Don't Listen to This Man

He just doesn't understand candy! Candy corn is one of my favorites (but ONLY this time of year) and make awesome vampire teeth, hillbilly teeth, nose plugs, etc.
The particular hard candies pictured used to be my favorites, but I can't eat them now because anything that requires sucking on rubs holes in my mouth. I can eat one hard candy per day maximum.
I'd eat Necco wafers all year long, and as for the fun-size candies - fun-size must refer to his ... brain.
We give out atomic fireballs at our house because we just love 'em and we hate greedy bastard children. Kids with a sense of humor will love the atomic fireballs either for a palette cleanser after all the cheap chocolate or to bring tears to the eyes of their friends.
I remember Hallowe'en as some of the happiest times of my life, even with apples, raisins, and those horrible popcorn balls. Categorizing the candy and rating it was part of the fun! And you ate the icky stuff first and put the Mars candy bars in the freezer because they were awesome frozen and shattered with a hammer.
So, don't listen to this Ed Levine idiot! Kids like quantity of candy and as long as they can have a few goodies they'll be happy.

What in the Samhain?!

I don't even like zombie movies, but I dress up for Halloween in Second Life.

There was a slight problem with storytime recently. I had a family walk out on my "If you're scary and you know it" song because they "don't celebrate Halloween." I know these people are out there. Usually they don't come to storytimes during October. Five minutes later a grandmother showed up with a child who was allowed to "make a face, show his fangs, etc." so I got to do it after all. I don't suppose it would have bothered me to the point of lashing out at the mother if she hadn't kept repeating that she didn't "want to be disrespectful." That "but I will" hangs in the air, doesn't it? She said it over and over and all I was hearing was "disrespect" - although I'm not sure whose actions it described.
This is like when my dad was telling me I was a good girl. "You're a good kid, you are. You are awfully good! Awfully, awfully, awfully good." I heard the "awfully" part and I heard it as "awful." So what I was hearing from this mom was "disrespect." I told her it was all right, but that she didn't need to repeat it.
No, she could make her apologies and just leave quietly. I have nothing to say to someone from some bizarre cult that abjures innocuous celebrations because of ignorance and hearsay and thereby engenders unnatural fears in her children that this holiday silliness is real, lending it much more power than wearing masks and making believe ever could.
But I could be wrong.

Being an honest person, I feel compelled to investigate my knee-jerk reactions and hold them up to scrutiny. In the opinion of this town (if they were aware of it), I too belong to a cult. I am a non-Christian in the holes of the strap of the Bible-belt. I've been to meetings that start with Christian prayers. I'm hounded by proselytizers. I'm asked stupid questions ("Are Catholics Christian? My preacher says they worship Mary."). There's a fragmentary church on every corner, exhibiting the definition of paranoia, blaming everything outside yourself: Those people are wrong and are going to hell; we are the only ones who know the right way (and I'm not too sure about you). The churches get smaller and smaller. They believe slavishly what they are told. They don't want to think for themselves, either because they don't trust their abilities to reason or they're just plain lazy. Again, that's just my opinion.

Most of these people have not ventured far from home and don't realize that there are other valid ways of life. I'm not saying that going begging from house to house and accumulating more candy than someone should reasonably consume in six months and scarfing it down in a matter of days is a good idea. It was, however, a cherished memory of childhood. Children enjoy being scared under safe circumstances. Having some sort of major holiday each month to mark the passage of time or to use as a teaching point is a good idea. Ancient traditions must have something important that they bring to our lives if they have been kept up this long and, as long as they aren't hurting anyone (other than making us enormously fat), are nice to keep.

