The Scary Side of Halloween

This past weekend, I found myself in a costume shop helping a friend pick out a Halloween outfit. Picking through racks of packaged costumes, I realized that Halloween can indeed bring up some very scary realizations.

Admittedly, this is something that I have never experienced previously, as through my childhood my mom helped us make costumes or had an excellent eye for using everyday objects to encourage us to create masterful disguises. In my younger years I had the traditional costumes--pumpkin, pilgrim (I hated it, but my mom argues that it would keep me warm and perhaps felt like she was outsmarting Halloween by having me dress as a Puritan), fairy, clown, Queen Esther (the year Halloween fell on Friday night), and Pocahontas (I guess I no longer could pass as a Puritan and had to take the opposing side!). When I got older, I soon got to create my own costumes, and this led to the era of Smurfette (which most people thought resembled a blueberry), Marsha Brady, and a writer. In my opinion, my sister always had unique outfits (with the exception of Ms. America), and I can recall her being a detective and a single mom who lacked sleep complete with drawn-in eyes circles.

To me, Halloween was another extension of "dress-up" time where you got to choose crazy outfits and embrace the characterization of something within that previously you were perhaps afraid to show. My freshmen year of college, I dressed as a Gothic Girl, and put on the black lipstick, white make-up and Hot Topic clothes, and was satisfied with my "scary" image as I looked in the mirror and realized it unlocked in a little bit of a "badass" that I didn't feel comfortable showing to others.

Recently as I've chosen outfits to wear to a costume party or work, I don't have to look to hard, as most agree that my wardrobe already has many strange clothes in it already. Most recently I have been a hippy, a geisha, a flapper, and Lady Bird Johnson, and each outfit required no additional purchases. It's easy for me to reach into my closet and play "dress-up" because that is what I do most everyday!

As I stood with my friend in the costume store, I was surprised by how much the lack of creativity and imagination permeated throughout the selection. My first clue that these were not the costumes of my youth were the names of the designers entitled 'Legs" and "Sexy" (The unique names simply blew me away!). I then looked around and saw that every single costume for women had two things in common: #1: They were hardly any clothes involved (for ridiculous prices) and #2: They were all figures from fantasy, history, and mostly childhood. I saw costumes that immediately took me back 15-20 years: Strawberry Shortcake, Raggedy Anne, Rainbow Brite, and Care Bears. Then came the slutty Cinderellas and Tinkerbells, and finally a big display of Beer Maidens among the Greek Goddesses and the quintessential whorish nurse. (I also managed to see that around 5% of the costumes were for guys, and all of them were fully clothed, baggy, and matched a corresponding female outfit).

As I saw my friend try on a $60.00 Red Riding Hood outfit that was going to cost an additional $30.00 or so in accessories, I realized that my childhood dress-up game was no longer one of innocence, wonder and imagination, but rather it had morphed as an adult into a display of ultimate objectification in a way that most would disagree with if they only stopped to think (something that happens less and less in our culture unfortunately). My critique doesn't come from the fact that I am a giant prude or am against expressing confidence through clothing (my co-workers have joked about the fact that I have no qualms wearing fishnet stockings to work in what I consider a tasteful and creative display of color and texture) but I hate to see how little our imaginations are used when it comes to dressing up, and how satisfied we are to simply buy a packaged costume without thinking further about the implications it contains.

All the costumes presented in that store sold the same myth that Americans are bombarded with everyday: "Wear me, and you'll have the sexy allure that you've always wanted but never could attain wrapped up with childlike innocence that will cause all of your dreams to come true". Now that we are older, it isn't enough to simply read or watch the fairy tales that we were told as a kid, we want to embody them. The psychology behind the costumes are startling: Morph into a childhood play thing, and someone will want to pick you up and coddle you. Try your hand at being a princess, and you'll have your dreams come true. Become a courageous character from history and have people admire your cleavage, courage, ass, and strength. Take on the beer maiden and nurse persona, and you could star in your own porno. I do realize that at its core, dressing up gives us power that we desire, but I have to wonder if we are actually giving up more power through some of our choices.

As mentioned, when it comes to clothes, I do tend to wander outside of the box. Since childhood, I have been fascinated by color, texture, shape, and lines. My style was continually evolving as I experimented with the super trendy along side what some would consider the super ugly, but through the process I wasn't trying to become a different person, but rather experimenting with creating the look that reflected the person I already was. I still get varying reviews on what I choose to wear (as a teacher I find myself with 60 new critics of 7th graders who are always eager to share their views) but the bottom line is that everything I own I truly love, and it tells a story about the type of person I am as it embraces the good, bad and creative parts in unison.

