So Halloween weekend is officially over, even though the day itself is not until tomorrow. In addition to the usual pumpkin shopping trip to the farmer’s market and the watching of much spooky television, I had two events to hit up on Saturday night. The first was an awesome Halloween party with a Quentin Tarantino theme, held by our friends Meg and Johan. The costumes were tremendous and while I was sorry I couldn’t stay the whole night, it was certainly a good time.

Afterwards I headed downtown to meet up with a different group of friends before heading to Smack, which has the honor of being the most bizarrely entertaining club event I’ve ever attended. There were three distinct groups which made the whole thing possible: the goths (who were there for the music and dancing), the fetish people (who were there to show off their shiny and complex clothing), and the regular Halloween partygoers (who were there to gawk at the goths and the fetish people). My friends and I fit most closely into the first of these categories, although it’s fair to say we did a considerable amount of gawking ourselves.

Among our favorite club patrons was a middle-aged guy who looked like he ought to have been teaching a high school math class, but was instead dressed in PVC hotpants and a t-shirt that read "MASOCHIST." Also, white socks and sneakers. We kept encountering him, either hunched up against a wall or, more commonly, hobbling from one end of the club to the other in search of something or someone - the world may never know what. Also entertaining were the guy dressed in a Sexy Female Firefighter costume and dancing on a glass table that we all kind of hoped would break, the guy with the giant inflatable penis strapped to his waist, Creepy Red Bra Man (who needs no further description), and the usual slew of girls with intimidating quantities of fake hair and blacklight-reactive body paint.

The music was great, though - I can’t remember the last time I heard Skinny Puppy played somewhere other than my iPod. And also worth noting is the fact that my friend Al’s Morrissey costume (consisting of a black velvet suit and some hairstyle adjustment) was so successful that at least two distinct groups of people mistook him for the real thing. There are worse people for whom someone could be mistaken, I think.

Anyhow, eventually we all made it home and I spent Sunday eating Halloween candy, watching horror movies with Chris, and pampering my aching feet. All in all, as strange and enjoyable a Halloween weekend as any I’ve had in recent years.