Well, here we are again. Hallo-week. Hurrah.
Can you sense the enthusiasm in my font? What's that, you say? I don't sound enthused? Whatever gave you THAT idea? Was it perhaps the umpteen columns I've written about how much I despise this week? Well, it's time for one more.
Truth be told, I actually adore a good chunk of Halloween. I love brisk, crisp fall air and the crunching of leaves underfeet. I love buying WAY more candy than I ever need for trick-or-treaters. And I love devouring the non-stop stream of cheezy paranormal shows on TV this time of year almost as much as that candy.
I adore spooky stuff. I'm in favor of all things eerie, creepy, and haunted. I love the mystery and magic of dark woods, abandoned houses, and cemeteries at night. Tell me ghost stories all the live-long day and all the dead-long night. Life needs a little mystery and wonder and spirits and things that go bump in the night.
But there's some things Halloween doesn't need -- like grown adults in costumes. Some find it charming and fun and a chance to let one's hair down and act a fool. Others (specifically: me) find it disconcerting and off-putting and a chance to make a fool out of oneself.
I've said these exact words in a column before and I'll say them again now: I am a weird, socially awkward, somewhat sorry excuse for a human being on my best days. I have a hard enough time making eye contact with you as is. PLEASE don't make me do it while you're dressed up like Chewbacca. I know these words will never stop you. Year after year, you will put on some outlandish costume that you've proudly spent hours perfecting, and then at some point you'll want to come over and have small talk with your favorite newspaper columnist. But John Marx will be busy, so instead you'll find me. And I will laugh and stammer and make idle chit-chat while my brain has 1000 little panic attacks over how to respond whilst talking to a vampire and/or princess and/or Marvel superhero.
I know this makes me a no-fun-nik Halloween grinch, and some of the costumes people come up with every year are amazing. A couple years back, I saw a guy dressed up like Lloyd Dobler from "Say Anything" complete with fake arms holding aloft a paper mache boombox and it was pretty much the best Halloween costume ever. But I've never been one for dress-up. Hated it as a kid, hate it more as an adult. I only remember two costumes I wore as a kid: once I dressed up like an impoverished hobo, and once like a Native American. Two costumes, and both were essentially hate crimes. Thanks, mom.
But the only thing more awkward than adults in costume is when those adults are trying to scare the pants off you. I am NOT a haunted house-goer. Give me creepy and eerie, but do NOT give me things that jump out all boogity-boogity. I prefer to keep my urine safely inside my bladder where it belongs. People are scary enough when they're NOT dressed up like chainsaw-wielding zombies, thanks.
I'm sorry that I'm a Halloweenie. I have friends that work at Skellington and I know how much effort they put into terrifying their eager ticket-holders. If you want to be mentally and emotionally scarred by some of the best and kindest people I know, I can't recommend it enough. But I'll be recommending it several blocks away from the relative peace and zombie-free quiet of my living room.
When it comes to frights, I am a self-admitted fuddy-duddy. But sometimes it's less fuddy and more common sense. Did you guys see the story about the "world's scariest haunted house" down in Tennessee? If you want to check it out, you need to sign a 40-page waiver and bring a doctor's note certifying you have the stamina. You also have to watch a two-hour video of others giving up and leaving early. If you make it to the end, you get $20,000. Thus far, no one's made it. The price of admission? One bag of dog food for the owner's pooches.
Ummm... I have some questions. First off, the waiver and the physical are genius. Movie studios have done that sort of thing for decades. "Psycho" and "The Exorcist" came with warnings that the films could cause adverse physical effects on their audiences. That's just good marketing. But that only makes sense if you're trying to get rich. This guy's just getting dog food. At what point does it stop being a "haunted house" and start being some weird dude's torture fetish basement?
He claims to have invested over $1 million on this "attraction" and makes no money from it. That means the joy he gets from terrifying people is worth over one million dollars to him. That's a bit of a red flag. I mean, a clown named Pennywise once hosted his own free haunted "attraction," too, but you don't see me lining up with dog food outside the sewers of Derry to find out just what floats down there.
I'm guessing that guy's dogs are eating pretty well right about now. Honestly, if you're willing to sign your life away and drive to Tennessee with some Alpo for the privilege of being tortured until you surrender, I can't be too sympathetic towards your plight. Besides, I'm too preoccupied trying to figure out what to say to the dude next to me dressed up like Donald Trump. Don't worry, I have a few ideas.
Happy holidays, all. Even the scary ones.
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