MIAMI BEACH, FL-

My friend, Melissa, and I dressed up to look silly when we went to the hospital on Halloween. We do it every year because the kids get a kick out of it and we really are up for anything to spice up the day.

(One time I really blew it dressing up on Halloween to go to the old folks home with Brooklyn, my Therapy Dog. I dressed to the nines as Raggedy Ann. I had it all, down to the red and white horizontal striped tights and red shoes. The residents at the home are four-fifths from Cuba and one fifth from Russia. Not a soul had any idea who I was supposed to be. It turns out that Raggedy Ann is an American phenomenon. It had always seemed so universal to me. They thought I was nuts, but they didn’t care, because Brooklyn was with me.)

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LOS ANGELES—

It was the Saturday night before Halloween, and a friend’s band was playing at a party at a gallery not far from my apartment in Echo Park. I was in a bad mood, though I don’t remember why, since this happened a couple of years ago. Then, too, I’m frequently in a bad mood, which I consider a natural byproduct of being a writer.

Anyway, I drove over to this party and parked a few blocks away, about to head inside when I ran into my buddy Pete on the sidewalk. Pete’s one of The Assholes, as this particular group of my friends sometimes refer to themselves. I’ve always maintained that I’m not really an asshole (despite being one of The Assholes), but I can certainly act like an asshole on occasion, and this night was one of them.
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SALEM, MA-

I have found that it’s difficult for people to be rude to you when you’re dressed as a 5’4” hot dog.

Desperate for cash like so many others in this crap economy, I took a seasonal job this fall working as a cashier at iParty, a party supply store that sells costumes by the truckload during Halloween season. One afternoon in early October, I walked into the store looking for a costume and left with a job. The assistant manager looked over my application, saw my degrees and my years of teaching and writing experience, and said, “Yeah, you’re way overqualified. You’ll start on Thursday.”

Yes, I was overqualified. And yes, I hoped that the manager wouldn’t actually call my references, thus informing these respected individuals that I was putting my master’s degree to use as an iParty cashier.

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BOULDER, CO- 

I love Halloween.

Cheap plastic costumes, sweaty make-up, canker sores on the morning after…or were those my grad school years?

When I was a kid, I was taught that Halloween was bad.  There is not a child in all of Christendom who does not understand that Halloween is the devil’s holiday.  And yet, we can’t seem to help ourselves. What kid doesn’t get off on dressing up beyond recognition so they can stuff that orange plastic pumpkin with enough candy to snuff a small, primitive tribe of diabetics off the map?  Is there anything more fun than crinkling down the street high on milk duds in a pack of underage hoodlums?  What other holiday can compete?  Sure, Christmas promises loot and yule log comfort – but does it really compare to the rush of smashing somebody’s lawn zoo to bits as swift and concise punishment for not turning on one’s porch light?

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