Taking My Lumps

When I first moved to Chicago I went in search of stage time. I knew that if I wanted to improve I would need to get onstage as often as possible.

Eventually I found a small bar near my apartment that did weekly cabaret shows. After a trial show there the host gave me an open invitation to perform whenever I wanted. So I started going there every single week.

Doing weekly shows allowed me to practice new things and learn how to be onstage in front of an often unruly audience. I learned how to handle being heckled and work with unwilling participants. I learned how to perform for a cynical audience and what to do when things went wrong. And, I learned how to make people care.

I remember one night I was trying a new stunt and no one would pay attention. The bar was a long, narrow space with a small stage way at the back near a few tables and chairs. There were probably 10-15 people scattered through the bar that night and everyone had been talking amongst themselves during all of the acts that had gone before me. By the time I went onstage it was clear that I would need to make a big change to my act in order to get control of the room, or I was going to bomb big time.

So, I changed gears. Without a second thought, I moved off the stage and into the house. I stood on a chair without a microphone, and shouted, “Can everyone see me okay?”

Suddenly everyone grew quiet and turned to look at me. I had momentarily gained their attention and knew that I could not relinquish it.

So, I resorted to another trick. I lowered my voice and began performing. You’d think that the best way to get an audience’s attention is to speak louder. It’s not. The best way is to lower your voice while maintaining your intensity. You want people to lean forward so they can hear you better and really pay attention. It’s counterintuitive, I know, but it really works.

“I’m going to show you something absolutely insane tonight, but I will not speak over you. I demand your attention and your respect for the next five and a half minutes.”

I slowly scanned the crowd as I excitedly whispered those words. You could have heard a pin drop in the room it was so quiet. Everyone was sitting in silent excitement, waiting to see what I would do next.

I proceeded to destroy that crowd for five minutes straight.

Without those weekly shows I wouldn’t have had the confidence to take control of the room. I wouldn’t have recognized the challenging crowd or the solution it required. I wouldn’t have known the power of silence or the “lowering my voice” trick. I needed weeks and weeks of stage time in that bar to understand how to work a room.

Before then I was lucky to have a show once a month. I’d do a show, fail miserably, then have to spend four weeks thinking about my mistakes. By the time I got the chance to perform again I had forgotten everything I’d learned and went back to making those mistakes all over again.

That’s how I feel now, doing in-person shows during the pandemic. I’ve only had five live events since March, with several weeks in between. Each show has had a different set of restrictions, a different demographic, and a different environment. The common denominator with each event is that every attendee (myself included) has worn a mask. When you do a show that relies heavily on audience reactions and feedback, the face coverings can make it quite difficult to know if it’s going well.

It’s part of the reason my virtual show has gotten so good. I’m doing several shows a week, even sometimes up to 4 in a day. Doing that many performances has allowed my script and material to get rock solid. I understand how to work the virtual elements of the show, connect with online participants, and keep momentum going during a show. And now I’m starting to do things that I do for my live shows after I perform them a hundred times, like adding in more jokes, building in extra surprises, and refining the finale. I can say, without question, that my virtual show is much, much better than my in-person socially distanced shows — all because I’ve had more time working on one than the other.

In many ways, doing in-person events right now is like being back in the early days when I was just starting out. I’m learning a bunch of things all at once and trying to retain it for long stretches of time between those events. Right now I’m just onstage taking my lumps. It’s a struggle and the progress is slow, but I’m not worried because I’ve been here before.

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About Mark Toland

Mark Toland is an award-winning mind reader and two-time TEDx Speaker. His mind blowing skills have been featured on NBC, ABC, FOX, CBS, NPR, WGN, Sirius XM, and more. Mark’s blog is a behind-the-scenes look at the life of a professional entertainer, full of creative thoughts for creative people. Sign up below so you’ll never miss a post.

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The First Time

It took a while to get to me but I finally saw the clip of the twin brothers listening and reacting to Phil Collins’s “In The Air Tonight” for the first time. If you haven’t seen it yet I promise it’s worth it:

“I ain’t never seen nobody drop a beat 3 minutes into a song!”

What a great video. It’s so joyful and fun that it brought tears to my eyes, and I started thinking about all the times I’d experienced something for the first time, too.

I remember seeing the Pacific Ocean for the first time when I was a freshman in college. My friend Angela took me to Santa Monica and laughed while I stood spellbound as the water rushed over my bare feet. I was transfixed by the sheer enormity of the water meeting the sky at the horizon, something I hadn’t experienced before growing up in the midwest.

I remember seeing the 20th anniversary showing of “E.T. the Extra Terrestrial” for the first time back in 2002. It blew me away. I’d never seen anything like it. I put the poster on my wall and would stare at it every day, dreaming about the universe, movies, and everything in-between.

