Halloween On Reflection

Typically, I like Halloween. It falls somewhere between the holidays that are so hectic you hardly get to enjoy them like Christmas, and those that are so obscure that you don’t even know when they pass, like Arbor Day. It is usually a fun holiday preceded by a month of gearing up for the ghosts and goblins and followed by the white knuckled rocket sled ride of holidays which, depending on your gender, ends either with New Years Eve or Valentine’s Day. This year’s Halloween, for me anyway, was a total bust. I had big plans for this year, and without exception, they all fell through. Some of the failings were my fault while others belong to the Fates. I had plans to build a metal pumpkin that belched fire and would scare the candy right out of little kids’ pillowcases. But, by the time Halloween had rolled around, nary a scrap of metal had been collected in the name of pumpkin fabrication and the fire-belching assembly was nothing more than abstract theories scratched out on paper. When it became apparent that the pumpkin would not become reality I developed plans to make an exciting and theatrical display of my front door area using black lights and fog, possibly strobe and sound as well. These ideas didn’t even materialize on paper. I think our fog machine is still on the shelf in the garage.

I don’t know why I didn’t get more spooled up about Halloween this year. Maybe because it came on a Tuesday, statistically one of the lamer days to celebrate Halloween. I was also disappointed that I never made it to Halloween Horror Night, a long-standing tradition for me. I have happily gone every year since 1993, with few exceptions. It started out with family until I got my license, at which time it became a tradition for myself, CJ, and Lee to all go, occasionally with more people in tow. Later in high school and early college I took great pleasure in shepherding my drunken friends around the park and back to a hotel for more debauchery. Sadly, since graduating college and scattering to the four corners, it has become more and more difficult for us all to get together for a weekend in October, and last year was the first year I made exactly 0 attempt to make it to Orlando. This is perhaps forgivable, because I was living in California, and Orlando was more than a 2-hour drive away. But this year, I have no excuse. I made a few dismal tries to round up some people, but hardly a shadow of my previous organization, which would sometimes start in late August. I suppose you could read from this that I should take a cue from my friends and Buckle Down so that I can bid farewell to my youth and Get On With My Life. This is not that. This is just me being bummed that old habits die hard, and this one it seems has been dealt a mortal blow. I’ll let you know this time next year, I guess. Perhaps if I start planning now, I’ll be able to handcraft some fun for Halloween. Trick or treat!

In Other News: A brief look at other events from the past month that have not found a way into this publication.

I finally got my car fixed. Just shy of a whole year since my passenger door was mangled by the careless driving habits of one Selita Veasey, my door has been fixed, painted and polished. While in the show I was driving Grandma’s Buick, which finally leveled the playing field some between me and my bakery manager who insists that his 6 (yes, I said 6) cylinder Mustang could take my car to task. Now that Isabella is back, I’ll just have to blow past him so fast he’ll think his car has 4 flat tires and an engine made out of cardboard.

I entered a very unofficial pumpkin carving contest, and lost. I came in second to a stencil. My pumpkin was freehand and featured an artful combination of carving and scraping which altered that amount of light that came through. The winning pumpkin was some cookie cutter deal taken right from a book and took all the skill of a paint by numbers picture. Not that I am bitter.

I saw a play at TBPAC called The Pillowman. I’m not 100% sure I understood the whole point, but the acting was good and the story was intense. It was in a black box theatre, which I usually prefer to the huge concert halls.

I bought ski boots for my upcoming Switzerland trip. They’re black and shiny, and that’s just about all I really know about ski boots. The process of buying ski boots is quite comical, because it involves clomping around the store in shoes made out of melted down bowling balls until you achieve the right fit. They were expensive, but I have learned that renting ski boots is kind of like renting underwear: they may fit, but they’re not your own. Plus having boots that I’m familiar with will help me ski better.

I’ve seen some interesting stuff while skating. Once I saw a little kid ride his bike off the trail and into the only tree in the area. He was fine; his Spiderman helmet did its job. I also saw a dramatic aerial battle between a hawk and a pigeon. The pigeon had a Republican’s chance in a mid-term of getting away, and certainly the hawk asserted its dominance.

Winner & Loser

Winner: Arigato. The food is always good, and the presentation is always entertaining. Long live Karate Chop with extra veggies. The only down side is that you smell like teppanyaki cooking for the rest of the night. This most recent time I went, the foil jockey packed food to look like: an island with two palm trees and a guy in a hammock, a helicopter, an angel, a lightsaber, a rhinoceros, and a turtle. Truly a master of his art.

Loser: whatever scumbag has taken to writing Scripture on the Trail. Seriously, if I want religious advice, I’ll go to church. Let’s make a deal here: I won’t do wind sprints in you nave, and you won’t bring gospel to my place of recreation. I bet in the whole world you can count on one hand the number of religious conversions that have happened during a workout.