Samhain (spooky)!

I love Halloween. I love the pagan roots in the celebration of Sam Hein (a celebration of the dead). Given the recent level of fanaticism in America, I am thankful that the holiday has not yet been banned (let’s give it time though). Who does not love Halloween? Candy, autumn, pumpkins, candy corn (especially the kind with the chocolate segment, or even the intimidating candy corn material pumpkin- the Carpathian Scorge of teeth), and women dressed like harlots pretending that it is just a costume and not some form of breaking free from sexual repression.

Well I’ll tell you who does not love Halloween: adults. After a certain point, dressing up becomes beneath adults (unless they are single males, and are pursuing one of the harlots).  Don’t believe me? Try throwing a Halloween party where the invitee list is full of thirty somethings. The first and most dramatic responses you will get will sound something like this: “Party sounds great. Please don’t tell me we have to dress up”. I think this is one of the stages in a person that truly marks placing your foot closer to the grave. There is a groupthink that encapsulates adults. They lose their creative thinking, individuality, and imagination. Nothing represents this better than adults bitching about having to wear a costume (or perhaps hearing for the fifth time how a coworker spent his weekend picking up parts for a snowblower. Really? Homedepot doesn't carry 3/8s spindels? Bastards. Please go on).

Dress up is fun and is good for you.  Just ask Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt. Actors are really just playing advanced forms of dress up, and look at the amount of gravitas they place on their careers. Halloween is all about kids dressing up as zombies and the walking dead. However, I think what it really does is to reveal the zombies and walking dead that surround us every day at work. The fact that these people take themselves seriously is the most terrifying thing I can imagine.  They must actually think they have accomplished something by forcefully freezing and amputating their imaginations, as if an imagination was some sort of wart or skin tag. I respect the right of everyone to give up on life at some point, I just hope they do not expect me to join them. That’s why I need to get rich. Remember: old poor men are crazy, old rich men are eccentric. Becoming an eccentric is my life’s work!