Halloween Season: When Every Day is Payday.

The stuff starts showing up at the store around late September. A small display, festooned in black and orange, whispers to me as I wheel past en route to the Meow Mix. The sultry hiss of temptation beckons: 

"Dare you sample my delights yet, my weak friend? Go ahead, buy a bag. What’s not fun about fun size? Check it off the old to-do list. Yes, of course, you can put me in the basement for a few weeks and forget about me. 

"So glad you brought me home, my lover. Oopsy! You opened my bag, you silly galoot. Oh well, what harm is it to sample a savory sliver? Yes, yes, have another. And another. One more and the bag is gone, my sweet. Splendid.”

And yet again, the terrorists have won. 

It’s candy season, a time when high fructose seeps from the walls and the workplace becomes a Hershey highway. If October had a theme song, it might steal the chorus from Eighties one-hit wonder, The Church:

…I got no time,

For private consultation.

I ate forty Milky Ways tonight…

Throughout the year, a few co-workers maintain candy jars, perfect for those 2:30 drive-bys. But as All Hallows approaches, public sugar stations spring up like algae blooms in Limbaugh’s thigh meat—thirty paces to the Raisinette bowl, only seventeen to the York Peppermint Patties. Hmmm, Raisinettes would hit the spot, plus I can use the additional exercise.

Since we’re smack in the middle of the Festival of Saint Wonka, what better time to embrace our inner glucose glutton? Yes, it’s unhealthy, and sure, by 10:00 on Halloween night a lot of us can already feel the Mount Vesuvius of unicorn zits pushing through our forehead epidermis, but doggone it, I love the stuff, which is why I’d love to share with you my top five Halloween candies:

5) Payday—The only finalist lacking the cocoa bean, Payday’s savory peanuts pair effortlessly with the mysterious charms of nougat, a robust compound discovered in Roswell, New Mexico during the summer of 1947.

4) M-n-Ms—Probably the speediest sugar delivery vehicle in the Western Hemisphere, a handfull of these can paste a hundred calories to your dorsal flaps before you even get to the copy machine.

3) Butterfinger—I’ve loved these since I was knee-high to Augustus Gloop.

2) Kit Kat—Holy sweet mother of Monsanto, this time of year I eat so many Kit Kats, FEMA has to drop them from helicopters for the kids.

1) Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups—Although I wouldn’t consider that stuff in the middle actual peanut butter, RPCs are the undisputed king of candy. If there’s a heaven, the gate is orange with brown trim. Plus, after six or seven, they make me feel most ill of any candy, and that, my friend, is power.

Enjoy your season, and keep in mind, if I see you with a kale smoothie, you’re dead to me.

Your 2011 Halloween Costume Guide.

You've probably already decided, now that the big event is single-digit days away, what you're going to be for Halloween. Oh, really? You haven't?

Well, certainly, if you've got kids, they probably nailed down back in August what or whom would possess their souls on the final day of October, but apparently, you're still weighing your options. Okay, no problem.

I'm not here to prescribe any rules; perish that thought. Life contains enough statutes and limitations as it is, and All Hallows Eve is all about breaking the rules and assuming an alter ego.

So that's why, if you're still experiencing ambivalence for all that is orange and black, I humbly offer this simple guide, kind of like how they show Lucky Charms with toast and orange juice as part of a balanced breakfast—it's nothing more than a serving suggestion. Hopefully you'll be able to root out a couple of truffles from my sloppy bog of ideas.

Let's get started, then, yes?

Recent pop culture and media figures are always fun. Even if a couple of other people at the party are dressed as your character, it's always a hoot to see alternative interpretations.

One person may show up as Qaddafi with three quarters of a head and someone else may sport half. Osama Bin Laden's left eye may dangle loosely and caress one party goer's neck, while another person may display nothing more than a gaping abyss where the SEAL's projectile saluted his cranium.

Naturally, you may opt to dress as a being who still occupies the world of the living. Consider dusting off that red Sarah Palin outfit from 2008, but gussy it up with a dab of powdered sugar under your nose to celebrate Ms. Palin's foray into the enticing charms of the coca plant back in college.

