You Have To Believe We Are Magic (And Where Does Kelly Clarkson Hide The Bodies?)
Magic is a euphemism for mysticism and surrealism. Consider this your baptism from the skepticism.
(Photo: Universal Studios)
40-year-old virgins know the truth.
When my daughter Sabrina was 10 years old, my wife (aka Randommoiselle) and I started watching comedies we loved from the 80’s and 90’s with her; Back To The Future, Groundhog Day, Uncle Buck, etc. After a few months, we were running out of cinematic nostalgia to share.
In my (ahem) infinite wisdom, I said:“You know what’s a hilarious movie that I haven’t seen in years? The 40-Year-Old Virgin.
Over Random's protestations, we watched this highly inappropriate flick with our too-young daughter, alternating between laughs and cringes.
Despite Sabrina cracking up many times - particularly during the chest-waxing scene - it was still a clear parenting failure on my part to screen this.
You see, I remembered that the film was entertaining as hell yet I filtered out the dirty stuff (which, in fairness, was also really entertaining).
Magic is a lot like this. It brings out a true sense of wonder (entertainment!) yet it filters out its own (dirty) secrets: “How did you do that?!?” and “There’s no way that just happened!” are very typical responses when people are amazed at a trick. And traditionally, the magician would never reveal the unknown (Gen-Z-You-Tube card magicians, aside). 
Wanna make chest hair vanish like magic?
Just conjure the name of an American Idol winner.
(Photo: Universal Studios)
The 40-Year-Old-Virgin - bless its celluloid heart for being the gift that keeps on giving - had another scene that was very relevant to today’s story.
Andy - the middle-aged virgin in the movie’s title - eventually found a real-life, not-at-all-Canadian girlfriend who was willing to have sex with him. She introduced Andy to her two daughters - one, a wide-eyed, gregarious 8-year old and the other, a cynical, too-cool-for-school teenager - and he decided to win them over with…magic. When Andy performed the classic coin-found-behind-the-ear trick for the younger daughter, she was instantly turned into a puddle of giggles and exuded strong vibes of:Please-please-please-marry-my-mom-and-be-my-new-forever-daddy.
The teen daughter, however, was turned into a puddle of eye-rolls and put forth a feel like:If-you-marry-this-fucking-dork-I’m-gonna-drop-outta-school-and-get-myself-knocked-up-by-a-stoner-delinquent-just-to-piss-you-off-for-eternity.
This scene reveals something even more fundamental about magic:People either love it or think its completely stupid.
And to that I say: Those enchanted by magic have souls filled with sunshine. They dance on rainbows. They soar on the backs of unicorns.
And those who think it’s dumb are total dicks.
This rabbit? Total dick.
(Photo: Rankin-Bass Productions)
Ok, “dicks” is a pretty strong word, and since my editor is riding me lately to rein in my language, I’ll rephrase my vulgar barb and simply say the following (now known as Beaverton’s New Law™️):Those Who Hate Magic Have Larceny In Their Hearts.
As a complete and unrelated aside, my editor is a total fucking dick.
[ ✏️ Editor’s Note: I’m quitting this thankless job as soon as I find an heiress who appreciates my own "magical offerings".]
[✏️ Editor’s Note: Consider this my formal resignation.]
(Photo: Warner Bros. Television)
My first exposure to magic - like most children of the 70’s - was through television. It seemed like every week there were magicians on:
Prime-time variety shows (Trippy, hippie-dippy, massively-mustached, pastel-outfitted illusionist Doug Henning, whom I imagine made a lot of LSD and XTC “disappear” onto his tongue);
Talk shows (Tuxedo-clad Harry Blackstone Jr., who was estimated to have pulled 80,000 (!) rabbits out of hats in his lifetime); or even
Cartoons (That sorry-ass kids’ entertainer in Frosty the Snowman who threw away his magical top-hat that brought the titular character to life. See, above: Total dick, rabbit.) 
Meet my tiny butterfly assistant. Her name is Molly.
(Photo: Doug Henning Magic Inc.)
I’d also be remiss not to mention famed escape artist Harry Houdini, who was a pop-culture touchstone in that era - and a great name to use if you needed a quick, sick burn to hurl at neighborhood kids:“What a crybaby! Is your name Boo-Hoo-Dini?”
[ ✏️ Editor’s Note: The sick burns of 70’s children did not call for fire extinguishers.] [🦫 Martin J.’s note: Wait…you’re BACK? Nice disappearing act, Houdini.] 
This Little Piggy went to market to buy some LSD.
It was a one-way trip.
(Photo: Henson Productions)
My real introduction to the power of wizardry came courtesy of a high-school friend named Matt whom I met the first day of freshman year on the bus. Since we were the first two pick-ups for our (far-away) private school, we spent a lot of time together, in travel and during the day.
Inconceivably, that Fall I was invited to a 13 year-old girl’s birthday party and asked Matt to tag along. I say “inconceivably” because we went to an all-boys’ school and my encounters with the opposite sex in 1982 were generally limited to Olivia Newton-John album covers and Wonder Woman reruns.
As I was getting a snack at the party, I turned and looked back across the room to see EVERY GIRL THERE crowded around Matt. It was like the entire space tilted toward him. And I had no earthly clue why this was happening.
Was it the scent of his Drakkar Noir?
