Blog of Wood: October 2010

NOTE: The following originally appeared in the Connecticut Post in 2007, back when I was still writing my "Get Out" column. Call it lazy, but I plan on rerunning my holiday "greatest hits"pieces in the coming months.

As a kid, I loved Halloween, but could care less about the dressing up part. While my friends spent much of the month designing elaborate disguises, I was content to simply make do with whatever was in the beat up old costume box my dad hauled out of the attic every year.

Usually I settled on being a “Hobo,” a costume requiring nothing more than some raggedy clothes and a dirty face – pretty much my year-round appearance anyway. But, since it was Halloween, my mom would add a special touch by smearing my skin with these ancient charcoal tablets she kept in the medicine cabinet. I became fascinated by these after learning that they were not created for their decorative purposes, but were actually intended to be eaten (to alleviate what the label discreetly described as “stomach maladies” - which I now know meant excessive gas – something that would have added a bit more realism to my hobo costume.)

But I wasn’t interested in authenticity; all I cared about was the candy. And I knew that the more creative my costume was, the longer I’d have to stay in each neighbor’s house while I explained how I made it, posed for some pictures and waited impatiently for disinterested husbands to be dragged from their hiding places to come see what a cute little alien, monster, etc. I was.

So hobo it was – besides, if I was going to be begging for candy, why not look the part? Unfortunately my friends had other ideas. Ones that usually involved a group theme, and we would often wind up touring the neighborhood as a weird version of “The Wizard of Oz” (Dorothy, Lion, Scarecrow, Tin Man…and a Hobo) or some twisted take on “Happy Days” (Richie, Potsie, Joanie, the Fonz…and the Hobo.) which confused the neighbors (and wasted time) as they tried to figure out how I fit in with the group. “And who are you supposed to be?” they’d ask, eyeing me as they dropped some candy into my pillowcase. “Toto?” “Chachi?”

But that was a small price to pay for free candy. And since back in those days, everyone handed it out, I would arrive home hours later with a serious sack full of treats. Nowadays, kids come back (if they go out at all) with their pathetic plastic pumpkins “filled” with maybe a dozen “fun-size” candy bars – and most of the good stuff already eaten by their flashlight wielding fathers (something else we never had to deal with.) But I can just imagine my neighbors’ reactions as they greet today’s trick-or-treaters, “Oh, who do we have here? A Princess. Harry Potter. Spider Man. And…,” eyeing the disgruntled dad at the bottom of the steps, “… a Hobo!”)

Alas, my hobo days are over. But strangely enough, the older I got, the more creative I became with my costumes. So much so that I recently spent several days searching the state for a pair of size 16, red, high-heeled shoes to complete my Tina Turner outfit. And I’m not the only one. It seems we so-called grown-ups get more excited about Halloween than our kids. Party stores stock more adult costumes than kiddie ones. Invitations to Halloween parties request that kids be left at home. And bars and clubs sponsor costume parties and Halloween-themed evenings that cater to the over 21-crowd.

So whether you’re home handing out candy, hanging out at the bar, or taking the kids trick or treating, I hope you have a safe and happy Halloween – and if you happen to over-indulge, my mom might still have some charcoal tablets for you.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Happy Halloween Part 1

Sarah and I were invited to a 30^th birthday party Saturday night (what up, Nicole!) so we needed to find a sitter for our 19-month old. Since our daughter (pictured above) was already committed to working at a local haunted hayride, we asked Sarah’s dad to come over and look after Eli. He was more than happy to do it, but knowing we would probably be late, we worked it out with darling daughter that she would come home as soon as she could to relieve her “Poppy.” Which she did – unfortunately, it was a very busy night at the hayride, so “as soon as she could” was not until after midnight.

But she did come right home, sent her tired grandfather on his way, and was in the process of getting herself ready for bed when Eli started crying. Being the caring older sister that she is, Julianna went directly to her baby brother’s room to soothe him back to sleep. Problem is, she forgot she was still in full fright make-up from the haunted hayride! So the poor baby looks up from his crib to find a white faced witch staring down at him. Needless to say, he was still awake when we got home.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

That Kid in the Hall is Sowing his Oates

While I’m still waiting on the fame and fortune, publishing my book has provided me with some other opportunities and experiences that are almost as valuable. From my very first reading at a library, where almost 100 people showed up, to my sell-out signing at a major bookseller (thank you Barnes & Noble) I have been overwhelmed with the support from both friends and strangers.

I also had the chance to go on my first mini-book tour when several appearances on the Cape were scheduled for the same weekend. I took the family along and they got to frolic on the beach while I schlepped from store to store – but it was fun to come home and treat them to an ice cream with my earnings – okay, it was a single cone split between the four of them, but still. I can’t say I felt, or was treated like, a celebrity that weekend, but I did get to feel like an author (as opposed to a teacher who wrote a book.)

And then there were the book clubs – groups of woman (many hot women!) who on their own decided to choose my book for their summer reading. I was nervous at the idea of speaking in front of total strangers in such intimate settings, but luckily the first one I was invited to was being held at a brewery. Yet even that wasn’t enough to stop me from saying to my wife, “I’ll probably be back in an hour.” Five hours later, in I stumbled, more drunk on the praise and attention than the beer. And a rock star was born!

My friend and unpaid agent, Margie, also organized two clubs. One consisted of old “friends” from high school and the other was made up of mostly strangers (to both of us) from her town, and both went wonderfully. It was nice to hear so many compliments about the book, but for me, the best part was I could now remove the quotation marks from the word friends when referring to the pretty, popular crowd I remembered from my high school days. It took twenty years, but I finally got to sit at the “cool kid” table!

But the coolest thing for me so far was writing a check (for $50!) to Darryl Hall for the rights to use lyrics to his song, “Kiss On My List” in my book. Cool really isn’t the right word -I’m just a sucker for a smooth segue – weird is probably more accurate, but the idea that an iconic 80’s singer had to cash my paltry little check just makes me laugh.

As will my book (shameless plug alert.) If you love the 80’s, or love love, or mysteries, or manatees, check out Alchemy. And even if you don’t, try it anyway, it just might change your mind!