Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Prometheus's great mistake
Another gem from my troubled past.
There was a time when my Brother, Joe, was learning magic tricks. Everyone goes through a phase at some point, I've had several, this blog is part of my leaving-something-for-posterity phase. The magic phase was Joe's.
One day, as I was passing a stool (those of you who grimaced at the image of that, be warned: this story may not be to your liking), my rangy sibling kicked the toilet door open and announced that he'd learned a new trick. I folded down the corner of the page I was reading and feigned an interest. Everyone should have a hobby, I reasoned.
The would-be practitioner of the dark arts produced two matches, laying one flat on the palm of his outstretched left hand. He then rubbed the tip of the other match vigorously along the side of his hand, before touching it against the tip of the first match, which hopped in the air with an audible "ping."
Something to do with static electricity, I thought. And pretty lame.
"Isn't that great?" enthused Joe, rearranging the matches. "Watch again..."
He repeated the trick a couple of times, then gave the matches to me and bade me try. Zip. Nothing. Zero. No hopping matches, no audible "ping." Total inertia.
"You're not doing it right," said Joe. "Here, like this..." he took the matches from me and repeated his trick, then gave them back to me, but still I could not make them do my bidding.
This pantomime went on for a few minutes, with Joe taking the matches and performing the trick; me taking them back and achieving absolutely sod all, apart from getting ever-so-slightly older in the process.
Eventually, Joe decided he'd gotten enough enjoyment out of this and told me that he'd been subtly flicking the match so that it hopped up in the air. My temper having frayed somewhat by this point, I struck one of the matches on the floor and threw it at him, causing his fleece to catch fire.
No injury was caused, although the fleece had a hole burned in it. Thanks to the purgative powers of fire, my sweet temper was restored and I have not set fire to either of my siblings since.
To the best of my recollection.
There was a time when my Brother, Joe, was learning magic tricks. Everyone goes through a phase at some point, I've had several, this blog is part of my leaving-something-for-posterity phase. The magic phase was Joe's.
One day, as I was passing a stool (those of you who grimaced at the image of that, be warned: this story may not be to your liking), my rangy sibling kicked the toilet door open and announced that he'd learned a new trick. I folded down the corner of the page I was reading and feigned an interest. Everyone should have a hobby, I reasoned.
The would-be practitioner of the dark arts produced two matches, laying one flat on the palm of his outstretched left hand. He then rubbed the tip of the other match vigorously along the side of his hand, before touching it against the tip of the first match, which hopped in the air with an audible "ping."
Something to do with static electricity, I thought. And pretty lame.
"Isn't that great?" enthused Joe, rearranging the matches. "Watch again..."
He repeated the trick a couple of times, then gave the matches to me and bade me try. Zip. Nothing. Zero. No hopping matches, no audible "ping." Total inertia.
"You're not doing it right," said Joe. "Here, like this..." he took the matches from me and repeated his trick, then gave them back to me, but still I could not make them do my bidding.
This pantomime went on for a few minutes, with Joe taking the matches and performing the trick; me taking them back and achieving absolutely sod all, apart from getting ever-so-slightly older in the process.
Eventually, Joe decided he'd gotten enough enjoyment out of this and told me that he'd been subtly flicking the match so that it hopped up in the air. My temper having frayed somewhat by this point, I struck one of the matches on the floor and threw it at him, causing his fleece to catch fire.
No injury was caused, although the fleece had a hole burned in it. Thanks to the purgative powers of fire, my sweet temper was restored and I have not set fire to either of my siblings since.
To the best of my recollection.
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you should've turned around and cut the cheese to a lit match. FLAME ON, you flamer.--kurohige
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