For the past several years, I worked at a company where Halloween is a major event. I really enjoyed Halloweens there. Ninety percent of the employees dressed up in some way, and most of the departments performed some kind of performance for a half dozen company officers chosen to be judges. Some employees disliked the spectacle, but most seemed to enjoyed it. Some appreciated the teamwork the performances engendered, and some just liked the half a day of goofing off and eating treats.

The first time I participated in the festivities, my department did “80s prom.” We didn’t have a performance or anything, and only four of the seven members of our department even bothered dressing up (in 80s styles). Most of our fellow employees recognized our theme and dress, but ironically, the judges didn’t get it. That proved to be that department’s last group effort for Halloween.

The next year, a couple of people in the department dressed up, but just as individuals. As a last minute decision, I dressed up in a full grim reaper costume. None of my friends at work new my intention, and no one knew who the guy in the grim reaper costume was. The whole morning I said nothing to anyone. I just walked around, in black robes, skull mask, skeletal gloves, and with a scythe. My silence freaked some people out. By being quiet and withdrawn, I was the talk of the day. The whole thing was really cool, and it hooked me on dressing up for Halloween.

The next year, I tried the “unknown Halloweener” gimmick again. I had a monstrous mask and a bloody heart in a box. I had wanted to have a red robe and cloak, but because of material (cloth) complications, I went with black again. Unfortunately, that made the costume too similar to the grim reaper get up I wore the previous year. Although it was a completely different theme, the black robes prompted a couple people to comment, “Didn’t you wear that last year?” And to add irony, I had a couple people ask, “What are you supposed to be?”

The next year, I gave up on hiding my identity, and just went with what I thought would be fun and challenging. I used face paint and prosthetics to become a devil. My face and hands were red, my hair, eyebrows, mustache, goatee, and fingernails were black, my teeth were painted to look pointed, and I had pointed ears and horns. It took me about three hours to get all made up for that day, so I made sure to wear it all day and night. My, then, nine month old son was in a “little devil” suit to match me.

The next year, I was a killer clown. I had white base face paint with colorful mouth, nose, eyes, and hair. My jeans and white sweatshirt were covered in splattered blood, and I wielded a bloodstained butcher knife. Interestingly, I freaked out a couple people in the office who have “issues” with clowns. I also made sure to stay away from the kids who visited the office that day—didn’t want to give them nightmares, or give them clown issues, themselves.

The next year, I was a bloody zombie. I bought a suit from Goodwill, rolled it around in the dirt and grass, put on a face prosthetic, for the decomposing look, and painted myself up a dead gray. The look was pretty good, but that was my first time putting on a full face prosthetic, so it was flawed.

The next year, I was Captain America. My, then, 4 year old son was Spider-Man, and he wanted me to dress up with him. I gave up the bloody and scary for that year, and I made my Cap’n A costume from scratch. I had a professional shield maker craft my red, white, and blue round shield. My mother-in-law sewed the mask and cowl. The rest of it was all my work, right down to painting the shirt with the star and stripes. I had a muscle suit on under the outer costume, to give me the comic-book-style exaggerated physique.

I wore the costume to work for the morning, took it off after lunch, and then put it back on to go out trick-or-treating with my son that evening. My son absolutely loved it, and that was probably my biggest thrill, so far, with trick-or-treating. I had kids and adults approach me and comment on how cool my costume was. That was probably my most elaborate costume, and it required the most effort to get together. The trouble it proved to be nearly broke me of the Halloween spirit, but for one day, I was Captain America, and I loved it.

The next year, last year, I decided to scale back the overall effort and just do something cool but limited. I put on a face prosthetic and paint to look like the skin of my face had been cut and peeled off. Full face paint and prosthetics are very difficult to do by oneself, especially just in a normal bathroom mirror. It takes a long time, and mistakes are hard to correct. I made mistakes and cut corners that time, and I was unsatisfied with the end result. I could have done better.

Now this year, I am no longer at that company, so I have no plans to put on any costume or face. This is a shame and a relief. It’s a shame because I did enjoy wearing the costumes and faces, but it’s a relief because topping each previous year was starting to wear on me. I’m thinking about putting on some horns or a mask this year for trick-or-treating, but if I do anything like that, I’ll just recycle something from a previous year. Wearing costume prosthetics is fun, but putting them on is work.

So, to any of my old co-workers who may read this blog, send me pictures of the office this year. And if anyone asks about me, tell them that I’m in the office as the invisible man.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

I was playing a computer game, and only intended to play till 10:00. There’re three clocks within site of my computer (not counting the one on the computer itself, which is not visible while in a game), but oddly, they didn’t agree. Two of them said the same time, but one said one hour later. I assumed the one was wrong, and the two were correct.

