Preparation

Once I was doing a thing at a place for some people and we were asked to look over a script before we arrived. We weren’t supposed to memorize or rehearse it, just glance over it to see if there were any questions or changes to it.

So naturally, I gave it a once over the morning of my commitment to make sure I was familiar with everything. I read through it once to myself and once out loud to have a better idea of what we would be working on. It was literally the least I could do.

Upon arrival my contact began to review the script, noting the main points for me to be aware of. I nodded and said “Yes, I noticed that when I looked through it. Everything looks great.”

She looked up, aghast. “You know,” she continued, “I send scripts to people all the time and no one ever looks over these things. Thank you for being prepared.”

I always try to be prepared, no matter the purpose. I’ll take extra supplies, research the area, memorize the schedule, or study the materials beforehand. Whatever the project, I want to go above and beyond so people know they can rely on me and will trust me for future projects, too.

The thing is, most of the time my preparation doesn’t matter. A lot of time when I over-prepare no one even cares. They don’t notice that I spent extra hours doing my homework to make sure I was ready for them.

The more often that happens the more I want to stop preparing at all. Just when you think you should stop, someone finally notices that you took the time to do something that few people ever do. And when that lady thanked me for being ready, I learned at least two valuables lessons:

First, you should always over-prepare. If someone asks you to look over a script - print it out, highlight it, and read through it a few times. Bring the supplies they asked for, arrive early and stay late. Do the little things that matter, not because you need recognition, but because it feels good to be thorough and to exceed someone’s expectations - whether they notice or not.

Second, the people who do notice your attention to detail are the people you really want to be working for. All of those times preparing for people who took it for granted are practice for the people who will recognize your hard work. When they realize you sweat the details they’ll be grateful because they likely sweat the details, too.

The Roman philosopher Seneca is credited with saying “Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity.” I think of that quote often, especially when my preparation goes unnoticed. It always reminds me to keep going above and beyond, whether it matters or not. Eventually your hard work is going to pay off and you’ll wind up creating your own luck.

Just a quick reminder this week to always over-prepare and over-deliver, regardless of the project. You may end up getting that big promotion, a raise, a repeat booking, or your dream role - you never know. But mainly, I want you to do the work like I do so I won’t have to wait for everyone to catch up at the start of every meeting I go to.

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Other Thoughts:

• I’m not really familiar with his work, but Bert Kreischer has found an awesome new way to go on tour this summer. Talk about embracing the moment.
• A few days ago, hundreds of people peacefully marched past my apartment in protest. Here was the view from above:

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Elevate

Whatever you do in life, whatever your career or hobby or part-time job might be, promise me one thing: Promise me that you will never trivialize what you do. It’s disrespectful to yourself, your colleagues, and people that might be interested in your endeavors.

Don't get me wrong - you don’t have to take yourself seriously, but you should take what you do very seriously. You should always be aiming to elevate what you do so that people will respect it and appreciate it on a higher level. Diminishing what you do with self-deprecation or lame jokes creates a negative stereotype of your craft that you should work hard to avoid.

My only examples of this are from within the entertainment world where I spend the majority of my time. I have a magician friend who thinks it’s clever to make self-deprecating jokes about what he does, such as “I don’t really tell jokes…because being a magician is already a joke” or (after doing an obviously difficult demonstration of skill) “Are you surprised that I don’t have a girlfriend?”.

I’m not trying to call out a friend here. In fact, you could attribute those jokes to many magicians and they would still apply. And that’s the problem. Making those sorts of jokes creates a negative impression of magic in the minds of the audience. And if there are multiple performers out there doing it then not only is it unoriginal but it’s reinforcing the childish opinion of magic that many audience members may already have.

When I go to another performer’s show I always watch the audience. I’m always trying to learn, so I watch to see how engaged they are and if they’re enjoying the performance. Are they leaning forwards? Or are they on their phones? Are they whispering to each other in amazement or out of boredom? Are they rolling their eyes or fully immersed in the performance? Are they enjoying the show?

