The first year I lived in Bolton Hill, my two roommates and I decided it would be great fun to drink National Bohemians, sit on our front stoop and hand out candy to the kids in the neighborhood. After a half hour, we realized what a drag that was, because all the kids that came to our door neglected to dress in costume, preferring to just grab a handful of candy and then… grab another handful of candy. Even more charming were the thirty-year-old people who were getting candy for their “brother who’s home sick in bed.” After hearing that same story five or six times, we stopped filling the bowl, unscrewed the light bulb in the foyer, and walked down to the Tavern for drinks.

This year is a totally different experience, and I’m looking forward to a new start. The house is kind of spooky on its own (without outdoor lights in the driveway, it’s very dark) but with the lights on it’s more cheerful. I went to the Target this afternoon and dropped $20 on ten pounds of candy, and hopefully I can throw together some kind of spooky costume tomorrow. Kids? Bring ’em on. I got yer candy right here.

In other news, I have found that it’s impossible to purchase a standard Humanitarian Daily Ration (what they’ve been dropping by the thousands in vacation spots like Iraq and Afghanistan) unless you have recently had the crap bombed out of you. I’ve been on the phone—thanks again for that VoIP phone, John— all day, and the most success I got back was a polite but firm no way. I’m going to have to figure out another way to describe this to my class.