I played till 10:00 (by the two clocks I thought correct) and then closed the game. When I closed the game, I saw the computer clock—and it said the same time as the one clock I thought was wrong. Well, with two clocks saying 10:00, and two clocks saying 11:00, I wasn’t sure of the correct time.

Then I remembered that I hadn’t written my daily Bullgrit. Shoot. Before leaving my desk and going to bed, I had to write. It took me about 30 minutes, but I got it done.

I walked into the bedroom in the dark. My wife was asleep, so I didn’t want to turn on the light and wake her. In the wall mirror, I saw red, glowing letters, “h E l l.” It stunned me for a moment. I turned around and looked at the clock on my bed-side table. The red, glowing numbers showed 11:34. Okay, that was weird. I understand how my mind read it differently in the mirror, but still, that’s weird.

So that made it 3 clocks to 2 for it being 11:34 instead of 10:34. I didn’t feel like checking all the other clocks in the house to get a total vote at that time.

Okay, so I have nothing insightful to say about the situation, I just thought it odd.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

Our neighborhood had a Halloween party, and probably 40 people showed up. A couple families in the one cul de sac on our street organize the event each year (plus one in the Spring); they supply the hot dogs and hamburgers, and everyone else brings sides and desserts.

It’s a good way to meet the folks on our street, especially new neighbors. When I introduced myself to the new neighbors I gave my address number as well as my name. Interestingly, I seem to be the only person who does this. Everyone else describes their house, “We’re in the blue house, down there, with the white van in the driveway.”

There were around a dozen families at the gathering, with about 15-20 kids between the ages of 1 and 9 years. My 6 year old was feeling shy and didn’t want to join the other kids in play. He and my 3 year old just ran around me chasing each other. We were there about an hour before they actually made contact with the other kids, but once they did, they were fully into running around with the others.

About half the kids were in their Halloween costumes, and a few adults were, too. The funniest thing about the gathering was that the kids spent most of the time playing soccer. There were two soccer balls being kicked around the cul de sac, with kids in colorful costumes chasing them around.

The food was good. (There were some delicious baked beans that I’d have loved to get the recipe.) What little of the chat I could get into was good too, but it’s hard to really get into conversations when you have to keep a close eye on your kids in the middle of an unorganized soccer game on a paved road. The younger kids were right in the middle of the action with the older kids, and a kicked ball can really wallop a 3 year old. There were several close calls, but fortunately, no one got smacked by a ball or another running kid.

We started walking back to our house when the sun went down. My boys were excited and worked up, so it took a lot of herding to get them both into bed. But they were so tired that once they actually laid down, I think they were asleep within a minute.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

You’ve probably seen the line, “It was a dark and stormy night.” I’ve seen it here and there, in various places, including in Peanuts comic strips as a line typed by Snoopy sitting on his doghouse. It’s often cited as “the worst line in literature.” In fact, there’s an annual contest, the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, that has people write similarly “bad” lines.

For years, I never understood why “It was a dark and stormy night” was a bad line. It read fine to me. Sometimes, the concept made me wonder about my own writing style; if I thought that line was fine, how bad were my own lines that I also thought were fine.

But then, just a couple years ago, I learned the whole of the line:

It was a dark and stormy night, the rain fell in torrents, except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.

It’s the opening sentence to the 1830 novel Paul Clifford, by Edward Bulwer-Lytton. Seeing the whole line, I can understand the reason it’s considered bad, and the reason it’s always shortened to just, “It was a dark and stormy night.” Ironically, though, the shortened version is a great line, in my opinion. It’s concise and evocative.

But anyway. . .

We recently picked up a children’s book from the library, titled, Winnie the Pooh’s Halloween, by Bruce Talkington. I tried reading it to our 3 year old a couple nights ago, and found it very Bulwer-Lytton-ish.

Here’s the first line of the book:

The late afternoon sun appeared to hesitate on the horizon, setting comfortably among the tip-top branches of the trees of the Hundred-Acre Wood as if reluctant to turn off its light and make way for the night.

First line of the second page:

“Perhaps it’s afraid of the dark,” suggested Piglet, who was much fonder of the sun’s arriving and spending the day than he was of its going to bed and leaving animals to bump around in the dark and bruise their very small shins and noses and upset their delicate nerves.

This is a children’s book—something parents read aloud to their children. By the time I finished reading aloud that first line, my mouth was tired. These are bad lines for an adult book, but they rise to the amazingly bad for a children’s book.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com