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Joshua Alan Doetsch

~ Author & Scrivnomancer

Joshua Alan Doetsch

Tag Archives: dad

The Christopher Walken Tarot Deck

13 Sunday Sep 2015

Posted by scrivnomancer in Uncategorized

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Christopher Walken, creepy doll, dad, father, magic, magic show, magic show patter, Mark Doetsch, my wacky family, tarot deck, voice acting, voice over work

My father is a magician. He does impossible things. He does it well enough that when I have a party, my friends ask, “Yeah…but will your dad be there?” Sometimes, I write and voice things for his shows. Once, I played the part of a ghost trapped in a bottle.

Most recently, I wrote up and recorded a bit where I play an animated drawing of Christopher Walken. Recently, I posted the crazy, five-card tarot deck I invented for the routine.

Here’s a recording of the trial-run performance of that routine. I think there’s some nuts and bolts we’ll tighten, shorten it up a bit, but it’s had a good maiden voyage with the audience.

My Dad Can Out-Sleight Yours

21 Sunday Jun 2015

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dad, Fathers Day, Mark Doetsch

To my dad. Photographer, magician, and the man who taught me so elegantly and so often by example rather than instruction.

Raise an Addams family style toast to Mark Doetsch.

I Am A Nasty Abstract

07 Friday Sep 2012

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Tags

comedy, dad, entertainment, ghosts, haunted card, magic, Magic Mark, magic tricks, mark the magician, spirits, spooky, video, voice acting, Welcome ladies and gentlemen!

My dad is a magician, and I sometimes write routines and dialogue for his shows. This is a bit I wrote for a show he did recently in St. Louise. I also did the voice work, playing the part of a haunted card. The camera work is not great…but enjoy!

Allfathers

25 Saturday Jun 2011

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Allfather, dad, Fathers Day, odin, Zues

Last Sunday was the day of fathers—the Zeus to the Hercules, the Odin to the Thor, the Heathcliff Huxtable to the Theo. I would sing the praises of my Allfather. Why deserveth he of mention? Well, good pilgrim, pour yourself a tall, frothy glass of SHUTUP AND LISTEN and I will count the ways…

To the man who, to impress my mom on a date, froze an escalator by kicking it in a secret place (known only to him and Erasmus of Rotterdam). That is some serious fucking Fonzie mojo! Despite what she says to this day, I think my mother was impressed. As physical evidence, I submit my existence, if it pleases the court.

To the man who, when I was a boy, would ask questions like, “What were you thinking about just then?” in such a way that it somehow projected admiration for the fact that I often get lost in my own head. Not everyone in my life has projected admiration for that particular character trait.

To the man who introduced me to story. He did it in a number of ways. There were the bedtime readings—sadistic cliffhangers in Hardy Boys novels that would have to wait until tomorrow night. He introduced me to audio fiction. I remember the first audio book I listened to (on a family road trip to Florida), Darker Than Amber, by John D. MacDonald. Then there were the movies, countless classic movies. He introduced me to Aliens when I was maybe just a little too young, and chestbursters became part of pantheon of childhood thrills (a childhood without the occasional sharp spikes of terror cutting through the happy line…would be a sad and boring thing to look back on).

To the man who worked hard, at jobs he did not always like, to support us, and the man who never let his day job define him. Mark the photographer. Mark the magician. Mark the jolly pirate (200 years too late).

To the man who took me on countless photo safaris into the Everglades. Some of my earliest friends were alligators—God’s consolation prize for not keeping the dinosaurs around.

To the man who introduced me to Key West.

To the man who is the model for how I deal with the world. I don’t always get it right, but I at least have an outline.

To the man who taught me how to make a tastier daiquiri than the one you’re drinking now.

To the cool Dad. That is how he was known. That is how he remains to be known. They say he’s the cool Dad. They say mom is the hot mom. They say he’s the cool dad who married the hot mom. So…king’s to you, good sir!

To the man who serves as a model of fatherhood to friends who were less fortunate in that department. It’s been brought to my attention, more than once, by independent parties. He should know that.

To the man who (among others) showed me, by example, that some angels have course mouths, and some devils have perfect, politically-correct vocabularies. You have to separate the stuff from the stuff.

To the man willing to go to the last place on earth he wanted to be. It’s easy to fantasize about finding oneself interceding in a child abuse scenario—rescuing the child—kicking the abuser’s ass. The reality is much messier, when it is unclear who is at fault or if abuse actually happened or if something’s been exaggerated. I remember the night when all he wanted was to stay in bed, but when a friend of one of his sons (someone he didn’t really know) showed up hysterical on the doorstep, he got us all in the car and we went to somewhere he really did not want to be. This was in my head the night, years later at a Buffetf concert, my brother and I stepped between a very huge, very violent biker (who had no neck) and the man he was beating senseless. It was the last place I wanted to be (but that’s another story, and I only mention it for my own self-satisfaction).