You may also choose to accessorize with a front pack for Baby Twig or Tarp or whatever his name is, but this time, rustle up a doll of caramel complexion to acknowledge that weekend Wasilla's crown princess of virtue spent at the Anchorage TraveLodge playing Around the World with African American basketball star, Glen Rice. Triple overtime is what I heard.

If time or money constrains you this Halloween, fear not. A few bucks and a trip to 7-11 on the way to the party are the only obstacles standing in your way of a great costume. For the price of a brown, plastic garbage bag and jar of Vaseline, nothing says "Awesome slug costume, dude," like  petroleum-jelly-slathered handshakes for all.

Finally, think about investing in makeup to replace those asphyxiating plastic masks. Temperatures can exceed one hundred seventy five degrees and the rubber band can cause permanent scalp damage, so take heed when strapping on the fake real housewife head. Plus, let's face it men, we love an excuse to wear makeup. Right? Yeah, me neither.

And speaking of stifling temperatures, do not bundle your child too warmly beneath his or her costume. Those Rite Aid ninja suits hold in heat like a rock salted tri tip roast, and your child will sweat like Steve Balmer if forced to wear a fleece Northface underneath. Always remember—those little rugrats burn hot.

I really hope this primer will help direct you toward the most fun, most comfortable, most poignant Halloween costume to date. And if you still can't come up with something, just dress in normal clothes and walk around with an eleven-year-old who is going trick-or-treating for the last time...

...that is, if you feel like going as me.

We owned the streets

October 31, 1972

Since this could be my last time trick-or-treating (I am ten, after all), I've decided to keep a journal of my activities, just in case I want to read it someday when I'm really, really old, like thirty.

5:56—Got out of the house ten minutes later than planned. I can see kids walking around already. I should have practiced putting on this football uniform I've had since second grade. I can't stuff the thigh pads in anymore and the helmet hurts my forehead. I'm hoping no one knows that the black stuff under my eyes is mascara. I look good.

6:07—Kevin was mad at me for being late to pick him up. He told me that the house with the full-sized Milky Ways would be out by the time we got there. He seemed to feel better after he punched me and called me a dumb ass.

6:22—Some older kids rode by and threw eggs at us. Kevin got hit in one of his fake sideburns and it must've hurt a lot because he called them dumb asses in a really high voice like a girl. I got hit in the helmet but you can't even tell because my ram horns are yellow like yoke.

6:47—We accidentally went to the house where the lady wears curlers and hands out raisins. I think she heard us complaining, because she told me that by the looks of me, I could use a few more fruits and vegetables. Mean. Kevin said not to worry about it and that she's a dumb ass.

7:03—I was hoping I'd run into her and I did. She's going either as Mary Tyler Moore or Carol Brady, judging by her pantsuit. She's so foxy. I tried to hold in my stomach as we walked up to her, but these pants are really tight and it's impossible.

I couldn't think of what to say, so I asked her if she got some good candy. Ugh, stupid question! Then I offered to carry her candy for her. Hello? Doubly stupid question. No one lets someone else carry their candy. Idiot!

7:34—Bad move going to that guy's house. The place wasn't even decorated. He was just watching TV with his girlfriend, and he gave us each a quarter and a weird looking brownie.

7:50—The kids on bikes rode by us again, but they must've been out of eggs, because they just called us names. I recognized one of them. He's in my sister's grade, and even though he was dressed like a skeleton, I knew him by that weird divit in his chest that he was born with.

Kevin said he can't wait to go through puberty so he can kick those dumb asses' asses.

8:17—Our pillow cases are almost full and Kevin told me my helmet is making a purple spot on my forehead that's spreading. It hurts a lot and Kevin's platform heels are making his feet ache. Who's the dumb ass now, Kevin? You are, thinking you could walk around all night as David Cassidy.

8:30—Dropped Kevin off and went home. My mom got out the makeup remover and took off my tough football player face while I sorted candy. She saw the brownie and took it. My sister is still out, so she'll probably have more candy and brag about it.

9:24—My dad said it's time for bed, and I won't complain, because I already stashed the full-sized Milky Way under my pillow. I'm going with the comfortable Six Million Dollar Man pajamas tonight, because I've eaten a lot of candy.

I think I'll miss trick-or-treating. If I can't do it anymore, I guess I'll just feel like a dumb ass.

