Nothing Is Real But the Girl

As origin stories go, it's not a very exciting one: 

A man with a few minutes to kill is offered a "Create A Superhero" template by his wife (part of a teen program she's planning at the library where she works). He considers the vast arrary of super powers already well represented in comic characters before landing on a capability he would appreciate in his own daily life. He cobbles together a few one-liners into something resembling a backstory and adds a dash of visual inspiration from Debbie Harry (because who wouldn't?). And then there's Harmony. 

Not very exciting, but a lot of fun. 

Superhero Name: Harmony

Origin Story: While attempting to rescue her mother's record collection from a nursing home fire, the melted vinyl fused with Harmony's bloodstream, giving her the uncanny ability to instantly create music at any time, which she uses to calm tensions and resolve conflicts big and small. 

Tragic Flaw: MP3s sound to her like nails on a chalkboard.

Superhero Personality: Wise-crackin'

Secret Identity: Cassie Ramone, high school music teacher

Archenemy: The Auto-Tune Army

DIY Divination

Before Friday night I didn’t realize I was capable of making a ouija board out of a manilla folder, a Sharpie, and a shotglass, but now that I’ve done it, I can’t imagine communicating with the dead any other way. 

I don’t recall when or how contacting the spirit world became part of the evening’s agenda, but given the original plan — to help a friend pack her belongings for an upcoming move — I’m not surprised my companions and I embraced an alternative. With no “legit” board available from our collective closets or nearby retailers, we resorted to what could probably be called with a certain degree of authenticity “the college try:” we pooled what limited resources we had and faked it.

Apart from some poor spacing in the numerals row, I think the resulting “board” turned out pretty well, and it proved successful when put to use (though an obstacle created by the crease in the folder’s center manifested in something akin to spectral stammering). I won’t go into the narrative of what transpired or what details surfaced, but the experience was rewarding in a way I’m not sure I can replicate on something stamped with the Parker Brothers logo.

I know that the superiority of homemade products has become something of a cliche in the Etsy age; jewelry, apparel, beer — whatever the market, “craft” is king. But whether moved by something spiritual or simply humdrum human pride, I’m fully convinced the paper conduit around which my friends and I huddled by candlelight was charmed — not necessarily because we made contact, but because we made something.