To the man who taught me that fault is the thing others assign to you and responsibility is the thing you assign yourself. He never put it that way, but showed me by example.

To the man who taught me some of the most virtuous things you’ll do in this life are not the big, theoretical, faraway ones people shriek shrilly about on Facebook (when everyone is looking)—they’re often the things no one will likely ever notice.

But I noticed, Dad.

It’s one of the things I was thinking about when I was lost in my head.

Remember Chumbawamba? No reason

04 Thursday Dec 2008

Posted by scrivnomancer in Uncategorized

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Tags

audio fiction, dad, halloween, justice league of america, neil gaiman, norway, the graveyard book, the nightmare before christmas

I was arrested on charges of journal neglect.

And conspiracy to commit journal neglect.

And general slothdom.

And polygamy. But those charges were dropped as authorities discovered that my wives were all well over the legal age, and all in my head. Too soon?

I agreed to a plea bargain. This includes regular use of this blog as well as other stipulations, like riding a bike from Chicago to New York next September (more on that in a future post).

In the time between posts, we’ve gone all the way from pumpkin patch season to It’s-colder-than-a-witch’s-mamary-gland season.

Some highlights:

A Parrot-Head Looks at Fifty
My Dad had his 50th birthday bash in October. It was quite the revel. Drinks and family and friends and a live band, and various forms of tropical dress. You could read the happy and the celebration written on his face (he deserves more good-spiritted debauchery more often). I got to wear my pirate hat which makes me happy (this sentence might imply that I get to wear it rarely…but that’s not true…I’m wearing it right now…ask me what else I’m wearing…).

By the bye, if you happen to be reading this and you have pictures of that night, and you emailed them to me, then I would be in your debt. If you’re reading this and you do not have those photos, then no worries. If you have the photos but are not reading this, then I guess you won’t get the message. If you are reading this and you have the photos, but suddenly stopped reading, then


Neil Gaiman, The Graveyard Book, and Ghost Stories by Fire Light

On October 2nd, I was able to go see Neil Gaiman do a reading from a chapter of his latest book, The Graveyard Book. T’was a good reading. T’was a good book (sweet and macabre…like me). And t’was just the right time of year.

Hungry for more, my brother (Nick) and I began holding audio fiction sessions in the backyard, on the deck, by the woods. We’d ignite the fire pit, drink Dunk n’ Donuts coffee and/or hot cider laced with rum, puff a cigarillo or two, and listen October themed fiction and audio performances from my iPod’s growing library (it’s a hungry little bugger).

Our friend, Dori, joined us one night and, to our surprise, really liked it. He had never listened to a single, solitary bit of audio fiction…and he was hooked after one session, practically begging us to continue after we were ready to quit. I mean he’s really Jonesing for this sh!%. It’s refreshing, actually, in this age of multi-multi-multi-mind numbing media—crack for the ears, heroin for the eyes—how excited he was to discover this new form of entertainment, noting how vivid the visuals came to his mind while he stared at the fire, how rejuvenated he felt after listening to a story, how meditative the experience was.

So he made it a pretty regular habit—stories by the fire—occasionally pausing the pod to hear the coyotes going nuts, likely over some kill, in the not too distant distance.

Score one for literacy.

Being read to is a very special ritual. Too many give it up after childhood.

Got Spandex?

For Halloween, a dozen friends and I hit the bars dressed as the heroes in the Justice League of America. As luck would have it, the first bar had Batman’s entire rogues gallery of villains. We got to threaten and shit-talk each other for hours. Awesome.

More photos to come, but here’s a peek:


Pre-Nativity Night Terrors

My article about The Nightmare Before Christmas 3D found a home over at Killer-Works. It’s a great site and email newsletter on all things frightening and strange. Go check it out.

Trading My Pirate Hat For a Viking Helmet?

I’m applying like crazy for writing jobs. If my debt is the Nothing—then I am Atreyu, holding on to a tree, feet off the ground, trying not to get sucked in. Still, I’m holding out on hope for a job that actually interests me and uses some of the skills I spent all that money to get he documentation that says I have them. The latest job submission was to a video game company in Norway. They liked my resume and writing samples enough to send me a little writing test. I sent that off to them on Friday. We’ll see what happens.

Bookmarks, bookmarks, bookmarks

Some internet bookmarks of interest:

Kick-ass interview with Alan Moore.

Custom keyboards for the eccentric typist.

The best coffee in the world comes from cat skat.

Novelist strike!?!?!?


Coffin shelves (consider this on my Christmas list).

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