Very few people are ever actually charmed by a trick.

Which is why dropping that question—“Want to see a trick?”—was one of the best decisions I ever made when it came to getting people on board to watch a trick.

The words you use at that moment matter. They’re the Invitation into the experience.

Instead of “Want to see a trick?” Consider Invitations like these:

• “This has been bugging me all day. Can you make any sense of it?”

• “I learned this thing the other day and I’m wondering if it works on everyone. Will you be my guinea pig?”

• “Okay, this is going to sound dumb, but I swear it’s true…”

• “I read this article that had a little exercise to test intuition, want to try it?”

• “Someone showed me this thing at a party last week, and it’s been stuck in my head ever since.”

• “Want to see a weird little glitch in the way your brain processes stuff?”

• “This was our road-trip game growing up. I got kind of good at it.”

• “I picked this up from a friend who claimed it was a way to tell if someone was lying.”

• “Supposedly this says a lot about how your brain is wired, let’s try it.”

• “Do you mind holding onto this for a second? You’ll see why.”

• “I never paid for a drink in college doing this. Want to see?”

Not all of these Invitations are perfect for every audience, trick, or situation, but almost any one of them is better than, “Let’s play make-believe that I have magic powers.”

If you only remember a couple, remember the ones I’ve used most often in my writing (and in my real life):

1. “Can I show you something weird?”

2. “Can I get your help with something?”

These play directly to two instincts people almost always say yes to: curiosity, and the desire to be helpful.

You’re not aiming for something clever, just something intriguing and human. And “Want to see a magic trick?”—the same line you used when you were nine—is neither.

Out of the Minds of Babes

Imagine

“Oh, my God, she’s so beautiful,” I say. “And you can tell, there’s a lot going on behind the eyes, you know? She’s going to be a smart one.”

I’m holding an eight-month-old named Cara, chatting with her parents, friends of mine from college.

“Did you ever do… like, one of those psychic tests with her? To see if she has anything… you know… ‘extra’ going on?”

“What?” her mother says, giving me a look that carries an unspoken “…the fuck are you talking about?”

“You haven’t heard of that? Oh, it’s fun, let’s try it.”

I pick up my phone, look something up, then set it back face-down on the table.

“Okay, I’ve locked something in. Let’s see if she can pick up on it.”

I pick Cara up and look her straight in the eyes then hand her over to her mother.

I have her mother bring her daughter over to the bookshelf and hold her out towards the books.

“Move her back and forth and see if there’s a book she grabs for or makes a move for in some way.”

We identify a book the baby seemed to reach toward.

I take the book and riffle through the pages. “We’ll see if she makes a move for me to stop somewhere.” As I gently flutter the pages near her face, the baby extends her hand out to touch them and I stop riffling.

With a page identified, I open the book on the floor at that page. We place Cara on her belly in front of the book. Her mom wiggles her fingers over the text until Cara plops her hand down on the page.

“Look for a word near her fingertips,” I say. “We’re looking for a noun. An object. Something you can touch. Do you see anything like that?”

“Hmmm,” her mom says, “well, the closest word I can see like that is luggage.”

“I’ll be honest,” I say, “luggage is pretty close.”

I pick up my phone and show her parents the word I searched for was suitcase.

“Not bad. Not perfect. But not bad,” I say, shrugging it off a little.

Her parents stare at each other, speechless.

Method

The method for this particular execution of the idea was S.A.M. by Christian Grace.

But this general premise is something I’ve used a few times in the past with any trick that uses a genuinely freely chosen word (or a number—I’ve done similar things with number blocks).

I love doing tricks for new parents that make their kid the star. I find it fairly easy to come up with ways of framing magic so that the baby is the focus of the miracle.

Mailbag #147

This just popped up in my feed:
https://youtu.be/2Pbzz3uzrGU?si=uzj-xYQhbksxJEBl

It’s a layperson explaining all the tricks Oz Pearlman did in public and on tape. I’m about halfway through where he gets into the chalkboard routine. Oz used Yves Domergue’s blackboard with the e-ink display, but this guy thinks it’s the Lynx Blackboard from Mr. Miranda.

According to his “Grok” searches, he explains that the spectator needs to say the number/word out loud and then wait a few seconds until it appears. Honestly, I’m stunned—this person (as far as I know) has zero background in magic, yet he’s piecing things together just by using Grok.

