Happy Satan’s Birthday… or whatever!
Okay…let Halloween begin!
Actually we don’t really do Halloween much anymore. This year it’s the lovely and talented Casey going to see Saw III with her boyfriend (they’re teenagers… whaddya gonna do?), the libidinous and shapely mrs tbogg is in a bar somewhere on State St in the SB, and me? I’m just hangin’ with the boyz waiting for trick-or-treaters who never come. We’ve lived in our current house for about eight years and my guess is that we have seen approximately six of the little
bastards adorable tykes in that time.
Our neighborhood is made up almost entirely of apartment -dwelling college student roommates, condo-living singles, and older couples who have lived in their homes since the Eisenhower administration (now that was a Republican!). Not a lot of kid traffic you might say, which keeps Mark Foley out of the neighborhood. That’s not to say that people aren’t prepared. When the L&T Casey was six we dressed her up as Dorothy from Kansas (with a reluctant Cooder the Good forced to play Toto. No, not that Toto. That would have been cruel.) and walked the neighborhood. People seemed so relieved to see an actual child on their doorstep that they were practically dumping entire bowls of candy into her bag. The older couples were particularly happy to see her since she was dressed up as something that they recognized, as opposed to any one of the many characters from The Lion King who were popular that year (“I’m a meerkat!” “A MEER-kat?” “Yes, a meer— look, just give me the damn Snickers, ‘kay?”).
I think that was the last year I went out with the girls who soon opted for going to a friends house in a real neighborhood (i. e. a suburban cul-de-sac lousy with blond soccer moms and their ever-present Starbucks cups) for their festivities. That was then; nowadays it’s slasher movies and bar-hopping and the boyz and I are still waiting. We’re giving out rawhide chews this year.
It was Beckham’s idea. He’s so thoughtful…