I remember the first time I came to Chicago. I was here for a few theater school auditions and spent a couple days exploring the city. I went shopping at Macy’s, walked along the river downtown, and went to a fancy steakhouse. It was the quintessential small-town-kid-visits-the-big-city story. I’d never seen buildings so tall or taxis drive so fast. Come to think of it - I hadn’t really seen a taxi before. It was fantastic.

The list goes on and on. The first time I went overseas, the first time I tried sushi, the first time I rode a bike. There’s something utterly magical about that initial experience with something brand new.

I’m always amazed at how often people will approach me after my shows to tell me that I’m the first magician or mind reader they’ve ever seen. My craft is so ubiquitous in my life that it’s easy to forget that many people in my audience are having a brand new experience.

It’s a constant reminder of the responsibility to elevate what I do in the minds of the audience, but it’s also a huge opportunity to gift those audience members with an unforgettable experience of the first time they experienced a live mind reading show.

Everyone has a list of things they remember seeing for “the first time”. The things that make that list are moments that lingered far after they occurred. They’re moments that rattle people to their core and stick with them for years.

As artists we have a choice every time we interact with a new audience: Are we going to be just another blip on the radar of their life experiences? Or, are we going to let them sink their toes into the sand and feel the ocean water rush over their feet for the first time?

I know my answer. What about you?

Dig Deeper

There’s a moment that keeps popping up during a lot of the programs I enjoy. It happens on NPR, it happens on talks shows, it happens on the news.

The interviewer will ask their guest a question, wait for an answer, and then…just move on. They don’t acknowledge the answer. They don’t expand on it or get into a deeper conversation. They just cross that question off their list and ask the next one. It drives me crazy.

I also see this moment happen in live shows (remember those?) that I go to. The performer asks a volunteer a personal question, the volunteer responds, and the performer plunges ahead with their script without even responding to the volunteer’s answer.

When you ignore someone’s response you’re missing on a huge opportunity to create a memorable moment. Chances are the first answer they give isn’t going to be all that exciting, but if you’re willing to dig deeper then you’ll likely encounter something unforgettable.

This is part of the reason why I love long form podcasts like “The Joe Rogan Experience”, “Under The Skin” with Russell Brand, or “WTF” with Marc Maron. Often the conversations on those shows can go on for several hours. They’re full of tangents and interruptions but they always cover interesting, uncharted territory. If I was going to diagram traditional media I would draw a straight line from point A to point B. But a marathon conversation on a podcast? That’s more like a meandering, squiggly line. It’s messy, but ultimately it covers more ground and is much more compelling.

Much of the intoxicating appeal of those podcasts (and others) is the host’s insatiable curiosity to learn as much as possible about their guests. They want to get into the weeds. For every interesting answer they receive, they have 2 or 3 follow up questions. They get philosophical. They get deep. They want to hash things out on the air, even if it isn’t quite as polished as a late night talk show. They don’t have talking points — they’re just talking. And I can’t stop listening.

As always, everything comes down to connection. Every encounter we have is an opportunity to leave a lasting impression on another person. But that’s never going to happen if you aren’t actively listening and acknowledging what other people have to say.

No one remembers the people who barely make an attempt to hold a conversation. But everyone remembers the person who asks thoughtful questions, listens to the answers, and responds accordingly.

The next time you have a chance encounter with someone, pay attention to what you’re doing and treat that exchange like one of those squiggly lines. Don’t be in a hurry to get onto your next question or your next task. Just listen to what they have to say and see where it leads you. Be interested and inquisitive. Dig deeper.

The Mystery of the 7th Book

When people ask me how I got into this I always say the same thing.

“I learned everything from books!"

It’s true. I grew up in a small town. There were no other performers I could learn from or videos I could watch (these were the pre-internet days) so I spent most of my time at the public library reading every magic book I could.

Back then if you wanted to find me between school getting out at 3pm and catching a ride home with my dad two hours later, you only needed to look back in the corner of the library at the legendary position of 793.8 in the Dewey Decimal System. Those were the call numbers for the magic books - all seven of them.

I learned everything I could from those books. I’d check one out and read it cover to cover. Then, I’d swap it for the next one and so on. Those seven books were all I had and I must have read them dozens of times throughout my childhood.

Over the years I’ve been trying to track down those seven books to add to my collection. Some were harder to find than others. I found one at a used book store in the Chicago suburbs and another one in a garage sale. A friend gifted me the Houdini book I was looking for and I tracked a few of the others down at conventions.

But there was always one book I couldn't find. It was a book by The Amazing Kreskin, one of my first introductions to the fine art of reading people’s minds. For some reason, I’d never come across the book in my travels.

That is, until recently. I was between shows in Maine when I wandered into a used book store. I walked up to the counter with my usual query.

