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Sunday Halloweens are such a waste

Last night wasn’t Halloween, but I still went to a couple Halloween parties. Since Halloween is actually tomorrow night, a Sunday, everyone seems to be having their obligatory costume bashes either tonight or last night. It’s kind of weird to see packs of costumed college students roving the streets a full two nights ahead of schedule, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

As for me and my group, our attempts at costumes could be described as half-hearted at best. Of the four of us, I was the only one who actually planned on wearing anything out of the ordinary, and as it was my costume sucked something righteous – ER scrubs, the bottom half of which are actually just my pajamas. But at least it counted as a costume. Marta pulled the hood of her sweater over her head and said “I’m a lamb.” Bryan ran upstairs and put on his skydiving jumpsuit and goggles, which I guess counted as much as my scrubs. Kyle and Nathan didn’t even try to hide their apathy.

Together we arrived at a house party full of underage drinkers and drama a few blocks from Bryan’s house. Understand that when I allege that the party was full of drama, I do so in the context of my experience attending parties hosted by hipster kids, drama students, and my own set of friends – all-told, a very dramatic baseline. Maybe it’s just been too long since I was an underage drinker, but I can’t remember ever being as frantically worried about the cops as these kids were. They got a call from the neighbors five minutes or so after we got there (that always seems to happen), and shortly thereafter a rumor started circulating that the cops were on their way with their patented MIP goggles, which through the miracle of modern science can ascertain in a single glance who, among the hundred kids at a party, is underage. The rumor definitely succeeded in clearing out the party, leaving only about half the original attendees. Everywhere we went in the house, some dramatic conversation about the impending bust was taking place. We must have sat in on a half-dozen or so such conversations. Apparently one of the housemates was on probation for an MIP a few years ago, and if caught again would go to jail for a year. I didn’t have that much sympathy – if you’re on probation for an MIP, logic dictates that you shouldn’t host a party to which you invite over a hundred underage kids and let two bands play, essentially guaranteeing the noise complaint that will bring police. As we left the house, the rumor mill had it that a girl inside had fallen off the makeshift bar and hit her head, and that an ambulance was on the way. The residents actually had posted people on the sidewalk in front of the house at that point, casting anxiously up and down the street for the approach of police. I have no idea what the guards were supposed to do should they have seen a cop car, but they did tell Bryan to lower his voice as he talked on his cell phone.

Party number two was at Erin’s and James’ house a few blocks from my own. No one there was freaking out, which was a welcome change from the house we’d just left. What’s more, they had an X-Box and a GameCube hooked up in the living room, kick-ass pico de gallo and Halloween-themed cookies next to the keg, and a foosball table. Everyone had a very pleasant time, and none of us were arrested.

It’s worth mentioning that their house was also the setting for my ill-fated farewell to sobriety article, and they had it taped to the door of their fridge. Basically, people really like cameo appearances in my column. Kelly met us there some time after midnight and had an interesting story to relate when I pointed the newspaper clipping out to her. She was at a bar with some friends, and ran into her friend Casi and her housemates. She was telling a story to the latter and quoted me about something or other, at which point one of the housemates perked up and said, “Zach Musgrave? I love him! That’s so awesome you know him! He’s the only reason I read the Daily!” and so on. See, I do have fans. What makes this story interesting, however, is that after Girl #1 had declared her allegiance to my column, another housemate piped up and said, “Zach Musgrave is stupid! I read his column every week too, but only so I can laugh about how bad it is!” Then, according to Kelly, Girl #1 and Girl #2 engaged in a very spirited argument over my worth as an editorialist. I knew that both types of readers existed, but this is the first I’ve heard of the two sides duking it out for primacy in a bar room. Could it be that I’m actually as famous as I tell people I am when I’m drunk at parties? Man, that line never works. I have to be really sloshed to think it’s a good idea to pull that one out.

In closing, the top three sexiest costumes for girls remain: Naughty French Maid; Naughty Nurse; and Naughty Angel / Devil / Armed Service Woman / Whatever. I hope the ladies in the audience are taking notes.

Posted in Musings.


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