Halloween: Night of the Living Weirdos

You know, I am a holiday buff. I love to decorate, I love to celebrate, I love to remember special days passed and special days to come. But there is one holiday I've never really managed to embrace, and that is Halloween. (For my previous musings on the subject, see last year's "Halloween: A Horror Story.")

There could be a lot at play here. I'm not much of a horror fan. I'm easily grossed out by special effects and easily terrified into having to leave the lights on at night. I'm uncomfortable with things considered "evil" and don't understand why I'd want to celebrate them. Perhaps most of all, it's that I simply can't deal with bizarre people, and Halloween is when the freaks come out. Especially here in the city.

Last night I ventured to the Halloween parade downtown. It was one of those things that I agree to do knowing full well that I'll hate it, but feeling like it's a cultural experience I must complete, like ticking things off of a list. In fact, I once read that attendance at this particular parade is one of "100 things to do before you die." Having now attended, I can't really imagine why. The crowds, the outfits, the weirdos... and yet, why did I have to come to a special parade to see this? It didn't seem all that different from any Saturday night on the L train or the Lower East Side.

Is it that I'm too traditional? Too conventional? Too corporate? Is it wrong that I cannot embrace this carefree bohemian spirit? That when someone observed my black sheath dress, tights, and flats and asked what my costume was, I icily replied that I was dressed as "Girl who actually has a job and pays her taxes"? That when my friend Jo and I stopped in to a bar after the parade for a drink, I had to make a quick escape when it began filling up with law students in gorilla suits?

Whatever it is, it was another day that consisted of me shaking my head at the rest of the world and wondering, "Where are my people?" I can't be the only one out here whose idea of an excellent Halloween involves attending a cocktail party in a fabulous 1920's flapper dress a la Zelda Fitzgerald, or a delightfully perky pink suit and pearls a la Jackie Kennedy, drinking martinis with men in suits, rather than being hit on in an East Village bar by a guy in a Viking headdress a la Flava Flav (oh, my feelings on VH1 programming are a topic for another day.)

Someday maybe I'll figure this holiday out. In the meantime, excuse me while I start looking forward to Thanksgiving.