I had a brilliant Halloween. It was one of those nights where the next day you are totally hyper and stoked and still feeding off of last night's energy, even if you only got a couple hours of sleep. But my Halloween, my New York Halloween, reminded me of why I love New York City. I would never want to be any other place than New York for Halloween--why would you? If I was in England, what would we do? Maybe eat pumpkin cookies with our tea and candy corns, laugh delicately, "Oh, how hilarious you are with your ghost earrings!" Maybe not; I hope not, as I'd love to live there and hope it's not as depressing as the weather. But America is a great place for Halloween--we're loud Americans, being outrageous, dressing up as flashers, tampons, sluts, whatever it is we truly are underneath. It's a day to play, to have fun, be crazy, be our fantasy, be our opposite, dance, laugh, act, perform. We're alive, and we're happy, and we're here to spread cheer, laugh, watch people, dress up, party. And New Yorkers--we're the loudest. Screaming, "What you tryin' to be?" "Hey, move it!" "Happy m*therf*cking Halloween!"
I first went to the infamous Halloween parade--you must go, or you haven't celebrated Halloween as you should. March in it if you can--you can watch it and participate/perform at the same time. Laura dressed up like a brideslut. I went as a bunch of grapes. I finally succeeded in being NOT a "sexy" whatever. Women are sexy cops, sexy construction workers, sexy witches, sexy diner waitresses, sexy cats, sexy, sexy, sexy! Or just plain, "I have this really slutty corset and these thongs and heels, I'll just wear them." So I succeeded in a good costume that wasn't sexy. As a grape, I wore a brown top, skirt, sweater. I covered my long brown sweather with fake leaves and purple balloons. I braided my hair around my head, and put a ring of fake leaves around my head. I looked pretty good, if I may say so myself. The photos I have do not even represent how grape-y I looked.
After the parade, I went to a Complacentparty. They throw some pretty awesome parties, often combining art, politics, music, and partying. This one was a street party, with chanting ("When I say concrete, you say ritual! Concrete!" "Ritual!" "Concrete!" "Ritual!"), and other sorts of insanity I might not want to mention on this website, but it was powerful, amazing, shocking, and fun. The sorts of things you might get in trouble for should someone catch you. I thought, "These are my people: artists and politically-minded crazy people and hippies in New York City; this is who I love!"
After, we (by we I mean me and a bunch of people I met at this party; Laura disappeared to go home, and I made new friends) regrouped in the west 20s, and took the train up to the 40s for a party--all of us got in free to this club. They were playing good music--LeTigre electronic mixes, among other things. I danced like crazy, which is hard when you are dressed up with 30 balloons pinned to you. Rather crazy. I met this guy and tango danced with him, which was SO fun. Usually I'm a dreadful dancer with a partner, but I was good, and had a blast. He was a dancer, so he's really good. We danced till we noticed the time. Around three, I caught a cab back to Brooklyn. My cabbie was telling me Halloween horror stories--drunk people, and some guy with a three or foot foot "fake dick" as he called it pressed it against the cabbie--who threw him out. I was friendly and chatty, and he liked my costume, and told me T needed to move to NY because "it is not right," and thanked me for being so nice; "Why are you so nice to cabbie? You are so nice, you are nice to cabbie." He was super cool, and knew how to get home from the 59th St Bridge, which I do not know at all.
When I came in, Luna was excited. I gave her some treats and then we went to bed. I woke up the next morning, sparkles in my hair, half-deflated balloons on the floor, no longer a grape. But I was still something special.
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