Magic on 35th Street

Last Saturday, I took a photo day. I walked around Herald Square with camera in hand, and pushed through a crowd about ten deep to get close enough to the Macy's Christmas window to snap a photo. None of the department stores capture Christmas anymore. The once traditional ornately decorated windows are pseudo modern, with galaxies flashing on flatscreens in the background, and fairies and bubbles flying around. Mobs of crazed shoppers potentially carry pepper spray, and snow hasn't appeared since that fluke storm in October. I wanted to capture a little kid entranced by the decorated windows, but unsurprisingly, all I saw were looks of confusion. These are strange days.

Tired of the hustle and bustle of the area, I slid onto a side street into Korea town. Neon signs flash karaoke and barbeque- the only things you'd assume Korean people do if you were a tourist. I walked for a couple of blocks, and found myself suddenly hungry. After passing what felt like twenty BBQ places, I stopped at an unlikely pizza shop in the middle of 35th street. I order a slice and make my way to the back. I sense several pairs of eyes from the center tables follow me to the side booth. And then one of them says "You shouldn't eat alone- there's plenty of room at this table." I'm thinking about how much I do hate eating alone, but my plan was to pretend to check my i-phone and glance every so often at the guys at the table who had a pile of poker chips and playing cards fanned out in their hands. "It's ok, I don't want to interrupt your game." He smiles gently and says "It's hardly a bother."

In an ideal world, he would be 6'1", with a kind smile, piercing eyes, and we'd hit it off right away in one of those serendipidous stories. In reality, Stan was a kind 65 year old grey haired grandpa, wearing glasses and rocking a grey Mr. Rogers sweater. His friends were just as eccentric- Jerry, with curly, unstyled and unruly hair, wearing a blue t-shirt with "Beer pressure" plastered in white print; and Herb, in a long sleeved white tee commemorating the annual grapefruit festival in some small town, with cartoon grapefruits with smiley faces printed on it. There were a few others but I didn't even have to look all the way around the table to know that this would be an interesting conversation. "So do you play poker here often?" I asked Stan. He looked at me and said, "This isn't poker. That's illegal. This is magic." Weird. "And the poker chips?" "It's for show. It freaks people out," he says. I look around the table. If they were playing poker, they were playing with five decks.

It's amazing how I found this not so secret magic club in the middle of a pizzeria in the midst of this crazy city.

My pizza came with entertainment. Jerry found my card no matter where I hid it in the deck. He found my favorite card- Ace of spades- which was the first card he flipped over after pulling one card out for each letter in my name. And he kept tying a knot in my scarf that would with a slight tug come undone as if it was never there. Then, Stan took out an air pump and blew up a balloon, which Jerry transformed into some animal and gave it to me. I must have looked confused. "You have to tell her what it is," Stan said, as if it was too obvious that I had reached an age where my imagination became stagnant. It turned out to be a bunny, and I nodded as if I knew all along. This was the most bizarre pizza experience ever. I even learned my first sleight of hand: the coin tuck, aka, the disappearing coin trick. As I clumsily flicked the coin from my ring finger, and tried to clutch it between my thumb and forefinger (hardly hiding it since my fingers were so thin), it looked pitiful and uneasy. I realized that magic was really an elaborate acting session. By the time the magician passes the coin to the other hand, it's already tucked away in his original hand. I practiced clumsily and jokingly said "maybe I can fool a little kid." The guy across from me laughed, and corrected me. "Little kids are the hardest to fool."

An hour later, they invited me to Sarges, their next stop every Saturday, where they would continue to share magic secrets while chomping on pastrami sandwiches, but I had some more photos to take before the sun went down. I thanked them for the entertainment. Not only did I get a balloon bunny, I learned a magic trick, and most important of all, I re-learned how to be a little kid again. I thought about the last line- little kids are the hardest to fool. That's because they're inquisitive, and when they want to know something, they won't hesitate to pry and stare closely at your every move to figure out how the trick is done. Adults on the other hand, having seen magic tricks before, anticipate the outcome, and question less. I wonder how often my perception doesn't match up to reality due to these rationalizations. It just goes to show you that we should all aspire to be little kids or magicians. Magic keeps you young.

Unofficial Magic Club
35th between 5th and 6th ave- Cafe Rustico every Saturday Afternoon
38th and 3rd Ave- Sarges- every Saturday 5-9pm
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/24/nyregion/a-magic-zone-in-midtown-manhattan.html