If you casually watched my friend’s performance you might think the audience was enjoying those jokes. After all, they’re laughing and smiling so it’s all good, right?

Wrong.

Upon closer inspection you’d notice sections of the audience starting to shift uncomfortably. I can tell the audience members are thinking to themselves “Wait, I paid $100 a ticket to see some guy feel sorry for himself and tell me how dumb this is?”

This kind of performance gives our art a bad name. It makes people view it as a distraction or something trivial. And it makes it harder for someone that takes it seriously (like I do) to get other people to do the same.

What I wish my friend would do is to ELEVATE our craft. I wish instead of diminishing the time he spent learning something by admitting he “doesn’t have a girlfriend” that he would explain to the audience that they’re about to see something “so wondrous that you’ll remember it for the rest of your life”. I don’t want him to say that his career is “a joke” because that implies that mine is, too. Yeah, they’re laughing but those are easy laughs. Work harder, man.

I don't for a second believe that magic or mentalism is the most important thing in the world. I’m not fighting fires or curing diseases. I’m just an entertainer, that’s all. But that doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t take what I do seriously. Entertainment is still important. We need entertainers to transport us, if only for an hour, so we can get away from the struggles we all go through on a daily basis. That’s the joy of what I do and why I do my best not to trivialize it.

Years ago I heard a magician share this poem on an old VHS tape. It’s stuck with me ever since:

I saw them tearing a building down,
a gang of men in my home town.
With a heave, and a ho and a “yes yes” yell,
they swung a beam and a side wall fell.
I asked the foreman, “Are these men skilled?
Like those you would use if you had to build?”
He laughed and replied “Oh no, indeed!
The most common labor is all I need.
You see I can destroy in a day or two,
what it would take a builder 10 years to do!”
I thought to myself as I went on my way,
which of these roles am I willing to to play?
Am I the one that is tearing down?
As I carelessly make my way around?
Or am I the one that builds with care?
So that my craft and community are better because I was there?
- Anonymous

Whether I’m performing for 15 people or 15,000, I always use my show as an opportunity to elevate what I do in the minds of the audience and give them a night to remember. I’m cognizant that I’m a representative of my industry and what I do will affect other people that do it, too.

So, my question for you is this: Are you elevating what you do? No matter your field, please find ways to share your passion and get others to respect it, too.

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Other Thoughts:

• I finally made it out to Morton Arboretum to see the Troll Hunt. It was so fun! You only have through June to see it, so don’t miss out.

• A busy week ahead of travel and shows for private events, but you can catch me LIVE at The Magic Penthouse and The Lincoln Lodge.

Right Now

I never wanted to live in Chicago. It was always supposed to be New York.

The pre-internet half of my childhood was full of classic movies, music, and television. I’d watch King Kong climb the Empire State Building, listen to Frank Sinatra start spreadin’ the news, get up early to watch the balloons march past Macy’s, and stay up late to see the ball magically defy gravity until the stroke of midnight. I was captivated by the Big Apple.

“If not New York then I'll settle for Hollywood,” I told myself, and set my sights on either coast. Every thought I had, every song I sang, and every movie I watched seem to pull me in diametrically opposed directions. Movies: LA! Plays: New York City! My own TV show: Hollywood! Musicals: New York!

Between my junior and senior years of high school I went to Chicago for the first (and I’m sure I imagined on that trip, my last) time, to audition for two colleges: New York University (Tisch) and the University of Southern California.

First came NYU, for three very serious people in a very serious room. I had a terrible audition. I was a small town kid in the big city for the first time and it got to me. I was nervous and it showed.

After that, I calmed down and had a good audition for USC. I was more confident and felt better afterwards.

My folks made me apply to the University of Kansas, too, so I would have a back-up plan in case I didn’t get into NYU or USC. I did, but there’s no way I would have gone there. I hate back-up plans and how was I supposed to stay in Kansas when I’d spent my entire childhood dreaming of one of the coastal cities?