That house looks promising

5:38PM, Saturday, October 31.
"Dad, can we leave now?"
"Not yet, Lauryn. It's still too light outside. In fact, here's the new rule for when to leave: If you still see the mailman driving around, it's too early."
I'm sure we all remember that feeling, that wired, ready-to-jump-out-of-your-skin excitement as you wait endlessly for your stodgy old dad to give the go-ahead.
This Halloween was no different. Lauryn and I have a tradition of trick-or-treating with some friends in their neighborhood. Our gang consists of a four-year-old boy, a nine-year-old boy, their dad, Lauryn and me.
We arrived at our friends' house fully prepared for the night. Since Lauryn's persona for the evening was that of a zombie princess, and since I've earned my makeup credentials painting faces at school carnivals, and since I drew the faces of every member of KISS  on every Pee-Chee I owned between 1975 and 1978, I felt fully qualified to be the hair and makeup boy for this character. After a quickly-applied white base, I painted on some Gene Simmons-inspired, black, spiky eyes and black lipstick. After slipping on a Gothic, scarlet gown, she looked like a groupie trying to decide between Stevie Nicks and Alice Cooper.
While waiting for dusk to fall, the other dad and I killed time with a couple of adult beverages until finally, the moment had arrived.
We methodically traversed each street, never backtracking, never sacrificing efficiency during these prime, golden hours. The four-year-old boy didn't, however, concern himself with energy conservation. He only ran or jogged. He sprinted past houses and back to them, up stairs and back down and back up. If I had that kind of stamina, I'd more closely resemble Iggy Pop than that singer in Blues Traveler.
Lauryn made a note of every living room at which she peered as the backdrop to each candy distributor.
"Dad, that house smells like old soup."
"Dad, her house was really messy."
"Dad, that guy was kind of creepy and his house smelled like hot dog water."
Living in West Seattle, there's always the chance that the kids will get something else in lieu of candy, like some salted wood chips, or a donation toward a spa visit for a needy Seattle dog. But in the end, they made a great haul. And if you ever get a chance, try the new Hershey's Pumpkin Pie Kiss—fantastic.

Not raisins again!

With Halloween approaching this weekend and my family's costumes all planned out, I've been thinking a little about how we dress up for Halloween, and what it indicates about us. Oh, no, it's not just an outfit—it's a personal statement. As I rode in on the 54 this morning, my own Halloween choices over the years surfaced, and I formed a few categories:
1) The well-thought-out, personality-based costume. Most of these are created with the help of a parent (usually your mom). These are extensions of our personality traits. I have been a mouse (a rather small percentage of my psyche), a tiger (again, small percentage), hippie (large portion, worn several times), a skeleton (a manifestation of my aspirational, skinny self) and a devil (not Exorcist-level, but saturated with the brat gene nonetheless). Not to sound too much like Freud, but look around at what the kids are wearing, and it may shed some light on their ongoing struggle between id, ego and superego. And hopefully, you won't see a costume relating to the Oedipus Complex.
2) The "faddish" costume. This may work for some, but usually, too many people are wearing the same thing (please see Sarah Palin, 2008). I tried this once, dressing up as "The Fonz." It was okay, but I saw about 17 other Fonzes traipsing around my neighborhood that evening. And shortly thereafter, the guy jumped the shark, rendering himself forever passé.
3) The lame, thrown-together, last minute costume. I've only used this method as an adult, and people's reactions are as lukewarm as the effort put forth in creating the look. One year, I bought a mullet wig and wore it with a rock station t-shirt. Nobody got it. The wig didn't look enough like a mullet, and I basically resembled a bank robber. Rocker guy costume thereby aborted.
Last year, I avoided any confusion about who I was by ironing the word, "Hamburglar," onto a white t-shirt. Still lame, though.
Many adults aren't so lazy about it, especially some of my co-workers, who spend hours becoming Dale Chihuly or Richard Simmons or Ugly Betty. In my opinion, however, nothing beats that slightly clueless four-year-old whom, after you open the front door, walks right into your house in search of the candy motherload. Those kids are hilarious, especially when their faces are too hot to wear that plastic Spiderman mask any longer, and the red and blue suit has to be slit in the back to accomodate the puffy jacket.