As I stood in that costume shop, I was disenchanted as I realized that every single person was happy to think inside the box and accept the package they were given as they believed it would transform them to the picture of what they aspired to be like. It saddened me to think that as an adult, dress up has stopped becoming the possibility of what we could attain to and dream of being, but rather it has become a process of trying to adhere ourselves to the mold that society tells us is enticing--which arguably means showing more cleavage and legs while returning to an object that has more to do with being dominated than with being powerful. (Or getting laid...but I won't digress down that road!)

I could tell my friend was not happy with her costume the sales lady was desperately trying to sell her, and suggested that we go to a regular store where we pulled from dresses and accessories to make an outfit that exuded creativity, style and glamor for less than what she would have paid. The bonus was that she was truly happy in the process of the creation, and it was great that she could wear the pieces in her everyday life as well.

I haven't yet fully decided what I will be this year, but I'm excited to see what I'll come up with. At least I know that whatever the outcome, for one night I'll get to be someone who I choose to create, rather than trying to fit into that glass slipper that will always rub blisters on my large feet.

I guess I'd rather be outside of the box than try to fit into a pre-packaged one that boasts "one size fits all". I think in the end I'll be happier with the treat I discover, because I know I haven't been tricked.

Happy Halloween!

Be Still; My Beating Heart

I have a new love.

Many who know me well will be shocked to learn that my decisive, logical, and over-analytical nature has allowed me to enter into a state that is known for its irrational behavior and constant variables.

However, (against many odds), I do find myself (and using a cliché I've often chided) falling head-over-heels in love. My new obsession: Ode Magazine for Intelligent Optimists.

Our unlikely union began when I caught sight of the magazine's tag line in a CVS store while browsing the latest Newsweek issue. They always say (whoever they are!) that you fall in love when you least expect it, and I guess I was victim of the same fate.

I re-read the slogan, "for intelligent optimists" and felt my heart start to twitter. While I do consider myself a pure optimist (my life work has been cheering and advocating for the underdogs) the jury is still out on the intelligence issue. Case in point: this afternoon I tried to unlock the front door of my house by pressing the "unlock" button on my car keys. I was standing there a few moments before I figured out the flaw in my thinking. At any rate, I started to develop a crush, and decided to investigate further as I read the magazine's byline and felt my heart start to pound with each sentence read:

"We are an independent international journal, without strings to the world of commerce and power. We believe in progress, ongoing opportunities, and the creativity of humankind. We contribute to the progress by publishing stories about people and ideas that are making a difference. We address society's problems too, because they represent opportunities for positive change. We publish stories that bridge the gap of the rich and poor. By doing so we build peace and sustainability. this is the news we promise to deliver. We offer our readers the chance to link up with an international network of inspiration and cooperation, strengthening the forces devoted to respect, justice and equality. This way we hope to invite them to make their own contributions to a more just and sustainable world Ode Magazine)".

Needless to say, this paragraph was a major turn-on, and I felt my cold, cold heart start to melt.

That was the moment our love affair began.

Like a good love interest, Ode brings new ideas and perspectives into my life, as it causes me to analyze situations in new and challenging ways, while always paying homage to my previous convictions (and allowing me to change at my own pace!). It is smart, witty, full of interesting conversational pieces, and allows my mind to wander to far away places. Its the perfect companion after a long day of tireless work, and it always brings out the best in me without being too preachy or patronizing. However, above all, Ode has the one quality that makes it an irresistible companion above all others: it truly, deeply understands me and my needs! :)

No more do I have to feel inadequate as I yearn for interesting news stories and human interest pieces that are intellectual and meaningful. No longer do I need to feel bombarded by topics that depress me and call for internalization and unsatisfied grappling. Gone are the days of reading articles and feeling our world is a mean, cruel place with no room for growth and prosperity. This one magazine has taken my dreams, and made them a concrete-and not irrational-reality. To me, that is true love.

Now before I take this metaphor too far (perhaps I have already crossed that line!) it is hard to find simple inspiration in a world where negativity (not just sex) sells. I realize that I am in a profession that seems to be in constant turmoil as we face problems and issues that at times seem unsolvable, and I know that our nation is steeped in "bad vibes" (whether it be about the economy, the environment, commerce, safety, prosperity, development, religiosity, politics, education, health, foreign policy or many other topics). In addition, we live in a world where we don't feel as if we have any control, so we complain to regain some of the power that we have lost in order to attempt to deal with our feelings of being unsatisfied (as with any bad relationship).

As a critical thinker, I do realize its a little asinine of me to think that one magazine has the capability to wave a magic wand and change all of the complex issues that we face as citizens of the world, but it does attempt to make us take stock in our meta-cognitive capabilities and think outside of the box instead of just complain about it. I have a lot of friends and colleagues who want to tell me what is wrong with the world, (and think that I live in a utopian bubble of optimistic idealism that could one day qualify me for a psychiatric ward) but very few who help me focus on what is good with this existence that I wake up to each day. I appreciate Ode because it takes theory to a new level and actually doesn't just tell me about what is good in life (or help me tune-out to its negative tendencies through the media's distracting massage), but it illustrates to me people and situations that are beating the odds by making idealism occur everyday. As a bonus, its not as cheesy or unrealistic as a Lifetime movie, either.

