What’s in a name?

Huh.

My last post is a long babble about pilgrims. I’m probably not getting the right vitamins.

Well, as long as I’m going to just blab, I should probably explain some more about me. Like my name.

I make soap. It has a big hand, our logo, stamped into the bars:

People at my outdoor market used to always say “Ooooo, hand soap!” And then laugh like crazed jackals. Yes, that was HILARIOUS, much funnier than the last four zillion times I heard it!

Then they’d see my massage booth. And nod wisely, as if they now understood where the name came from, and clearly I meant the magic of healing.

Nope.

I’m not that easy to figure out.

The name came from one of my earlier careers. I did close-up magic, strolling performances for street fairs, private parties, and such. I even did a tour of Japan, doing card tricks and rope tricks with a Wild West show during the Oban festival.

Now, think about the 7 of Hearts.

I realize that this sounds like complete bullshit, so here’s a tiny bit of proof:

This is my passport visa for the tour. I wandered around ritzy expensive hotels in Osaka for six weeks, snapping the ace of spades out of the air with a bullwhip. I had some other routines planned, but I had neglected an important bit – I don’t speak Japanese.

This had never occurred to either me or the promoter who booked me, because magic is largely a visual thing, but when you do card tricks you have to talk to people. To be truthful, during card tricks, 99% of the time the entertainment is in what you say, because nobody is amazed that you finish by going “Is THIS your card?”

I used to alleviate the boredom when I did strolling gigs in Vegas by stealing watches and wallets from people, then finding a dramatic way to return them. This is easier than it sounds; men in Vegas really don’t pay too much attention to some woman putting her hands all over them, and they really don’t notice when you have your hand in their pockets if your shirt is cut low enough.

This is all well and good, but I tried it once during the Japan gig and the guy thought I was a thief, because I don’t know how to say “Sir, please don’t call hotel security, I swear I am not a pickpocket, and by the way, is THIS your card?” I think since I was wearing cowboy drag, including hat, boots, spurs, and fake guns, he assumed I was one of the foreign lunatics who were running through the hotel lobby. He just took his wallet back, counted the money, glared at me, and stomped off.

Anyway, that’s where I came up with Magic Hands. I’ve been using it in various forums and incarnations around the net for quite a while now. Hubby even calls himself Mr. Hands. If we ever meet in meatspace, feel free to call me Magic.

I’ll answer.

Is this your card?

Pic 1: The Rocketeer
Pic 2: Palmea