How New York City Killed Halloween

My least favorite holiday has arrived. Yeah, that's right, I can't stand Halloween. It wasn't always that way. Like any other kid, I loved it once upon a time. Free candy was and still is an elementary school dream come true. I remember how impossible it was to believe you could just go around and strangers give you candy, and for that one day of the year, it was okay. (provided you searched apples for razorblades and candy wrappers for syringe punctures.)

Starting in the early teen years, the freedom to run around in a pack of hormonal wildness certainly had appeal. In later teen years, there was a lawlessness that lent itself to a lot of misadventures (readers of Pure Sunshine will know the kind of misadventure I'm talking about). 

Then everything changed come college and my move to NYC. I grew to hate the holiday. In various states of consciousness, I discovered how the day was just an excuse for people to wander the streets in full freak regalia. The whole idea of dressing up became super unappealing. Odd, considering that for a living, I pretend to be other people. But I can't stomach it. My last inspired costume was being Teenwolf in 5th grade. I'm not sure I could ever top that anyway. But I don't even want to try, so much is my dislike for this one day of the year where everything is out of tune with the universe. 

And thanks to my residence in the middle of nowhere, I don't even have the good fortune to enjoy the one possibly fun thing that remains about the holiday. I would enjoy giving out candy and making kids happy. But alas, no trick or treaters wander these hills. So, as far as I'm concerned, it's just October 31st...another day to try and remember to say "Rabbit, Rabbit" fist thing upon waking up tomorrow morning.