Weeks later I got a short letter from NYU letting me know I hadn’t gotten accepted. It was disappointing but I knew it was coming. A few days after that, a large packet from USC arrived and I was accepted into the acting program. I was ecstatic. It was incredible - I would be going to one of my dream schools. (I had done it all thanks to hard work since my parents couldn’t afford to bribe my way in.)

I spent a year in California before my father passed away and I had to return to Kansas. I miserably finished school back home before heading back out to LA to “make it”…whatever that means. I slept on couches, struggled, and failed. Back to the Sunflower State I went again.

Soon after I proposed to my wife and we started planning our next move. We would save money and move to New York instead. I worked multiple jobs and moonlighted as an entertainer, while she finished school. Somewhere between summer and winter (fall, perhaps?) Steph thought we should start with Chicago first. She had friends there. It was closer to her family. She’d never lived in a huge city before. We could start there, then head to NYC after a couple years. “Okay,” I said, “will you be there?” (A longstanding joke with Steph about how I will have fun anywhere as long as I’m with her.)

With the exception of a year-long performance contract at Disney World, we’ve been in Chicago ever since. We moved here in 2011 and we’re coming up on 9 years. That’s about 8 years longer than I’d expected and the truth is, I never wanted to be here.

Most of the time I've still been thinking about LA or NYC and longing for another shot at succeeding there. I’ve spent countless hours comparing the worst parts of The Windy City to the best parts back east and out west. Every year I think we may move out there, then things happen. I dislocate a shoulder or wreck our car; one of us needs surgery or we encounter something equally unexpected, so we crack open our piggy bank like the glass jar in “UP” and use that “big city move money” for something else. Those big cities? Still on the back burner.

But here’s the thing...

I was in LA two weeks ago and it was my least favorite trip to SoCal I’ve ever had. I spent most of the time stuck in traffic. I was able to catch up with family briefly but it was so short that I didn’t really feel like I even saw the city. Usually I go to the ocean or a museum or something, but this time wasn’t special at all.

Then, I went to NY last weekend to see a Broadway show. The trip was fun but unfortunately all I remember is trash piled high on the ground and people constantly getting in my way everywhere I went. The subway was disgusting, the Museum of Natural History was disappointing, and everything is comically overpriced. It’s filthy and smelly and crowded. I’m still in awe of the opportunity and enormity of it all but the shine is starting to wear off.

When we flew in I could see the Chicago skyline beyond the wing of the plane and I had a feeling that I’ve ignored for far too long. I smiled to myself and realized how much I’ve grown to like it here.

At a moment’s notice I get to run along Chicago’s lake front; truly one of the best routes in the entire world. We have incredible food here and it’s allowed me to transform from a picky eater in my teenage years to a bit of a “foodie”. We have amazing museums, gorgeous architecture, and the best skyline views you’ll find anywhere. We have AMCs for the latest movies and a cinema within walking distance that still shows films on film. There’s amazing art - music, theater, comedy, and more - that never ceases to inspire me. And we have a small but amazing apartment with gorgeous views that I share with my best friend and the furriest, sweetest two cats you’ve ever seen. We wake up every day with plenty of space to sip coffee, do our crosswords, and be happy in this small corner of the world that we get to call our own.

Much of my life has been spent thinking about the next thing. The next show, the next year, the next plan, the next move to the next big city. But I’m done with all of that. From now on I’m only thinking about one thing: how lucky I am to be right here, right now.

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Other Thoughts:

• We were in NY to see my friend Derren Brown’s incredible show “SECRET” on Broadway. If you find yourself there before January 4th be sure to check it out. We grabbed dinner after the show and here’s a picture of Derren trying on my glasses before he realized how horrible my prescription is.

• I’m continuing my annual tradition today and running the Turkey Trot here in Chicago. Yet another thing I’m thankful for here in the Second (to none) City.

• What To Watch Next: Check out Mike Birbiglia’s “The New One” and Seth Meyers’ “Lobby Baby” on Netflix. Or “Knives Out” in theaters. I really enjoyed all three!

• Thank you for reading these essays. Wherever you find yourself this weekend, I hope you and your loved ones have a wonderful Thanksgiving! As always, I’ll be taking December off from the blog since I’m going to be traveling so much. See you in 2020!