I do believe in gorging oneself before winter, putting up lights and decorations to cheer the darkest part of the year, and celebrating new life in the spring. Therefore, I decorate for Christmas, I return the greeting when people wish me happy Christmas, I can sing carols, go to Christmas parties, send out cards (carefully not mentioning Christmas), do Christmas storytimes, and get all teary over the Christmas Story. Just don't make me do any praying or show up at your worship service. I will wait respectfully while you pray, but leave me out of it. So, when someone takes their holier-than-thou stand with me, I will get a bit huffy. I think, I've put up with you [insert rude plural noun here] down here for eighteen years and I'm getting fed up with it. You're only doing it to get attention.

Let me ask myself an honest question: Would I tell Christmas stories to little Jewish kids (despite the unlikeliness of this happening in my current location)? Hmmm, I've got me there. No, I would not do that and would not rail against it if their mom got up and said, "We don't do Christmas." Of course, I do give Alex a hard time for giving me a hard time over the "Christmas card." "Why did you send me a Christmas card when you know I'm Jewish?!" I didn't send you a Christmas card, Alex, I sent a Season's Greetings card with a Hanukkah stamp to let you know that I am well and I'm thinking about you although I wonder why if you're going to be such a butthole about it and next time it might be the Eid stamp, so watch it.

Anyway, are these examples actual equivalents? Let's look at this again.
Halloween: an American holiday that up until a short time ago was celebrated almost universally with happy, over-sugared children in schools, neighborhoods, and even churches. Currently linked to Satanism through spurious so-called histories and urban legends, but more likely a conspiracy of the candy manufacturers, dentists, and the weight-loss industry.
Christmas: an almost world-wide holiday celebrated only by Christians who have been historically documented less than 400 years ago to burn at the stake people who would not adhere to the exact dogma espoused by the local authorities (and let's remember that Protestants did their fair share of torture and murder as well, so don't get all "Those were Catholics, not us!" on me).
I don't see a real comparison, do you?

But it's time to put myself under the microscope and find my own prejudices. Ah, and there it is looking me right in the eye: July Fourth. I've written about this in another blog. Patriotism is right up there with religion as far as dangerous hobbies go. Red, white, and blue is a terrible color combination and love of country has unfortunately turned into a litmus test. Do I have pride in my country? Of a sort. It might not be like yours, waving the flag and talking about how wonderful it all is and cheering on the politicians of choice. Again, it takes into account that there are other ways of living that are just as valid. I don't want to praise my country to the detriment of another. What about the American people? I feel a kinship with them that I don't feel for those of my forebears. Germans are scary and talk funny. Americans share a common culture with me (except those non-Halloweenie people), but I do not say that this culture we share is better than anyone else's. It's just one that we share. Our government? It's messy, but it works well enough and doesn't seem to be any better or worse than anyone else's.
Would I go to a Fourth of July party? Well, it's a party, isn't it? You betcha! Would I wave a flag? Maybe, but flag-waving makes me uncomfortable. I'd sing the few patriotic songs I know because I learned them in school, although the national anthem is starting to get out of my range. It would help if I could feel good about my country again, if it didn't invade other countries or bomb other countries (perhaps I should be grateful we don't bomb ourselves but maybe that's next), or continually bully other countries into doing something (not that we're the only ones who do this) they'd rather not, even if they're being really naughty. I don't think I'd be described as patriotic by most people and that wouldn't really bother me.
The salient point, though, is that I would not show up at a friend's picnic in early July and then walk out on it because it was a July Fourth Party. "Sorry, I just don't do patriotism. I don't mean to be disrespectful ..."


I'm embarrassed to be caught at a Fourth of July Party in Second Life. OMG! I'm even waving a sparkler!