Was he handing out $20 bills like Halloween candy?
Naturally, I had to move closer to investigate.
“🦫 Yes, this is Martin J. Collect call from Canada? I’ll accept the charges, operator.”
(Photo: Warner Bros. Television)
And what I discovered: Matt was apparently far more skilled in card sorcery and coin manipulation then he ever let on. Actually, he never mentioned it once.
But when I saw those girls swooning over his slight-of-hand-jive, I knew right then and there exactly what my next move needed to be.
I had to kill Matt.
Or, an even better solution was to have my friend teach me his magical ways so I, too, could impress the ladies of the eighties. So I put on my black top hat and headed to the rabbit farm.
Nice French-kissing yourself in the mirror, Houdini.
Ooooooooooooh…SICK burn, Beaverton🧯.
(Photo: Warner Bros. Records)
Despite being 14, Matt navigated the world of magic with the debonair confidence of a jet-setting, intercontinental playboy. Or perhaps our Greyhound trips to the famed Tannen’s Magic Shop in Manhattan rendered us closer to bus-sitting, interstate-traveling dorks. Regardless, I was a willing protégé ready to absorb the ways of sorcery.
[ ✏️ Editor’s Note: Don’t forget your equally glamorous bus trips in-state to Ken’s Magic and Costume Shop in Fair Lawn, NJ. Is my snark evident?]
At these destinations, on-staff magicians would demonstrate any trick for sale. Excited wanna-be’s would stand amazed, ready to plunk down their parents’ hard-earned cash for whatever card, coin or scarf trick impressed them that day.
Of course, you were always told to practice, practice, practice before performing the trick in public. I neglected that advice one time in 1983 and it nearly set my arm on fire. I’ll leave it at that to maintain the mystery.
The best trick Matt had in his repertoire was one he didn’t actually purchase but built for himself and - coincidentally - also involved fire; he could make a lit match appear out of thin air. I stole that one and used it for many years to impress at parties (it was far safer do than the one that nearly burned me).
In fact, I had a presentation for a Strategy class in business school where I planned to use the match trick but Random argued that the smell of burning sulfur would freak out my blind professor - and, unfortunately, talked me out of it.
I beg to sniffer, Random.
Hey Judd Apatow…looks like you’re not the only one who went from Virgin to Knocked Up.
(Photo: Universal Pictures;
© B. Timmers)
Let us now repeat Beaverton's New Law™️: Those Who Hate Magic Have Larceny In Their Hearts.
THIS is the real magic of magic: using it as a tool to look inside the very core of another person. In other words, it's a way to filter out psychotic criminals from potential girlfriends.
Here's a shining example of this most-practical use of magic:
In 2003, I had a professional soccer team as a client and was invited to a birthday party of someone in the front office, held at a downtown NYC club. Since I went to most of the matches, I got to know everyone who worked there. That night, I spotted someone new to the organization and was instantly smitten with her.
The room in the club had a very large leather horseshoe banquette, which looked to hold around 25 people. In essence, if you're in the center of that seat, you're pretty much trapped for the rest of the evening. I hadn't yet been introduced to the New Girl but I noticed she was the first one going into the seat's middle. Being the fool that I am, I practically dove into the center of the banquette to snatch the seat next to her.
[✏️ Editor’s Note: He was all over that like Pelé on a free kick ⚽]A friend who worked for the team - who knew I did magic tricks - asked me if I had one to show them. I performed my go-to mind-reading card trick and when I nailed it, everyone at the table applauded...except for a certain New Girl sitting to my right.
Then the infamous words emerged from her pouty lips, forever eliminating her from future-wife status:I think magic is stupid.
I then apologized to the many people I forced to rapidly scoot out of the left side of the banquette, to remove myself quickly from the larcenous air.I’m sure New Girl's current boyfriend or husband is enjoying a laugh-riot existence with her.
Larceny in her heart, banquette-seating in her future.
Photo: Universal Pictures
So, yes, magic is useful for looking into hearts and souls but alas, a seedy underbelly always lurks within the dark arts. If you aren’t careful, it can have unexpected consequences.
In 2000, I found myself single for the first time in over a decade. A very good friend of mine - a prominent DJ - was spinning at Webster Hall in NYC at a horribly-named matchmaking event called the “Meet Market”. He convinced me to go and within ten minutes, I found myself striking up a conversation with a very attractive woman named Shannon. We spoke for nearly two hours over the loud music and were hitting it off like “meet” and potatoes.
Her friend found us and asked if we wanted to go upstairs to the dance floor. I (jokingly) said to Shannon:My breakdancing moves are gonna make you swoon.
Then - again, as a joke - I spontaneously broke out into the famous MC Hammer dance. Shannon whispered in my ear that she and her friend were going to use the ladies room and would be right back.
I never saw Shannon again.
Unwittingly, my mystical powers of dance interpretation made a grown woman completely vanish.
To Shannon’s family, I apologize for my thoughtless use of Hammer-Time sorcery. Perhaps, someday, she will return from the void.
And to David Copperfield, I say: “Top THAT, bitch.”. 
Apparently, not skilled enough in the dark arts to make his name disappear from the Epstein Files. Up yours, creep 🖕.
Um, where did he GO, Kelly?
PEOPLE DON’T JUST DISAPPEAR! 🪦]
(Photo: Sony BMG Music)
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