Thoughts From The Emergency Room

I dislocated my shoulder last weekend. (Long story short - I slipped and fell down some stairs. Then I dropped a couple dozen F-bombs, went into shock, and had to go to the Emergency Room. Not fun!)

My wife - my wonderful wife - remained as calm as she could, googled the nearest hospital, and got me in front of a doctor within 25 minutes. A couple x-rays and one hour later and the shoulder was back in place.

My shoulder is pretty swollen and I have to keep my arm in a sling for a couple weeks. But the pain now is nothing compared to the pain of those 90 minutes when it was out of the socket.

After a couple days to reflect on that agonizing experience I can’t stop thinking about how utterly awful it was to go to the ER. Yes, the pain was excruciating and no one wants to go through something like that. But I’m talking about the way I was met with complete indifference and no compassion. I can’t stop thinking about that.

When we pulled up to the ER, I stumbled out of the car and walked towards the doors. They wouldn’t open. I was shaking, cold, and clutching my arm like a madman. I could see people moving inside but no one was heading in my direction. Luckily, I noticed a small sign that said the actual entrance was around the corner. But no one pointed us there, no one helped us. I had to notice it myself, through all my pain, and walk around to a different door.

Once inside, there was no one in sight. I went to the help desk and loudly shouted “Hello, is anyone here?” Stephanie pounded on the window. No one came out. I couldn’t stop shaking or sweating and could barely open my eyes. We didn’t know what to do.

Finally, a security guard walked out - in no hurry whatsoever - and said, “How can I help you?” Stephanie explained and he slowly went to get someone. There was no concern, no emotion, no rush to assist.

A woman emerged from the back to take my information down. Stephanie composed herself and gave my name and address to the lady. She had to ask multiple times for the spelling of my name, even though Steph had given it slowly and completely already. It took way too long.

We finally got back to the room and were told someone would be with us shortly. There was nothing happening in the ER. It wasn’t a busy night. From what we could tell it was just me and one other guy, a young kid who injured himself committing a crime. The police were there, I remember that. And someone mentioned cocaine and heroin. Two completely different cases, on opposite sides of the corridor.

It took way too long to get someone to come treat me. I yelled out “Is someone going to help me?” And no one came. No one asked me if I was okay or told me I would be better. No one consoled my wife or offered us a drink of water. No one told me not to panic. Everyone just moved slowly around without really letting us know what was happening.

I got an IV with a heavy dose of morphine, then pushed down the hall in a wheelchair for some x-rays. Then, the doctor put my shoulder back into place and I could finally open my eyes. And then, he just kind of left. We sat in the room until I felt like I could walk again and, unsure what to do, asked someone if we could go. They grabbed a print-out of some general information about a shoulder dislocation and a prescription for pain meds, without any other information. Then we showed ourselves out and drove home.

Going to the hospital is a dreadful experience. It’s scary and unwanted. And expensive as hell. In the city I think it’s even worse. The amount of people they see must be insane. They have a constant stream of patients and procedures to deal with. And so, it’s a very impersonal experience.

But does it have to be? Is it too much to ask someone for some simple kindness or compassion? Especially in a time of trauma? I’ve been to dentists, podiatrists, physical therapists, and now the ER, and each time the experience was similar: cold, impersonal, nerve wracking, and apathetic.

As a self-employed artist my health care costs in America are outrageous. We get ripped off every year. And for what we pay, you’d expect the service to be top-notch. But it isn’t. It’s a joke.

It’s so bad that it makes me put off going to the doctor. It makes me not want to go at all. It’s made my wife break down into tears at appointments when doctors weren’t listening to her. And it’s made me scream into the void of the ER when I didn’t have a clue if anyone was going to help me.

I was thinking that coming onstage at a mind reading show must feel a lot like going to the hospital. People get nervous and scared. They’re uncertain and uncomfortable. And it’s my job as a performer to put them at ease. It’s my job to give people the best experience possible in a situation that they quite possibly fear the most.

