“Candy, candy, candy candy candy candycandycandycandycandycandycandycandy.”
-- Garfield The Cat

Halloween is terrific. Every time I go to the movies or read a (comic) book I discover new characters I want dress as on Halloween while I drunkenly stumble around Georgetown or hoping to meet the president’s daughters drunkenly stumbling around Georgetown.

Darth Vader.
Zorro.
Malcolm Reynolds from Serenity.
Clark Kent.
G. Gordon Liddy. They’re all great.

Most female “costumes” are “sexy” analogues of blue collar jobs or sports uniforms. Firefighters, police officers, quarterbacks, referees – if a job has any promise of applying strength, authority or violence on another human being, somebody will design a “sexy” variation of it.

Sexy Guantanamo Bay detainee interrogator.

How could anybody hate such a holiday?

Even though I give it much love, I can’t help but notice the oddity of the candy-giving ritual loved by children all across the country not raised by fundamentalist killjoys.

Children (or 16-year olds who think “T-shirt and jeans” is a costume) dress as people they wish they could be to beg at your door and coerce from you what they want. Sure, there might be a UNICEF box for your wayward pennies and stray Sacagawea dollars, but we know it’s all about the candy.

Again, much love, but why costumes? Why Oct. 31? Why candy? Sure, I could Google the answers and come up with an Arizona State sophomore’s term paper on the subject, but frankly, I’d rather read message boards with theories about why Locke doesn’t need a wheelchair anymore.

Why do we only beg strangers for stuff on Halloween? Why not other holidays?

What if we applied Halloween’s paradigm to other holidays? The results would be fascinating ….

****

Valentine’s Day If microchips could represent the female brain (please, wait for my punch lines), Valentine’s Day represents the pathways for the crucial linkage between the chip to a woman’s heart and the chip to … another part of her anatomy.

Those roses and chocolates lay the proper micro pathways for women to see a man as more than just stubble and stink. Candle-lit dinners in restaurants where the guests avoid noticing the conspicuous lack of English spoken in the kitchen tell the two microchips it’s okay to talk to each other.

If a monorail could represent the male brain (please, wait for my punch lines) Valentine’s Day is a flowers-and-candy fueled locomotive on an automatic glide path into the station. Or through the tunnel. Or whatever visual sex metaphor I can paint without using the word “vagina.”

In other words, personalized attention is key for both participants.

But how well would our VDay-turned-Halloween fest work for our eager 17-year old looking for his 30 seconds of heaven in the backseat of the family SUV?

Ding dong

“Yes?”

“Hi, happy Valentine’s Day. You’re pretty. Here are some flowers and candy. Can we have sex?”

“What?”

“Look, I’m dressed as John Cusack in Say Anything. Isn’t that romantic?”

“No. Get off my property.”

“Come on …”

“Kid, I’m 48.”

“So?”

“And a guy.”

“So?”

Thanksgiving

If Valentine’s Day is all about choosing the right person to get something from, Thanksgiving is all about trying to survive being around people you desperately want to avoid. At least that’s what countless sitcoms, stand up comedians and Dave Barry columns have told me. All three cannot be liars.

Now imagine Thanksgiving with your relatives – and everybody is wearing costumes.

“Billy, would you help Nana? Her costume is too tall to fit through the doorway.”

“Why did she dress like a muffler? And why are you David Beckham?”

“Because I’m your mother, that’s why. Now go help your grandmother.”

“Honey, have you seen my oozing severed arm? I can’t be the Black Knight from ‘Monty Python and the Holy Grail’ without my limbs scattered across the table.”

“Frank, your mother is bringing her scalloped potatoes. There won’t be any room on the table for bloody arms.”

“Fine, I – Jessica, what kind of costume is that? You’re not wearing clothes.”

“It’s flesh-colored underwear, Dad.”

“No daughter of mine is running around dressed like Paris Hilton.”

“Dad, I’m Eve. If I was Paris Hilton, I couldn’t have dinner because my mouth would already be full.”

Christmas

Christmas turns Christians into benign politicians – begging a specific section of the population (Christians: friends and family; politicians: likely voters) for something incredibly difficult to get on one’s own (iPods, Tickle Me Elmos, votes, etc.).

But unlike other holidays previously mentioned, Christmas celebrates a serious event. Indeed, the birth of Christ is one of the most important events in history, only ranking in importance with the dawn of Athenian democracy and the invention of the Nintendo Entertainment System.

Could the Halloween paradigm be applied to celebrating the birth of our Lord and savior and treat this event with proper reverence it deserves?

Not likely.

“Knock, knock! Trick or treat! Give us presents!”*drunken giggle*
“Yeah, candy!”*drunken giggle*
“I think I’m gonna be sick”*not a drunken giggle*

“Ladies, please. This is a church.”

HO. HO. HO.

“Oh my God, I knew I was hungry for something. It was those little cracker things I wanted.”

“You mean our Communion wafers, the symbol of our Lord’s body and his sacrifice for humanity’s sake?”

“Yeah!”

“They are not snacks, my child.”

“Don’t you yell at me! Don’t you oppress me with your Christianity! God, why can’t you just let people live their lives!”
*drunken vomiting into church collection plate*
“We’re outta here!”

“Go in peace, my child.”

“F–k you!”

****

Wow, after reading these very plausible scenarios, maybe walking around dressed like Chief Justice John Roberts or the wind while begging for candy makes more sense.

But who am I to judge?

Last Valentine’s Day I showed up dressed like a sexy fish monger.

Questions, comments, candy? E-mail mlucinski@yahoo.com

Michael Lucinski lives, loves and works in the Washington DC metro area. He graduated from the University at Buffalo and the George Washington University. Sexy tax collector doesn’t sound very sexy.