Birthday: The Harry Houdini Museum, Scranton, PA

“Where do you want to be on your birthday?” Alex asked in early June.

I honestly hadn’t even thought about it. I wanted a low-key day and to be outside, weather permitting. Anyone who gets worked up about their birthday past age 21 is a self-obsessed asshole. I wanted a very normal day, just the two of us.

We planned to be in Niagara Falls on my birthday, but a serious car repair held us up and we only made it as far as eastern New York by the 21st. The birthday locale of Niagara Falls became Scranton, PA, the setting of one of our favorite television shows, The Office, and home to the Harry Houdini Museum. I figured, if anything, it would certainly make for a memorable birthday, as there was the potential I could get sawed in half.

The museum advertised daily tours and magic shows, beginning with an overview of Houdini’s life and career as the greatest magician in the world. For years, the museum was in a brownstone in Manhattan’s Upper East Side, but when the landlord decided to nearly triple their rent, the curators searched for another, more affordable location. They decided on Scranton, as the northern Pennsylvania city was a major stop on Houdini’s tour circuit. The museum owns hundreds of Houdini artifacts — sets of locks and keys, tour posters, and even his straight jacket. At an auction several years ago, the museum acquired the portraits of Houdini’s parents that hung in his New York City home.

Houdini's parents. The recent acquisition of these thought-lost pictures was a source of pride for the museum.

Another recent acquisition, this from the home of one Jerry Sandusky.

The museum is run by two seasoned magicians, John Bravo and Dorothy Dietrich. Revered as “the first lady of magic.” Dietrich is a master escapologist. She can free herself from handcuffs and straightjackets, once slipping from a confines of a straightjacket at 15 stories high as she dangled from a burning rope. She was also the first woman to successfully perform the bullet catch, clutching a .22 caliber bullet in her mouth. The stunt has killed 12 men in the past. Not even Houdini would attempt the feat.

With gold-blonde hair and an infallible smile, Dorothy's long career is betrayed by her youthful looks. She is incredibly kind, and as Bravo showed us around the museum, Dorothy gave me a beaming smile and a, "Happy birthday!" I'm not one for big birthday embarrassment - the tiara, shot glass around the neck, being serenaded by a group of Applebee's waitresses? No, thanks. But this year, my birthday surprise was different. In the middle of the magic show, she called me onstage, introducing me to the audience as a disciple of magic myself. (Just to be clear, I couldn’t pull a card trick on a dog.)

I climbed onstage and was handed a red napkin which I was instructed to wave around in various motions as I danced. I can’t dance for shit, so my moves were punctuated by nervous, embarrassed laughter. With the simple placement inside a black velour bag and a few choice words, the paper napkin transformed into an origami rose. A few more words and the paper rose became a plastic rose, right in my hand. I couldn’t see how she did it, and it kind of scared me to have something in my hand suddenly become something else.

Then Dorothy told me to reach into the velour sack once more. I stuck my hand inside and pulled out a beautiful, white dove. It was only a few seconds after the bird was resting on my pointer finger that I felt something warm and wet in my hand. I looked down. The beautiful bird had pooped in my hand. I couldn’t fling it off in front of an audience, though there were a few kids in the front row who looked like they could have used it. There was nothing to wipe it on and no way to excuse myself to go to the bathroom to wash the watery shit off my palm. So I just stood there onstage, cupping the dove and my shit-filled hand, nervously grinning.

The bird was returned to its cage and I was dismissed from the stage with my two flowers. I sat back down, turned to Alex and opened my hand.

“What is that? Is that shit? Did the bird shit in your hand?”

We both laughed, mostly because I am exactly the kind of person who would hold a dove  in a magic show on her birthday, only to have it drop a slimy turd into my hand.

After a child was levitated and a man split in two, the show concluded. We hung around to snap some photos and chat with Dorothy, who is one of the most genuine people I have ever met. It might sound like the perfect birthday for your average nine-year-old, but it was one of the most fun birthdays I’ve ever had. Even with the handful of shit.