by Katie Chavez

A new entertainer has come to town, swooping down from Barcelona. His name is Luis Pardo, and the trade he plies isn’t your standard rabbit-out-of-a-hat magician’s brew. He’s a mentalist (we’ll get to that later), and a resourceful one at that – the audience doubles has his prop.

During his introduction (this is before he almost shoots himself in the head or pulls a string through his neck), Luis Pardo says that he hopes to change your perception of the world. If you’re a skeptic, he hopes to make you more open, perhaps, to the powers of the human mind. Ever heard the “mind over matter” aphorism? Yeah, me too. Well Mr. Pardo takes his money and puts it where his mouth is.

Apparently he won an award as “mentalista of the year” in 2004. So we’ll call him a Goya award winner of mentalists. And what is a mentalist, anyway? According to Wikipedia, “Mentalism is an ancient performing art in which its practitioners, known as mentalists, use mental acuity, principles of stage magic, hypnosis and/or suggestion to present the illusion of mind reading, psycho kinesis, precognition, clairvoyance or mind control.” In other words, it’s a performing art with a tradition dating back to the 16^th century, meant to entertain and astonish, and to make one wonder, maybe just a little bit, about the true extent of life’s possibilities.

While some may confuse it with being a psychic, mentalism is different. A psychic sees into your mind, a mentalist claims to control it. A psychic professes to have extra-ordinary capabilities, while a mentalist only says that he trained very hard. From what I can tell, “mentalism” is more about control and discipline than flash and flair. As Mr. Pardo points out (and as we all already know), we only use a very small portion of our brain’s potential power. And of the portion that is used, an even smaller portion of that involves our conscious mind. What Mr. Pardo does, it seems, is to expand and to master those portions. The resulting show, while sometimes predictable and ho-hum, is also sometimes mind-boggling.

The mise-en-scene of Kasual_mente could use some revamping — flash and flair it certainly isn’t: upon entering the theatre we see a red backdrop, a small patch of screen to the right of the stage on which we see live feed of performer and audience throughout the night. A small table, a chair, and a few large black box-like objects complete the scene. These boxes are covered with Mr. Pardo’s logo for this particular show: a brain with a large question mark with a comic -type explosion coming out of it. (Holy mind games, Batman!) The stage is small and the setting intimate: one can easily see the other members of the audience and Mr. Pardo himself. The camera serves as a cinematic close-up of sorts, allowing us to examine each prop and determine that no; it does not appear to be a fake.

The show itself plays out like standard magician’s entertainment with a dramatic arc from smaller surprises to increasingly astonishing tricks, all of which involves manipulating members of the audience, inanimate objects, and his own body using only his mind. If you’re expecting innovative dramaturgy, this isn’t it. There are, however, a number of events that take place that make this show interesting to witness. I’ve seen a video of Balinese dancers in trance poke giant sticks through their cheeks and removing them without a trace on the skin, and knew a man from Mali whose father could walk from Providence, RI, to Boston, MA, faster than the time it took to take a train. This is just to inform the reader that I am not necessarily skeptical about the human mind and its possibilities.

So you should take that with a grain of salt when I say that what impressed me about Kasual_mente was Mr. Pardo’s ability to work that hard. The whole show was in many ways a simple repetition of the same idea: anyone can do this; everyone has mental capabilities that they don’t bother to use. But we of the western civilization persuasion don’t usually do much more with our minds than perhaps getting into medical school to impress mom and dad or cranking out that novel. I’m not saying that we are not a civilization of noble pursuits (not that the notion of “western civilization” as a cohesive unit exists anyway), but rather that we are trained to think on the straight and narrow, so to speak. We more often accept our limitations than test them, so I do find it interesting to witness people who attempt to step beyond that boundary. This show is not particularly impressive in any way except the abilities of its performer, and it knows that. The sound quality was poor, the light design unimaginative, the film footage grainy, and the spoken dialogue portions often repetitive and trite. But the point is somehow I managed to stay engaged and entranced the whole time anyway.

By Will Cade

When I first came to Europe, the Presidential Election in the states was just beginning. I have always been skeptical of politics in general, and after Bush was reelected for his 2^nd term, I just about cried. Since that day, I haven’t wanted to have much to do with American politics, but as an American in Europe, a lot of people have asked me what I think.

I’ve had loads of conversations on the topic, but my favorite took place in Murcia this fall. I lived on a main street by the Ayuntamiento, and a group of African immigrants always hung out in front of my apartment building. For the first few months, I watched them with suspicion, because I assumed they were in the country illegally (although technically I never knew). They never really bothered me all that much, but at night they could get rather loud. Sometimes I couldn’t sleep, and other times I was just annoyed when I was smoking my last cigarette out on my balcony before bed.

One night when I was finishing my routine, they were particularly boisterous. I thought about calling the police for once, because I had class early the next morning, and I doubted they would stop anytime soon. I was still smoking my cigarette, so all I could think to do was glare down at them, hoping they would see I meant business.

I looked down and saw a skinny Caucasian guy with red hair right in the middle of them. After a second more, I realized that this was my Scottish friend Ron. What the hell is he doing down there, I thought, and yelled down to say hello. Ron, not knowing where this voice was coming from, looked to his left and to his right, swinging his beer in one hand and his cigarette in the other. Eventually one of the Africans saw me and pointed Ron up my way.

“Will, man, what are you doing up there?” he asked.

“I live here, dude.”

“Come on down then, join the party.” he said, and off I went.

I didn’t have much time to party, but I did want to say hello. When I came outside, Ron started introducing me to the different guys in the group, but he did all this in English, which surprised me. I had been in Murcia for a few months, and let’s just say trying to find an English speaker in the street had been like trying to find a store open during the siesta, yet here was this group of “illegal” immigrants speaking the best English I had heard outside of my university friends. They ended up being a pretty cool group of guys, but I had to go back up and get some sleep.

From that day on, I always said what’s up to them and chatted for a minute before going up to my apartment. During one such what’s up, one of them asked me what I thought about the elections.

“The Spanish elections?” I replied.

“No, the American ones.” he said.

I had learned by this point that if the topic of American politics came up, I needed to make it clear from the get go that I didn’t like George Bush. This statement usually disarmed people from hating me right off the bat, as it did in this case.

“So you like Obama or Hillary?” he asked.

“Obama” I said.

“It’s great, man. The United States will have a black man or a woman for the president.” he said, and I just chuckled to myself.

Now it looks like the U.S. might have a black man for president and a woman for vice president. To make things worse (for conservatives) this black man has a Muslim sounding name, and this woman’s husband spilt his seed in the oval office. Although I’m petrified of another Republican in the White House, I want to at least try to imagine how conservatives must feel.

I grew up in Nashville, TN, south of the Mason Dickson Line, and right within the border of the Bible belt. To give you an idea of the demographic, Tennessee is Al Gore’s home state, and he even lost it in the election to George Bush. Suffice it to say I know about racism, sexism, and religious extremism. I would love to be David right now with my trusty sling shot and do battle against the Republican Goliath. But it’s probably best if I let he who is free from sin cast the first stone, which sure as hell isn’t me (if I even believed in sin) because I’m no perfect angel when it comes to racism.

I always thought racism meant using racial slurs and telling racist jokes. I never thought it meant unconsciously judging people because of their ethnicity, without having a clue who they are or where they come from, as I did with my African immigrant friends. I’m learning, though, that I have these pre-conceptions, in large part because of where I grew up, but it still is my responsibility to recognize them and try to be open-minded. Of course, the old bugaboos will always reappear, sometimes momentarily in my head, and sometimes in the words that slip out of my mouth.

But I am not the only American who has to watch what slips out. Michelle Obama, Barack Obama’s wife, is currently receiving media attention for an alleged tape of her repeatedly referring to white people as “whitey.” Whether this tape exists or not is yet to be proven, but what interests me the most about this is how her husband is trying to remedy the situation.

Yesterday Obama launched the website www.fightthesmears.com, which will unite and empower his supporters in rebuking any unsubstantiated personal attacks against him, his family, or his campaign. He will post information on this website, allowing an unprecedented level of visibility into a politician’s personal life. The website currently has a picture of Obama’s birth certificate, stating he was in fact born in Honolulu, Hawaii, to refute allegations that he was not born in the U.S.[1]

Up until now, Obama has pledged to refrain from smear campaigns and instead has attempted to unify the country through hope and workable solutions. This is something I have never seen a presidential candidate attempt in the past. I can only remember rhetoric of one form or another, never having to do with something as intangible and powerful and hope.

For whatever reason, I believe him. This could be part of his plan, some type an anti-rhetoric rhetoric. But when I look at Obama, I see someone who carries with him an intuitive sense of hope. I cannot argue the validity of this before a court of law - but when I imagine what the U.S. will face in the next four years as it deals with the unstable international climate it has created for itself, I believe it needs hope more than anything else.

By Will Cade

My girlfriend has an Xbox, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. Granted, her brother gave it to her after buying a 360, but let’s just say that now it’s pink. When I learned this, I wondered if any of the paint had seeped inside the console, possibly damaging the hardware or clogging the fan, which could cause it to overheat. I doubted that she had considered the safety of the machine before the paint job, and for a second I thought the responsible thing for me to do was to protect this poor thing from my girlfriend’s destructive, feminizing grasp. But then I realized that it is just a machine, her machine even, so it doesn’t care what color it is, and she can do with it whatever she wants; realistically, only my masculinity is squeamish about a pink Xbox (but let it be known that black is the most appropriate - or possibly army green, but only if it’s a special Halo edition).

I have to admit that mixing girls and video games is a sensitive subject for me. Yes, at times, I gain a certain pleasure when girls are annoyed by guys playing video games, much in the same way boys like throwing mud at girls or showing them frogs on a playground. In either situation, the girls are outsiders, and the guys are free to play foolish games.

Come to think of it, the few times I have played video games with girls have never ended well. I can still remember my older sister and I playing Super Mario Brothers on the original Nintendo in the 80’s, with that massive-block-joy-stick-controller which seemed to weigh as much as I did. Whenever my sister was trying to get Mario to jump across a hole, she would sling the controller over her left shoulder to inspire Mario to jump just a little bit higher. Being young and inexperienced with video games, I got rather excited by all of the commotion and watched the screen quite intently. I didn’t notice that with each jump my sister slung the controller a little bit faster and a little bit further, nor did I think that sitting to her left might not be the best idea… not until she clocked me on the side of my head with the controller’s hard plastic corner.

Even when I got a little older, mixing the two never worked quite right. Once I tried playing a multi-player action game with my cousin. She was pretty good, but when I said, “Dude, you gotta kill those guys on the left, or else we’ll never get through this level,” she said, “Don’t tell me what to do” and eventually quit. All the guys I had ever played with coached one another, but my cousin didn’t seem to like that too much. And then, of course, there was the one time I tried to play Grand Theft Auto 3 with my high-school sweetheart, which lasted all of 10 minutes, before she said, “This is boring. Can we play the one where you drive around with Mario.” I was mortified: not only did she not enjoy the special effects and graphic violence of GTA3, she didn’t even know that it was called Mario Kart, or that it was for a totally different system.

I suppose that times are changing, though, at least in the video game industry. When Playstation 3 came out a little over a year ago, gamers around the world stood in awe at the tall black tower, wielding the most powerful graphics in the history of personal gaming. It may have cost $500, but it was worth it. Why would someone even bother dropping half of that on a Wii - which had also just come out - with its lame white case and kid’s games?

A few months later, the Wii was outselling Playstation 3, as if the dark knight had been slain by a pale, sickly child. What amazed me, though, was how I kept hearing women in their 20s talk about the Wii. “Yea, they had it at a party last night. That tennis game was so fun!” Instead of focusing on hardcore graphics and first person shooters, Wii games have been designed for various audiences - male and female; young and old. They have a physically interactive interface which allows you to swing the controller like a tennis racket or a sword and watch your movement on the screen (just please be mindful of those around you). This approach has made the Wii a party favorite among women.

Now the Wii is stepping into new territory, one previously unheard of in the gaming world: exercise. “Wii Fit” was recently released - with 40 exercises from yoga, balance games, strength training, and aerobics - along with an interactive Balance Board sold separately. The game basically serves as a physical trainer, allowing you to chart your progress, find problem areas with your movements, do different types of activities, etc. The activities range from skiing and leg extensions to yoga positions and hula hoops. Although the official website shows a woman, a man, a teenage boy, and a young girl playing in the four respective categories,  the image on the game’s cover is centered around the silhouette of a woman practicing yoga, obviously targeting the female market.[1]

If video games are being marketed towards women, then a market must exist for them. If this market continues to grow with the increasing popularity of the Wii, I suppose I will have to learn to let women into this masculine, video-game world of mine. But who knows, maybe it could even be fun to play with them. I just hope to god they don’t beat me.