This is perhaps the most important skill we can learn as performers or presenters. We must make other people feel comfortable being in our environment. It could be as simple as adjusting a thermostat and rearranging the seating. Or it could be as tricky as inviting a nervous person onstage to assist. But it’s crucial to treat people how we’d like to be treated - as a person, a fellow human being - and not as a mere prop or object being pushed aimlessly down a hallway without even knowing why.

That responsibility rests squarely on our shoulders - dislocated or not.

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Other Thoughts:

• I love October. It's just the best time of year. I love haunted houses, sweaters, fall weather, apple picking, and everything in between. We had a pumpkin carving party this week and I think they turned out pretty great:

• Catch me November 9th and 10th at the Chicago Magic Lounge. Shows are almost SOLD OUT but you still may be able to get a ticket here.

• What I’m Watching Now: “Succession” on HBO. The hype is real.

• This lady is an inspiration.

• Check out this week's video:

Don't Panic

There were ten minutes left before the curtain would go up, ten minutes before my opening lines, ten minutes before the show would begin and I couldn’t look back. And that’s when I heard it.

Sitting in the dressing room, with ten minutes to go, I heard glass shatter out on stage. I raced around the corner, down the hall, and past the curtain to discover that a stagehand had tripped over my table and a prop (made mostly of glass) had shattered into a hundred pieces on the floor.

It doesn’t matter what the prop was, what matters is that you understand that it was essential to my performance. I had been working on a new part of the show for weeks and that prop played a pivotal role in that part of my act.

I was instantly disappointed. All of my work was for naught, my new idea wouldn’t get onstage after all, and I didn’t have a backup plan for that part of the show. I was furious.

My first impulse was to panic. I wanted to scream or throw something or place blame somewhere. Anywhere. I needed somewhere to direct my frustrations. I needed an external place to direct my rising temper. The pressure of the looming performance was getting to me and, now that my new idea was destroyed, it was all I could do to not tear my props down, pack it all up, and head home.

I almost panicked. Almost.

But then, I forced myself to take a deep breath and surveyed the scene. The audience would be here in ten minutes, the show was going to start whether I was ready or not. Freaking out wasn’t going to solve anything. If nothing else, it would just make it worse.

I sat down for a moment and tried to work out a solution. I couldn’t repair it, I didn’t have time to run to my studio for a replacement, and I didn’t really have anything to replace it with.

What to do?

And then, as I sat motionless in the dark, I had a moment of inspiration. It started small, as all ideas do, then grew bigger and bigger, until it had replaced any other idea I’d had up until that point. In that moment of near-panic I found the solution. 

I had created something even better than my original plan.

I raced back to the dressing room, grabbing whatever miscellaneous props I could find. Everything was right in front of me, just waiting for me to put the pieces together. I swept the stage, placed the new props in place, and went back to the dressing room to get focused.

There were five minutes left before the curtain would go up, five minutes before my opening lines, five minutes before the show would begin and I couldn’t look back. And that’s when I knew that this would be one of my best shows yet.

All because I didn’t panic.

The Rise Of Magic In Chicago

Magic has seen a resurgence lately in popular culture, television, movies, and more. Nowhere is the rise of magic more prevalent than in the city I call home, where some of the world’s finest magicians are amazing audiences on a nightly basis.

These performers are my friends, encouraging me to improve and learn from each and every show. These performers are my competition, pushing me to keep getting better and working harder on my act. Most importantly, these performers are setting the tone for the next generation of magical performers so that one day, like I did years ago, a young boy or girl may sit in the audience at one of their shows and whisper to themselves “I want to do that!”

These performers are the future of magic.

This newfound popularity of magic has forged the path for some of Chicago’s most amazing venues and shows. In an attempt to highlight some of my friends and spread the word about their shows, please see below for a list of places you can see live magic in Chicago. I will do my best to keep this list updated so be sure to check back from time to time for all current shows!

Chicago Magic Lounge - The CML will quite literally blow your mind. Secret passages, great food, and unbelievable entertainment await you seven days a week. (Here's a cool behind-the-scenes video I made at the Grand Opening last month.)

