“If death meant just leaving the stage long enough to change costume and come back as a new character...Would you slow down? Or speed up?" -Chuck Palahniuk
IDENTIFY THEFT
I’m jealous. Wow. It has taken me twenty-plus years to finally admit that I wish I had the guts, creativity, chutzpah to pull off that flawless, “no you didn’t” “that must have cost a fortune” Halloween thing, but I’m lazy. And I need to go to the gym. The days of leotard and spray-painted bras aren’t gone, but currently in hibernation along with anything smaller than a size 27.
The wooden bowl sitting by the door is empty except for a lone Reses’ Peanut butter cup, which I unwrap carefully and then nibble, the familiar taste that has quenched my sweet tooth for two plus decades melts on my tongue. Chocolate, like a Dave Matthews song, or a new poinsettia is this unyielding time capsule throwing me years away from this quiet moment.
Maybe I will opt for a sparkly mask with feathers and tell everyone my name is Zena, I’m from Ohio and I play professional Billiards for a living. Oh how fun it’d be to take Halloween to a new HBO or a reality TV level. I would reinvent myself. Lately, I’ve been listening to Kelly Howell meditation cds at night… she does manifestation visualizations of being calm, it is the non-narcotic approach to curb UOA (ak: under-organized over-achievers)… who systematically suffer the most with to do lists, mostly because we forget to write them. But why I bring her up: Her distinctly tantric (I say in a calm/mellow/yogi meaning) aids people into climbing into the “subconscious” layer of our cerebral craziness. Only to discover… hidden meanings, lost desires, secrets beyond… that might be the name of one of her audio cds actually.
Not to get too Freudian, but what about the costumes we’ve chosen? Or why we’ve chosen them? Are we fulfilling some childhood fantasy by pulling on an NBA jersey, or covering up those ten pounds we gained over autumn by cutting a pretend snowflake out of mom’s sheets?
I digress.
If so, what would I change? Like beyond Oct. 31…. Who would I want to come back as? Would I turn into a socially inept nerd, who subsisted in a sphere of dusty library books? Maybe a gym rat with the abs of granite, the skin tone of a tangerine. Or maybe a different version of me? A goblin, hamster, princess… shark? Halloween is this weird invention us, Americans, consumer driven and creative bunch we are…. As little kids we consider what we want when we grow up… simple costumes. Doctors, Firefighters, astronauts, you know the occasional golden retriever or witch here or there. But as we grow older we choose themes, or even situations (ak: A guy attacked by a shark), cultural inside jokes (____ in the box), or icons Marilyn Row or Jack the Reaper. And I got to ask myself, have I lived up to those 4th grade Gypsy expectations of myself or rather, have I exceeded them in some unidentifiable (and frankly immeasurable way).
Dying my hair brown was a weird in cognito act out of complete rebellion, but doesn’t quite cut it in terms of the overall renovations (albeit the common boob job) in which I’m referring a la moment.
The sky has gone from chilly to deserted… other than a few stars separating the blackness, I sit in silence on the porch swing at my parent’s home. My condo building downtown doesn’t entice the typical trick-or-treaters… more the normal homeless guys on the side of the road, looking for change instead of Snickers bars. Quasi-political incorrect, I know.
Tonight, there was no snow, so the little ballerinas needn’t need their parkas and snow boots. Children from two-years old to the adults who are staggering home awaiting Monday morning hangovers…. Halloween is this odd holiday, paving way for the real holidays… the days in which deserve calories and days off of work. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years and Valentines… I include Valentines because let’s frankly say it, who doesn’t?
While it is easy to recollect your past through birthdays and trips, it is easy to identify through a space suit, or a “jack in the box” or a Steelers’ fan, or TV, or whatever you were that one Halloween where you happened to be the designated driver, or your costume fell apart, or you got stuck in a storm, or met the man of your dreams…. Or the night your best friend was arrested (yes, try Vegas ’07) or when you plain ol’ looked in the mirror and liked what you saw…. And honey, if you were impersonating a pinup girl circa 1950s then that is fabulous…. But I ask you to look in the mirror this Halloween and see who it is staring back? It’s surprising how much someone can learn about themselves through some face paint and Lycra, but to see us through the mask is rather revealing….
The bottom line. Halloween is a special holiday that allows us to draw upon situations and take stock of our lives. Birthdays, sure… but you can’t identify a year by a number, when it is so much easier to say, “the year of the gorilla suit.”