As I sit here with a big, toothy, twitterpated grin (procrastinating on all of the undesirable things I have to do today), I find myself realizing that perhaps true love is possible after all. It starts with my ability to be inspired, and the courage to actually live a life on the less-traveled road of optimism. When contemplating the dull humdrum of suburban society, Jack Kerouac in The Dharma Bums said, "You'll see what I mean, when it begins to appear like everybody in the world is soon going to be thinking the same way and the Zen Lunatics have long joined dust, laughter on their dust lips" (104).

Perhaps some may see me as a "Zen Lunatic" but at least I know that now I have an entity in my life that will accept me as I am, and make no harsh judgment.

In the end, THAT is all a single gal could ask for. :)

Ah! Look at all the Lonely People...

Ah! Look at all the Lonely People!
Current mood: contemplative


Disclaimer: This blog would be enhanced by listening to the Beatle's song, "Eleanor Rigby" as I make reference to their lyrical genius.

I found a lonely person this past Sunday morning as I searched for a place to sit at the coffee shop. I wasn't looking for a long conversation to go with my chai tea and un-graded persuasive essays, but I settled into one as I shared a table with Susan, a 50-something modern day Eleanor Rigby who was visiting her parents for the weekend. Her big dilemma for the day revolved around whether or not she was going to venture out for a bike ride, but the wind was intimidating. After hearing several anecdotal stories about her cats and the challenges she faced while substitute teaching, I was ready to brave the wind and find solace in a table outside.

I didn't, for fear that my papers would blow everywhere. After another half hour, my best "listening" smile was beginning to strain, and I reached into my red purse, and made a great show of looking for a grading pen, hoping she could take a hint. As I hunted for my favorite purple gel pen, I saw the book I was savoring to read after work had been done, and was reminded of a passage I had underlined earlier this week:

"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to talk, mad to live, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles".

Instantly, my mind flashed to some pages that are taped into the back of my Bible. They had been put there during my freshman year at college as encouraged by our Life and Teachings teacher, a little silver-haired man who loved to have us sing hymns before class started, and never quite caught on that the boys in the back requested extra verses just to waste time. The image of Father McKenzie writing his sermons comes to mind. At any rate, I've always intended to remove them after they had served their purpose after my class final, but I feared that peeling the tape off would ruin the binding.

I've only re-read their contents a few times when I've been in a very boring church service, as they are simply a collection of outlines and quotations revolving around major themes in the book of Matthew. Mostly, they all point to the concept of being a missionary, as they unpack the parables involving people or things hoping to be found, or waiting to be noticed.

As I thought about those pages, I couldn't help but notice the fact that perhaps Jack Kerouac could have been writing words of Jesus. I saw the ten virgins waiting outside as they held their oil that, "burn, burn, burns, like fabulous yellow roman candles". My mind flashed to the prodigal son, wanting and "desirous of everything at the same time". I thought of the colorful characters Jesus associated with who never, "said a commonplace thing", and the lost coin, sheep and son who are, "mad to be saved". I pictured Martha who was, "mad to talk", and the sick who were, "mad to live". As I pondered about how Jack wrote from his experiences on an open road, I couldn't help but draw comparison to Jesus as he went from one shadowy street to another witnessing the lost and lonely.

My mom uses the phrase, "it's a God thing" when she explains the times when the divine meets ordinary. I wish at the time I could have recognized that this was one of those possible moments, but instead of walking across the room and sharing these thoughts with Susan, I reached for my purple pen. She took the hint, and moved to an open table as I began to grade.

A few minutes later I glanced up, and saw her talking to the person she had intended to meet: a blind woman who frequents the coffee shop with her cuddly white dog. I watched their easy conversation as they smiled and shared stories. Later I saw Susan navigate her friend across the street as the wind gently nudged the edges of their clothing, like a child tugging to play.

My ipod drowned out all sounds as I finally had the space I had previously desired. I sipped my lukewarm chai tea as my purple pen flourished advice and correction across the wrinkled pages. Later as I booted up my Mac to enter in the grades, I saw that in a room full of people, I was the only one sitting alone.

Perhaps when we don't take the time to seek the ones who are mad, longing to be saved, or burning like roman candles, we are the lonely people picking up the rice where a wedding has been, left by those virgins who listened.

All the Lonely people...where do they all come from? Where do they all belong?

I believe that both Jesus and Jack know the answer to that one.

I looked out the window, and feared that perhaps I was the one wearing the face that I keep in a jar by the door. Like I was saying earlier, I found a lonely person this past Sunday morning at the coffee shop.

I just didn't think that it was going to be me.