Here’s my question to you: how would you approach performing as a semi-professional or professional magician in light of things like this?

My gut says it’s better to lean more into the Ben Seidman latest book style—mixing methods, adding layers, and thinking laterally instead of linearly. So rather than one effect leading straight to the reveal, you’ve got two or three things happening at once that eventually converge into something stronger.

What do you think?—MB

You have a few options:

1. Don’t give a shit. If people are online trying to expose your tricks, you’ve probably made it.

2. Don’t let what you do be filmed. Nobody can break down the game film if there’s no game film.

3. I’m not familiar with Ben’s book you mention, but that approach makes sense—build effects that are more structurally intricate in presentation and harder to unravel. Allow your methods to be a collage rather than a straight line.

   That said, it might not stop people from landing on an explanation that satisfies them, even if it’s wrong.

   And still, I don’t know if that holds up under multiple rewatches on video.

4. Do magic so dull, obvious, or skill-exhibition-y (stage manipulation) that nobody cares enough to “expose” it.

Personally, I would go with #2. I would only allow things to be viewed live. How would I market myself given that? Beats me. I don’t need to know because it’s not going to happen.

But, as discussed recently, I think “magic” as we imagine the art to have always been, is now just a live phenomenon.

When performing live (especially one-on-one) we can put things in place that prevent or dissuade people from trying to figure out the effect.

But you can’t do that performing broadly to anyone watching you on YouTube, on social media, or on a podcast. And the better your magic or mentalism is, the more people will be out there trying to explain it. In those environments, you can’t create an enduring sense of magic and mystery—only more attractive fodder for people to devour and dissect until they convince themselves they’ve solved it.

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This video showing Craig Petty performing Chroma gave me a small idea. What if the performer doesn't present this as mind-reading or prediction, but does a more "distracted artist" style thing? Something like this: the performer says they're working on a trick that involves colors and is in the preliminary process of learning how people perceive them. They ask the spectator to think of a color, go through the process, and at the end pull out a notebook or something and start noting "OK. Adding this to my notes--[spectator's name], August 27th, color chosen Orange, 23 seconds". Then (hopefully) the spectator says something like, "wait, how did you know which color I chose?" and the performer acts confused. "Huh? Didn't you tell me? ... no, I guess you didn't. But it really feels like you did. Maybe I've just been working with colors for too long".

IDK, something like that. Have you written about anything similar in the past? Where the revelation of a mind-reading trick isn't presented with any fanfare?

*shrug* As to why I'm watching year-old Craig Petty videos, never you mind.—JH

I think that’s an interesting concept, but I have a feeling it wouldn’t quite land. I’ve really only ever used the Distracted Artist style for visual pieces—a vanish, a levitation, a production, a transformation. Those are so direct that even if someone catches them on the periphery, from a distance, or with no preamble, the impossibility is still clear.

With mindreading, I think the primary reaction would be confusion at first. And it’s hard to turn confusion into awe and wonder.

That said, it’s always worth experimenting. Sometimes ideas like this play better in the real world than they do in theory

I could see it working as part of a long-term presentation where you occasionally seem to pick up on what someone’s thinking. “Oh, sorry—did you not say that out loud? Huh. Yeah, it’s some weird low-grade telepathy thing. I forget what the doctor called it… Certain times of the month I can sometimes pick up on stuff. But it’s mostly useless.”

That way you could sprinkle in low-key mindreading here and there, but within a context the audience can latch onto

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Do you have a better justification for Paul Harris's OOTW, Galaxy? One that doesn't involve saving time or getting one card "wrong"? —LS

Not really. Like a lot of people, I switched to Galaxy from the traditional handling of Out of This World because it felt like an improvement at the time. But that was decades ago. These days I’m more comfortable with versions that use a packet switch.

As I mentioned in a recent newsletter, nobody is looking for a switch in that context—or even has a sense of how switching the packets would help you—so it’s an easy move to get away with.

The only time I still use Paul’s Galaxy handling is with this version. That routine does involve a “wrong card,” but it’s framed as proof of something larger. That’s the closest I’ve come to making the moment of combining the packets and spreading them feel at least somewhat earned.