The Magic Parlour - On Fridays and Saturdays Dennis Watkins presents an intimate, astonishing show that will delight and astound everyone. Plus, it's in the beautiful Palmer House Hilton Hotel in downtown Chicago, making it a truly unforgettable experience.

The Magic Penthouse - Enjoy a night of cocktails, live music, and four strolling magicians in a fancy location in downtown Chicago. The show happens once a month and you can catch me there tomorrow, March 2nd!

Lindberg & Hanthorn - My friends Eric Lindberg and Stephen Hanthorn are combining their talents for a twice-monthly show at the Uptown Underground. Part-magic, part-mentalism, and 100% fun.

Near Death Experience - Neil Tobin is presenting his award-winning show at Rosehill Cemetery starting later this month. "Grown up, dead serious fun!"

The 13th Hour - Just outside of the city, mentalist Joe Diamond presents a spooky weekly show that is limited to just 13 attendees. Oh yeah, it's in a "haunted mansion", too.

Vaudeville at Bordel - Every Thursday, three-time "Best Magician in Chicago" winner AJ Sacco dazzles the crowd at Bordel with his magical stylings.

Logan Arcade - Magician Justin Purcell will blow your mind at the Logan Arcade on Tuesdays between 9pm and midnight.

Magic & History - Magician and author William Pack's shows uniquely combine magic, storytelling, and history. His shows happen at many theaters, libraries, and clubs throughout the Chicagoland area year round.

Pleasant Home - Jeanette Andrews will be presenting elegant "sensory magic" at Pleasant Home in Oak Park starting March 15th.

And finally, there's The Mystery Show - my secret, invite-only mind reading show in Chicago. Just join the list below and you'll be the first to know when and where it happens next.

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Note to performers: If I missed your show or you have something new coming up, please let me know and I'll get it added to this post.

An Open Letter

To The Man In The Third Row:

I rarely feel the need to confront an audience member, sir, but suffice it to say you were that rare case.

It wasn’t hard to notice you were on your phone. When you’re onstage any little change in the environment sticks out like a sore thumb.

So, while I was trying to give a good performance tonight all I could see was the glow of your face, lit up like you were about to tell a scary story. I found it quite distracting to the moment I was trying to carefully craft onstage.

See, I’ve performed this version of the show over 100 times in the past six months. It’s rock solid. So that means I get to play with it now. I set the script to auto-pilot and go in search of new discoveries. I try to make more eye contact and find new ways to connect. Now that I understand the skeleton of the show I get to make something artistic out of it.

But that means I’m hyper aware of any little change to the theater. And so I couldn’t help but notice you were in the third row, on your phone, playing a game while I was trying to work.

For the past two months I’ve spent every day either onstage or in an airport. (Some days both.) There have been days when I’ve woken up and forgotten what city I was in. I’ve battled allergies and depression. I’ve lost my luggage and lost my voice. All in the name of the craft.

So tonight, running on no sleep, I knew I needed to focus extra hard. I wanted to give a good show. And after 20 minutes I was well on my way to one of my greatest feats - creating an audience out of a random group of strangers.

Then I saw you. And I couldn’t help but call you out.

I needed you to know that you were being disruptive and that being on your phone was disrespectful and a major distraction. I don’t regret that and I don’t regret making you sheepishly put your phone away while everyone else watched.

I did so knowing I would lose every ounce of momentum I had worked so hard to build. But it had to be done, so I channeled my inner Patti Lupone.

The point isn’t about being on your phone or living in the moment. The point isn’t that you embarrassed your wife or really made it awkward for everyone in attendance. (Not for me, though, I’m already thinking about my next show.)

No, the point is that the audience is an essential part of my performance. Without them there are no minds to read or thoughts to send. Without the audience there is no show. So I expect the audience to hold up their end of the bargain. I expect you to meet me in the middle so I can give you the show you deserve.

And if you do, I promise I’ll show you something that you can’t find anywhere else. Not even on your smartphone.

- MT