Tag Archives: magic

True Life: I Have a Little Thumb

These are both my thumbs

My left thumb looks like a toe and is roughly one centimeter smaller than my already petite thumb on my right hand. All my life people have laughed at how ridiculous my thumb looks and/or how precious it is, sometimes wanting to touch it as one might want to touch a friend’s baby or a puppy. They alternately tell me it’s adorable, reprehensible, or impossible. The little thumb baffles them. How does it exist? Why does it exist? Can you even use it? What kind of freak are you?

For years I’ve answered questions and put up with people objectifying me because of this irregularity in finger formation, and now, for the first time ever, I’m speaking out about my little thumb and putting to rest the rumors surrounding its existence.

Yes, I have a toe thumb and this does makes me different from people with two normal sized thumbs. And though it is true that one centimeter separates this thumb from the other, and thus separates me from most of the earth’s population, it is far from the only thing. The toe thumb also has mysterious powers.

I hesitate to use the word magical here, because that would give the impression I’m just another conjurer with sparks shooting out of my thumb as I summon plates of fresh cookies, but the powers of the toe thumb are much wider than that. Indeed, I am still discovering the full extent of its use. God knows how many natural disasters I’ve accidentally caused.

Aside from random acts of time bending, I have found that my thumb has water filtering, coffee warming, and dandruff inducing abilities. I can also control marsupials, watch black and white movies on any liquid surface, and always get the last biscuit.

Not only that, my thumb can detect the fashion trends of the future and is the reason for my impeccable style. Because of it, I can tell without looking when professors are wearing pantyhose or taking anti-balding medication and can sense the very moment in which a cucumber passes its prime. Every time I play one of those claw machines at supermarkets I win seven stuffed animals and I have never overcooked pasta. My whites are brilliantly bright because of the toe thumb and it reduces the ability of employers to know when I’m lying, though it doesn’t directly increase my productivity.

To say the least, my toe thumb is powerful and more opposable than your normal length thumb. So while people may laugh at the toe thumb because of its mildly grotesque appearance, I am the one laughing late at night as I gaze into my coffee mug and watch Casablanca while thinking about Professor Norton’s battle against genetics.

There are dozens of us out there, fellow toe thumbers with powers untold. One day we’ll live in a world where people will revere our disfiguration, but until then, let us wield our secret power over the same sizers as we bide our time for greatness.

P.S. Professor Norton actually has a great head of natural hair.

Tagged , , , , , , ,

Karen’s Unicorn: Gym Nuisance

this is after she was arrested and executed for manslaughter and then put on display as an artifact

So I saw Karen’s unicorn at the gym last night. She was benching about 250 in that belly shirt of hers, all her glittery unicorn flesh just hanging out for the entire gym to see and of course she was sporting those short shorts, prancing around the gym every chance she got. And that dumb swooshy tail of hers that she whips around nonstop, spraying toxic magic dust everywhere—-swoosh, swoosh, swoosh, like she’s the freaking queen of the dumbbells.

It’s pretty ridiculous if you ask me. And she never wipes the machines down. Never. So if you use one after her, you’re definitely going to get unicorn dust all over you and God knows what’s going to happen after that. I heard it can even be addictive, like you get some kind of unicorn buzz and colors are more vibrant and you feel alive, but then immediately afterwards you’re a wreck. Life loses its meaning and everything tastes like ash. People have died from this so I don’t think it’s too much to ask her to wipe down the freaking machines.

And just because she’s a unicorn, she thinks she’s so special, like she deserves to use the stationary bike for longer than 30 minutes. Well, I’ve got news for you, sugar, just because you’re a minxy tart of a shimmery, magical creature doesn’t give you the right to come into our gym, coat our machines with your poisonous dust, and then trot out of here on your pearly hooves like you own the place. What forest did you prance out of that you think this is okay? What does Karen have to say about this? Why are you using the treadmill anyways? Isn’t there some mystical wood that you can go romp around in with your other deviant friends? Can’t you just leave us non-magical folk in peace and not torment us with your sweet, sweet unicorn dust?

Do I even have to mention the experience of using the bathroom after her? It’s a nightmare. The stall is so heavily scented with cinnamon and vanilla I can hardly breathe. Literally I almost suffocated when I was changing clothes. If that wasn’t bad enough, my shoe touched one of her mane hairs left on the ground and the whole thing turned into a flock of yellow butterflies that just fluttered away.

Do you see my point here? My shoe flew away. This was my shoe, that I had purchased to wear for the purpose of engaging in athletic activity, and it flew away. This is simply unacceptable. Karen’s unicorn has got to go. I can’t stand the thought of seeing her again, doing squats with her majestic unicorn might, her belly button ring glinting in the  fluorescent lights. Do you know how distracting that is?

