Hour 1

I am Blaine. B-L-A-I-N. The ‘E’ is for emphasis. Why are you looking up at me? Because I am encased in a giant block of ice? Don’t stare at Blaine. Know his name, revere his image, but do not stare.

Okay, stare at Blaine. I guess you should. It’s sweeps. Look at me. Now look at you. You’re going to Brookstone’s or H&M or Gateway Country or to offices on 44th Floors. You, too, are cold, even wrapped in scarves and hats and sweater vests—nice sweater vest, guy!—and sweaters.

Ooh. Did I mention it’s cold? Jeeez it’s cold. Coooold! Cold!! It’s like the other day when I was prepping for this by rubbing an ice cube over my belly button, only colder! It’s like when you’re going into a pool, and it’s too cold to just jump in, so you’re getting in bit by bit, and all of a sudden somebody pushes you in and then it’s really cold? It’s like that, only colder.

Think warm, Blaine. Mittens on kittens. Warm.

Hour 5

I have gone by several names in my short life. For secrecy’s sake, I cannot reveal them all, but here are five: David Blaine Nardozzi. David B. Lane. David Lane. Nathan Lane. Blavid Dane.

I descend directly from Harry Houdini. From Evel Knievel. But I’m not related to Robbie Knievel. Everybody asks me that.

Houdini was born Ehrich Weiss. I was born without a name, part Puerto Rican, part Russian, part Jewish, all street. The miracle of birth is edgy on the street. They gazed upon me and knew that I would have to name myself. As soon as I could speak, I chose Mr. Pooh. When I began performing, my agent took over that department.

Touch the ice, spectators. Touch it. No, don’t touch it with your tongue! Stupid idiot! Don’t pull. I can free you. I can use my magic to free you. In just a minute.

Hour 8

I am Blaine. How did Blaine learn the art of magic? He will tell you, to take his mind off the fact that he’s goddamn freezing.

At birth, I escaped from a dark, wet, undulating cave into the light with the help of only one assistant.

At the age of one, I spit up food that no one could prove I had eaten.

At five, I turned water to urine. Since then it’s been a miracle a year.

At ten I consumed a can of Chunky Soup with a spoon, as though it were simply soup.

At thirteen I became a man by reading not only my Torah portion—Chayai Sara—but also a difficult Haftorah portion.

At twenty-one I turned a girl into a woman.

And let me clear up a thing or two. David Blaine comes from the street. David Copperfield comes from the top of the escalator, near the men’s section of Macy’s. DB risks life and limb. DC risks nothing but his name. DB levitates. DC, well, I guess he levitates too. DC dated Claudia Schiffer. DB was with Fiona Apple. Good preparation for being frozen in a block of ice. In equation form, one could compare the two like so: DB = DC plus 50 million. 50 million units of street.

Street magic is more than magic. Magic is making a quarter appear behind the ear of a bewildered boy. Street magic is taking a quarter from a beggar’s cup and making it appear behind the beggar’s ear, only to drop it in his cup again, as though you’re being generous.

This isn’t ice I’m encased in. It’s street ice, collected from the puddles of el barrio.

Hour 15

When your testicles recede into your body cavity, they can come out later, right?

At least my catheter is comfortable. If you’re wondering why the second tube, let me explain: I’ve got urine going out and Mountain Dew coming in. Mountain Dew—Do the Dew!—is the official sponsor of "David Blaine: Frozen in Time." Steaming urine is the unofficial sponsor.

There are two kinds of catheter. The Foley Catheter, invented in 1957 by Dr. David Foley of Johns Hopkins University, is lubricated and inserted inside the penis. This is effective but can be uncomfortable. The Condom Catheter, also called the Texas Catheter, hugs the penis. This is more comfortable but is also known to slip off the penis. Most human penises cannot stay erect indefinitely. I cannot speak for most human penises.

Hour 32

Next year I will encase myself in steam with a towel wrapped around my waist.

Hour 46

Yesterday I forgot to tell you about the conversation that me, Leo and Tobey were having. I have three-way calling–nobody else understands how it works, but I know how to do it–and we were on it talking about where we were gonna hang this Wednesday. Tobey said what about The Tunnel. Leo wanted someplace quieter with more models.

It’s fu-fu-fu-fureeezing. Holy God.

Hour 58

I think back to the first hour. I was so worried back then. And the twenty-second hour. How inexperienced I was, how cold. And just one hour ago I was praying for God to engulf this entire city of 7.4 million sinners in a giant toasty fireball. I’ve come so far and lost so much feeling in my toes. I’ve learned so much about the limits of endurance to which man can push himself. I’m such a stupid fuck! Will feeling ever return to my nipples?

It is nearly over. The ice begins to crack. I am alive. I am victorious. I am Blaine.

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