I Was a Female Impersonator

Sorry, no photos. I don't even know if any were taken. Halloween was coming up, and, after the release of "Victor/Victoria" I had the idea of dressing as a female impersonator. I was living with Fred-the-make-up-artist at the time and he asked me what I wanted to do. If I was going to be seen with him, it had better be good. I told him. His expression was blank for a few seconds and then the idea grew on him. He liked it. He liked it a lot.
My job was to find a dress. I was hoping to find something cheap and slutty on E. 86th Street where, Fred claimed, prostitutes hung out. They were utterly invisible to me. What I really needed was a Salvation Army store, but I didn't know of anything like that in the upper east 80s. Apparently, "cheap" was not an E. 86th Street description. I found instead a grey silk dress that had long sleeves (the better to hide arm hair), a scarf, and a sash that one could throw together in interesting ways, if one isn't me. I have no ability there, but I figgered Fred did.
Fred acquired a red wig that would do Danny LaRue proud. He explained what he would be doing to make me look more like a guy trying to look like a woman. "I'll cover your eyebrows and draw in new ones above them," he told me - which explains the perpetually surprised look of some FIs.
For my part, I took my bra and stuffed it, clumsily. I wanted it to look stuffed, so I balled some tissues and put them on top of my breasts and maybe a few to the side.
Fred was initially excited about his own costume idea, which reminded me of those spinning paint things you do at carnivals, but he really got into doing me up: gold over the brows, exaggerated lips, etc. It wasn't his first FI job, but this was a new twist.
Our first stop was a party on the Upper West with some of Fred's friends. One of them was a young guy who had a part-time job as a clown, so he had a ready-made costume for all occasions. I don't recall his name (sorry! waited too long to write my memoirs, didn't I?), so I'll just call him Bubo the Clown. On the Upper West, I was crossing my legs ankle to knee, in keeping with someone less-familiar with transvestitism. Bubo started lecturing me on the proper way for ladies to cross their legs. I listened studiously, agog. Really? How fascinating. Fred eventually stepped in to set him ... straight. "Marf," he explained, "as in Martha. This is my roommate." Bubo actually gasped. "Oh, nooooooo!" he wailed. He was horrified that he'd made some sort of gaff, but I was quite chuffed to have actually fooled someone.
It was then decided we should test the costume on a tougher audience. We were going to go to the Christopher Street Parade, the Gay Halloween Mecca. I already was regretting my heels, spiky and pointy-toed.
At the parade, I had Fred and Bubo as heralds, proclaiming the arrival of this Beautiful Woman. I got whistles and leers. It put me in mind of Pres's experience on Christopher Street when he was walking with me. He'd become frustrated because he wasn't being "cruised." Then he remembered that I was with him. Duh! He had expected that he would still be looked at, eye-contact would be made, but a woman at his side disconnected him from a familiar world. Now I had the reverse on them. The laugh was on them, the men who mistook me for another man ... dressed as a woman. At one point, someone grabbed my ass and then shrieked, "Omigawd! It's a real woman!" The three of us burst out laughing. I waved airily at my admirers. I didn't have many in my drab, everyday existence. It was fun to steal some attention from gay men, to be cruised, whistled at, fondled, and to horrify. After all, it was Halloween.
Halloween is Everyday in Second Life. Anyone can be disguised. People can be fooled. This is something that I avoid doing, probably because it is outside of Halloween or April Fool's Day when license is granted. I don't consider the multitude of avatars I keep "on hangers" in my inventory to be fooling anyone. They still carry the label "Lludmila." I may act slightly differently with each of them on (wearing a male av I resist some of my squealing noises: Ewwww! OoooOOoooo!), but it's still me back there behind the mask behaving in what I hope is a reasonably normal fashion. It's much easier to pad the bra ... or even squish it down with the sliders. I can be fatter, thinner, prettier, younger, older than I am in RL. It might be my lack of imagination, but I can't bring myself to stray too far from my real self.
A strikingly beautiful older woman was in the library today and because we were short-handed, I was at the front desk doing her library card. She had written her birthdate down and I realised ... she was five years younger than I was. Aw, sh111111t! I was thinking 60s! SH1111111T!!!! She's not even 50!!!! How old must I look? Whatever age it is, it's nowhere as good as she looks!I used to have an imagination. What the hell happened to it? Right now I just seem to imagine myself too old. arrrrgh!