“Do you have any magic books?”

The lady behind the counter barely looked up, gesturing to the back of the store with a wave of her hand.

I walked down the aisle and spotted a small section of books on the bottom shelf. As I knelt down for a better look I noticed a book had fallen onto the floor behind the shelf. I reached between the other books, lifted it out, and there it was: the seventh book!

My collection was complete. After years of casually assembling my collection, I finally had my hands on the full set of books that set me down the path toward my eventual career. Those books had defined my life since I was in kindergarten. Especially the Kreskin one.

I absentmindedly flipped through the book and noticed an inscription in the front. The book was signed to someone else.

I’m not sure who that other person was or where he got it signed. I’m not sure what journey the book took to wind up in my hands in Portland, ME after all those years. But I like to think that in some mysterious way we were on a collision course and it was only a matter of time before I found it.

Why do I say that, you ask? Because Kreskin had autographed it for another person - ANOTHER PERSON NAMED MARK. But now, I like to think he signed it for me.

Perspective

Last week we drove a few hours outside of Chicago to see one of our favorite musicians, Martin Sexton, in concert. We’ve wanted to see him live for years but just hadn’t gotten the chance yet.

It was a cold night but we arrived early and huddled outside the theater so we could enter the theater early and grab front row seats. But as the minutes ticked by and the start of the show grew closer we grew increasingly disappointed. We had assumed the venue would be packed but unfortunately there was hardly anyone in attendance.

I had built this night up in my mind: standing room only, the buzz of a well-respected performer about to take the stage, a big crowd singing along to music that I’ve listened to for much of my life. Instead, we were part of a small crowd of only about 50 people and it made me sad to think about how much I loved this performer and how I wanted other people to love them, too.

There’s no rhyme or reason why some performers sell out massive arenas and other performers struggle to find an audience. Sometimes it’s timing, other times it’s complete luck. It’s not to say performers with huge fan bases haven’t worked hard - they definitely have, but performers who don’t have big followings work hard, too, they just might not have gotten the same breaks that other artists have.

As we were waiting for the show to begin I started to think about my own work. For all of my big shows and wonderful opportunities, I’ve also had to persevere through many a bad performance.

I’ve performed in college cafeterias during lunchtime when I struggled to get a single student to look up from their laptop. I might as well have been invisible.

I’ve done midnight shows at festivals when there were only four people in the audience. I wanted to crawl in a hole and die.

I’ve done company events where the audience was unruly and the sound system was so bad that I couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

You name it, I've probably done it.

When you spend an entire day travelling only to have a bad venue or a small audience it can be really defeating. You start to feel sorry for yourself and wonder why you even wanted to be a performer in the first place. You feel the weight of every bad show you’e ever done and every mistake you’ve ever made and it can be hard to shift that mindset and even care about the show you’re about to do.

So when I saw how small my favorite musician’s audience was last week I couldn’t help but replay all of those moments in my mind. And then, all of that changed.

He walked out and stepped in front of the microphone. Without any amplification he filled the entire space with a stirring rendition of one of his best songs. And everyone went crazy.

He made a joke about the show being “a living room gig”. He didn’t make fun of the audience or feel sorry for himself. He just acknowledged the situation and let us know that he was still going to give it his all.

And he did.

Song after song he filled the space with his amazing talent. Everyone was completely enthralled for the entire show. And by the end we rose to our feet in a huge ovation.

It was no longer disappointing that the audience was so small. It was a privilege. We got to see him in a small setting - everyone else had missed out. It was easily one of the best shows I’ve ever seen.

For two hours straight I had been transported into his world. I don’t know if he had been disappointed with the turnout backstage but if he was it didn’t show. He shifted his perspective of the night into a positive one and transmitted that feeling to us. It was clear that he loves what he does and was grateful to all 50 of us for coming out to see him on one of the coldest nights of the year.

Everyone tells you that if you work hard then you can do anything you want. But honestly? Most things are out of your control. You don’t know where you’re going to end up or how much money you’re going to make. And you can’t will a world tour into existence. But you can shift your perspective and remind yourself to be proud of what you do and be excited to share it with other people.

It can be so easy to get down on yourself when it feels like you aren’t living up to your own expectations. And with social media, it’s far too easy to compare ourselves to others and their version of success. But success comes in many, many forms. You can phone it in because hardly anyone showed up to your show or you can blow the roof of the joint for fifty of your biggest fans in central Illinois and give them a night they’ll always remember

It’s all in how you look at it.

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Other Thoughts:

• Last night I was on the Nick Digilio Show on WGN 720AM Radio. Check out the interview here..

• Next week I’m giving my second TEDx Talk at TEDxYouth@Hinsdale. Watch my website for the full video soon!

• See me live in March at the Chicago Magic Lounge! Go here for all of my other upcoming performances.

No Other Option

I’ve had an idea in my notebook for ten years. It’s a piece for my show that I’ve always wanted to try. It’s everything I like to do onstage: mind blowing, entertaining, funny, and fun to do.

The only problem? I’ve never actually done it during a show until a few days ago. Just this week I finally did it and IT KILLED. It was as good as I knew it would be.

What the hell took me so long?

I guess every time I went to try it I would talk myself out of it. I’d tell myself it wasn’t ready yet and that it needed more rehearsal. I’d fall back on my go-to material instead of just taking the plunge and going for it. I just kept putting it off.

When I was younger I taught myself to juggle by standing over a bed. The idea was simple: when I dropped a tennis ball I didn’t have to chase it across the room. I could just pick it up off the bed and keep trying. Progress was slow. So, I started juggling at the top of the stairs. Chasing my drops became a chore so my drops were fewer. I got better because there was no other option.

When I went to theater school my parents told me I should double major in business, too. “You’ll want to have a fall back plan,” they told me, just in case things didn’t work out. But I refused. I knew if there was a fall back plan then I would fall back on it. When I left school there was no other option except to do entertainment . . . so that’s exactly what I’ve been doing ever since.

That's the same kind of mentality I needed this week to actually bring that new piece onstage with me. I waited ten years to do it because I always had a fall back plan. It kept me from taking the risk and pushing myself to do more and be better.

This week I removed the safety net. I only packed my bag with enough props to execute the new piece and nothing more. There was no other option but to finally give it a shot. It was the final push I needed to succeed and (as is always the case when you step out of your comfort zone) I’m so glad I did.

So what's that thing you’ve been meaning to do? What’s that idea in your notebook that you’ve been putting off for a decade?

The time has come for you to get rid of the back up plan. Remove the safety net. Stand at the top of the stairs and get the balls in the air.

Look at that! You're juggling!

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.

Respond Accordingly

My college roommate was seven feet tall. He still is. He was a starter for the basketball team and now plays professionally overseas. We couldn’t go anywhere together without someone asking him one of two questions:

“How tall are you?” or “Do you play basketball?”

No matter how exhausted or rushed he was he would always answer their question with a serious answer. The people he talked to would always light up when they realized how friendly and interesting he could be.

No matter your career you probably get asked the same questions again and again, too. For me it’s questions like:

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Are you really psychic?”

“Do you read your wife’s mind?”

“What are you doing in my living room?”

The list goes on and on. It would be easy to get tired of answering the same questions repeatedly but I try not to. Like my former roommate, I always treat the people I meet with respect and try to answer their questions as fully as I possibly can.

Several years ago I went to see a fellow performer’s show and stayed to celebrate with them afterwards. While we were hanging out an audience member approached and I could tell they were gearing up to ask my friend a question.

“Great show!" they said. “How long have you been doing this?”

“About two weeks!" my friend responded with a laugh. Everyone around us laughed, too, except for me and the audience member. I watched their expression turn from excitement to disappointment and had a realization: they really an answer to their question.

This person had probably been trying to work up the confidence to approach us for a long time. They had enjoyed the show and wanted to personally thank my friend for the performance. They weren’t aware that they were asking a question that performers always get asked - they were just trying to express interest in what they’d just witnessed.

My friend had heard that question many times and over the years developed a response that he always gave. Unfortunately, he was forgetting that a funny comeback can often end up seeming dismissive or rude.

It doesn't matter what your line of work is you should anticipate that you’re always going to meet people who are interested in what you do and you should respond accordingly. If you were meeting a person you look up to you then you want them to do the same for you.

The great thing about getting asked the same questions repeatedly is that you can prepare your responses. I don’t mean a canned, hacky response like my friend gave, I mean to actually think out a good way to respond that is succinct, interesting, and can move the conversation in a more interesting direction. Besides, you never want to be dismissive because you never know who you might be talking to. It could be a potential client, a lifelong fan, a new agent, or a person who could make or break your career.

For example, here’s how I respond when people ask me how long I’ve been doing this:

“Over 20 years! I started doing magic of the mind when I was about 4 years old and then ended up going to theater school to study performance. I was doing so many gigs to make extra money during school that after I graduated I decided to do it full-time and I haven’t looked back since!”

I think this is a far better approach. The person who asked the question gets a serious and enthusiastic response. Plus, I sprinkle in other tidbits about myself in hopes that they’ll ask about them, too. Depending on the person they may want to talk about following a passion from when you were younger (I started when I was 4 years old), theater (I have a BFA in Music Theater), being an entrepreneur (I’m self-employed), or the entertainment industry in general.

See what I mean? With a little thought you can turn those repetitive exchanges in life into memorable, interesting moments that won’t be soon forgotten.

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: