ABRACADABRA
★★★★★ (3 out of 5)
Hello, and welcome to my week-by-week review of everything in the world. Today I am reviewing abracadabra.
This has got to be one of my favorite words. Even more so than tuxedo. Not only does abracadabra look like a palindrome, but it makes the speaker sound worldly and sophisticated. Abracadabra dates back to the 2nd century, but was made popular by modern magicians, mostly cartoon magicians, who would speak the phrase when performing a magic trick.
I’ve tried working it into conversation as often as possible, but not being a magician myself, few opportunities present themselves. Recently, when my neighbor asked if I’d seen her dog, I replied, “abracadabra!” She looked up at me, wiped the tears from her face, smiled slightly, looked around, then behind her, and then finally back at me, confused. There was no dog to be found, but my use of this phrase had misled her. Then she asked if I was implying that I had taken her dog. I had, because that dog needed to be set free, but that wasn’t at all what I meant. Needless to say, this word can easily lead to confusion.
My brother was much more adept with abracadabra. As children, he would take something of mine, and when I would inquire as to the whereabouts of my allergy medicine or my glasses, he would say, “abracadabra” with a big smile on his face. That was his way of explaining he was responsible, and I would never see whatever was missing again. I always told him he’d make a good magician. He always told me to stop telling him what to do.
During my senior prom I left my date, Norma Crutchley, briefly, to get some punch. When I returned she was in a deep embrace, kissing my brother. He opened one eye, looked right at me and said, with his tongue still in her mouth, “abbrrkdbbr.” I could never have enunciated so well under such circumstances.
His clever use of this phrase continued well into adulthood. Before he vanished, my brother emptied my bank account. I suspected him immediately because he’s the only person that looks just like me (we’re twins, lightly conjoined, and separated soon after birth). He pretty much confirmed my suspicions when I called to confront him. “Abracadabra,” he said, before hanging up the phone. That was over thirty years ago now. It was probably the greatest disappearing act by a non-magician ever.
If it weren’t for all the difficult memories associated with this phrase (and my inability to use it effectively), I would probably give it a full five stars.
Please join me next week when I’ll be reviewing Jimmy Fallon’s face.