And I want her to buy me a pair of shoes and/or catch the flock of butterflies. Am I being unreasonable?

Tagged , , , , , , ,

Woah! Snow!

Sometimes, the snow loses its charm

EVERYONE LOOK! THERE’S SNOW FALLING ON MY BLOG! It’s either the magic of the season or the fact I checked the box that said “let snow fall on this blog until January 4th.” Whatever it is, it’s enchanting. The holidays really are coming! Wishes really do come true! Polar bears do love cuddling more than mauling!

Because of these animated snowflakes drifting across my online pastime, I know my homework will somehow be done, though it be of poor quality and turned in late.

Gifts for my family and A-list friends will be purchased, though at the last minute and with the pocket change I’ve spared from my final get togethers with friends at expensive restaurants.

I will survive the next week and a half, though in order to eat I will likely have to borrow money that may or may not be paid back after the break.

And the mosquitoes will die when the sun finally blows up and the earth is burnt to a crisp.

This snow is a continual reminder while I’m looking at my blog that holiday times coincide with cold weather in some parts of the world. It reminds me of the Christmas lights I will be seeing in abundance very soon and the obnoxious old Christmas songs I will once again hear ad nauseam once I reach the United States of America. It is a reminder that nothing is wrong during this time of year, that winter is just beginning and the snow is still a novelty, and that everyone is happy.

Thank you, snow, for doing all you do. I dread January 4th, when you go away from my blog just as people in the Northeast, Upper Midwest, and North-Central plains realize their snowdrifts will not melt until late April. I, however, will be in Egypt, where there will be no snow and no drains in the streets for years to come. I’ll probably be wearing t-shirts and high fiving my friends by early March, laughing at how foolish everyone was to welcome the fluffy precipitation only a few months earlier.

But for now, let me love the snow and look forward to its temporary promise of renewal. Let me imagine the world’s sins covered in a white blanket and Christmas carols. Let me believe in the fable of the perfect Christmas one more time.

Tagged , , , , ,

Dear Diary: I flew today

Dear Diary,

I found myself somewhere new today. It was in Cairo I think, since everyone there still spoke Arabic and no one was wearing shorts or kissing in the street. I also saw some young men holding hands, another indication I was in the Middle East.

We entered what someone said was an old house but I think it was actually a castle since it was big and musty and had a windy staircase with uneven steps. There were a lot of locked doors too, as well as nooks and crannies, so it was definitely a castle.

The big feasting hall/courtyard was filled with chairs and dim light, and at the front was a kind of wooden plateau that was smaller than natural plateaus. There weren’t any chairs on the wooden plateau, probably because it is well known that wood does not go well with wood.

I gathered we were supposed to sit down, but it was hard to find a place because of all the chairs. Someone then thought it would be a good idea to sit on the chairs themselves so that’s what we did. I had a bad feeling about this idea, and was especially nervous since the guy in front of us kept peering behind him out of the corner of his eye. Every single time he saw us, he was surprised that there were people sitting on the chairs, despite his own chair sitting hypocrisy. I suggested that we move somewhere out of the way of the chairs but no one listened to me.

All of the sudden, the lights in the courtyard dimmed and music began from the front of the room, where the plateau was still lit up. Something had definitely gone wrong…how were we supposed to be able to see and talk to each other through the darkness over the music? Were we in a no-holds-barred modern protestant church service? But then musicians wearing white and carrying drums took the plateau (possibly the ghosts of the castle musicians) and I lost all consciousness of time and space.

The next thing I knew, I was smiling as we were exiting the building, the faint din of clapping still ringing in my ear. To my great surprise, I found I was carrying my camera and that the button on it was still warm. I turned it on to gather clues as to what had transpired and found I had taken tons of horrible pictures and videos of what may have been beautiful things. The ghosts on the stage had twirled and played the drums, floating and rocking back and forth, and then others took the stage that wore fantastic costumes of all colors, the most important part of it being a Christmas tree skirt that flew straight out from the dancers’ waists. And the dancers became a swirling mass of colors that was always striving upwards with their hands and with their bodies. It’s not clear why…maybe they were trying to communicate with a higher being, and that being was someone who lived upstairs that loved jazzercise in the mornings and they were politely pleading with them to stop.

