Eggs, Sluts, and Candy Corn: Halloween Thoughts
Despite an abiding love for sci-fi, horror, and fantasy, I’m indifferent towards Halloween.
Halloween’s a big deal for my kids, so my energy is thrown into
whatever it takes to ensure that they enjoy the day. Costume shopping
weeks in advance, trick-or-treating, pumpkin carving, house decorating: I
make sure that no gravestone is left unturned.
But when it comes
to the idea of cosplaying my way across parties and taverns,
essentially living a more whored-up and absurd New Year’s Eve, I’m out.
Like St. Patrick’s Day, the 4th of July, the night before Thanksgiving,
and New Year’s Eve, Halloween is just another “amateur night.” To be
fair, I’m not a drinker, which makes my enthusiasm for “drinking
holidays” markedly less than that of the general public.
mentioned the “whored-up” aspect of Halloween, and that’s something
that’s all but been institutionalized for the holiday. To that end, I
discovered something hitherto unknown to me when I took my son costume
shopping this year: There’s a costume company called Secret Wishes that
makes “naughty” super-hero costumes. If you’re a woman and absolutely must
dress like a slut on Halloween, the former teenage boy in your life
would surely appreciate that you move away from the “naughty nurse”
cliche and towards the galaxy-saving “naughty Green Lantern”:
Or perhaps “naughty Robin?” Titans together!
Or if you’re a fan of the “Satellite era Justice League,” you really can’t go wrong with the lesser-known, mind-wiping, Zatanna:
Zatanna says “Erohw a ekil sserd.”
I clearly digress.
Halloween gives adults the chance to do beer bongs while dressed like
Snooki and Lady Gaga, it also gives children a perceived free pass for
misanthropy. Every year at my house, the wholesomeness of Disney
princesses and Batmen walking
door-to-door gets overshadowed by surly junior high kids using
pillowcases as trick-or-treat bags, asking for candy and never saying
“thank you.” On a related note: Manners are a lost art, which parents
no longer teach.
When the sun goes down, it’s likely those same
“Scream” mask-wearing, 13 year-old, hoods running through alleys with
cartons of eggs, targeting homes with a ferocity akin to the shelling at
Normandy. Even back in my ill-behaved teen years, I never understood
“egging.” It’s stupid. And stinky. And just plain shitty.
went to an Aldi today (don’t judge; these are awful economic times) and
as I approached the door, I noticed a sign that read, “We do not sell
eggs to minors during the week of Halloween.” The message? If eggs are
outlawed, only outlaws will have eggs. I celebrated the sign as a minor
victory in the war against ovo-vandalism.
Thugs aside, I’m
looking forward to tomorrow because I know how thrilling Halloween is
for my kids. Beyond their general sense of glee, there are two more
things I’m excited about: The series premiere of “The Walking Dead” and…candy corn.
Candy corn is an Autumnal treasure,
taken for granted on a holiday that’s ruled by bite-sized Twix bars and
Kit-Kats. I can eat myself sick on candy corn in less than 30 minutes
time. And I will.
Happy Halloween. I hope your “wacky BP oil spill” costume concept is a big hit!