If the quality of the video had been just a little better, maybe I would be able to remember what I felt when I was watching the dancers twirl and twirl and twirl, their faces bordering on rapture but still conscious of the audience, the movement of their skirts mesmerizing every eye. But I can’t, so from what I can gather, blobs took the plateau and bounced across it in a rhythmic but imprecise manner. Though it sounds unlikely, apparently this was what we expected since everyone was happy afterwards.

I was getting into a taxi when I remembered something and shut the door instead. I stepped away and started spinning around gradually faster until I slowly became airborne, the exhaust fumes from the traffic on the highway pushing me higher and higher. I called down, “Smell you later!” as the polluted air pushed me home.  It had only the faintest traces of teargas.

By the way, this was at a Tanoura performance, the Egyptian version of a dervish dance/ritual that is closely associated with Sufism, or mystical Islam. Sufism focuses on seeing the face of God or achieving unity with God.

Tagged , , , , ,

Fevered Bewitchment

Sometime around 9 o’clock last night, a sorcerer cast a spell on me separating me from my spirit animal and causing intense ramifications in my physical body. Without the gentle but clumsy aura of the giant anteater mellowing out the harsh edges of my own “amethyst” being, I was consumed by what felt like the hottest fever I have ever had.

I was out with some friends doing the same old thing in a place I had never been before, the Hussein area of Cairo, close to Al-Azhar University, that same old thing being smoking sheesha. The Hussein area reminded me a lot of Morocco in that it was the typical winding narrow alleys filled with vendors selling all kinds of things that instantly become dust collectors. We were heading for Feshawi’s, an apparently well known place that makes it into all the Lonely Planet guidebooks. After asking about 8 people where it was, we wound our way there and I suddenly found myself in a crowded café filled with patrons, soft gold light diffused by intense clouds of smoke, and people passing through selling everything from necklaces, to henna, to music, to tissues, to hookas, etc. Someone was playing the oud in the background and people were clapping along with the music.

We sat for a while, and at some point in the night a man who seemed normal but was actually a sorcerer came by and showed us an electronic candle that lit up if you blew on it or tapped it. None of us were interested, so he left. But after he did so, I began to feel hot; I thought it might have just been the cramped quarters and the fact I was almost sitting on the stranger in the booth next to me as well as inhaling death, but when I started to get chills as well I knew that something was not quite right. We left a little while later as my health continued to deteriorate, a combination of the sheesha, the separation from my spirit animal, and having only eaten bread and chocolate all day.

Things really took a turn for the worse once we made it into the metro station. We boarded the packed, sauna-like metro car, and began an eternal wait for it to take off. Though I didn’t want to alarm my friends on account of the sickness ravaging my body, it seemed likely I was about to faint, so I was forced to say something. “I do not feel in a good way” I heard myself sputter in Arabic as my hearing began to go faint and my surroundings lost the appearance of reality. The gibberish I spouted obviously concerned them and they ushered me out of the metro car and I sat on a bench for a second in order to try gain a further grasp on consciousness. A few minutes later, the car was about to go, so we quickly boarded once again and as we sped along underground, I leaned against the door and stared at a spot on the ground trying with all my might not to pass out. One possible benefit of my near incapacitation is that I was only vaguely aware of the usual metro staring.

Finally, we arrived at the Dokki metro station and I thanked the sweet Lord that I wasn’t going to end up in a hospital that night. My condition had stabilized by that time and I was able to walk and even make light of the whole situation a little bit as they accompanied me to my building. As I headed upstairs, I wondered what in the world had happened. On the way to my apartment I also had the pleasure of seeing a dog with a dead cat in its mouth.

I took what I thought was ibuprofen and tried to sleep. I lay there for about an hour, a fever consuming my body and strange thoughts pervading my mind, thoughts about wizards and last prayers. Finally I decided I needed to take more painkillers since my headache was threatening to cause blood to spurt out my ears. At this point, I came to the unfortunate realization that I hadn’t taken ibuprofen at all…I had taken anti-diarrheal medication. Alas, the red fog in my mind prohibited me from realized the small blue pills were not at all what ibuprofen looks like. AHHH. I then took real medicine and slept fitfully and sweatily. I woke up at about 6 and vomited up 5 cups of water, just like clockwork after drinking them. Needless to say, I didn’t go to school at all today. Instead, I lay around the house like a harem-dweller and watched the Naked Gun 3, which was hilarious, and an Australian cooking show. Being sick is great for watching television, definitely a benefit. Hopefully I’ll feel better tomorrow; I look forward to lots of pity. We shall see. If I don’t feel better, there will be more movie watching.

Moral of the story: keep your gem guards on you at all time lest a wayward spell penetrate your aural defenses.

Tagged , , , ,
%d bloggers like this: