HALLOWEEN'S BIGGEST SCARE

On Oct 17, George Bush quietly signed a bill allowing him to declare unfettered martial law. You can read about it here.

Though the Posse Comitatus Act has seen its effectiveness reduced over the last 20 years, the Bush administration used the devastation caused by Hurricane Katrina as justification for its elimination. Nevermind that much of the human devastation was the administration's fault.

Americans in their blissful ingnorance have allowed Bush to methodically consolidate unprecedented power for the Executive Branch and weaken the foundation of our country and Constitution without meaningful comment or criticism. (The worst act, in my opinion, was the recent revocation of Habeus Corpus for select individuals.)

The Posse Comitatus Act states:

Whoever, except in cases and under circumstances expressly authorized by the Constitution or Act of Congress, willfully uses any part of the Army or Air Force as a posse comitatus or otherwise to execute the laws shall be fined under this title or imprisoned not more than two years, or both.

It was the only U.S. criminal statute to outlaw military operations directed against the American people under the cover of 'law enforcement.

"If a nation expects to be ignorant and free, in a state of civilization,

it expects what never was and never will be."

-Thomas Jefferson

TELEVISION FOR NEO -CONS?
For the longest time I've been telling friends that the new Battlestar Galactica is one of the best shows on television. It's like the West Wing meets 24 with a smattering of Band Of Brothers... in outer space... with evil robots (aka Cylons). It's basically sci fi/action for smart people. Between the exploding spaceships, triple cross betrayals and political intrigue, the show has tackled everything from abortion to theology to alcoholism. Most remarkably, it may be the only program on TV (present or past) where sexual enlightment truly exists. In the world of BG, a women's sex is irrelevant to her profession, ability to perform or the respect she recieves. Sexual politics simply don't exist and the show's femaile characters are just as interesting, flawed, noble and complex as any of the male characters. Maybe moreso.

Which isn't to say sex and/or personal relationships don't exist in the show. They do. It's just that the gender of the characters never informs their professional decisions, emotions or reactions. The women never try to prove themselves equal to the men because in Galactica's universe they are equal.

No character embodies this ideal better than Kara Thrace (aka Starbuck) the sexy, gutsy, devil-may-care fighter pilot who can outgun (and outdrink) anyone in the fleet. There are no caveats to her abilities, no instances of grudging respect from the men or gender-based confrontations with command. She is simply the best at what she does and acknowledged accordingly... except when she screws up. Which she does from time to time.

I'm certainly not first to sing Galactica's praises. The NY Times, Salon Magazine and numerous other publications have all rhapsodized about the show's virtues. So, why are so many of my friends reluctant to check it out? Of all the series, films or music I've recommended, this has been the hardest one to sell. Is it the title? Memories of the inane 80s show? Whatever it is, you really should get over yourself, rent the first season's DVDs and see for yourself how good this series really is.

Now, all this has just been a prelude to what I really wanted to chat about... the fact that hardcore conservatives (neo-cons especially) like some of the same shows I do. Namely, 24 and Battlestar Galactica.

Both are good examples of why I think we are in or entering the true Golden Age of television. And both, to my disgust, have been used as rationalizations and inspirations for supporters of the Bush administration's tactics in the 'War On Terror' (appropriately labeled by Monty Python's Terry Jones as the War On Abstract Nouns).

Right wingnut Lauren Ingram actually cited 24's popularity as a clear indication that Americans fully support the administration's position on torture... even going so far as to suggest we'd like to see things taken a bit further. After all, Jack Bauer (the hero of 24) wouldn't rely on anything as namby-pamby as water-boarding to get time sensitive information. Stripped wires, an electrical outlet and an exposed pair of testicles will do the job nicely, thank you very much.

Anyway, sci fi neo-con wingnuts (call them 'Galacticons') looked to the first two seasons of Battlestar Galactica as a rousing endorsement of our 'War In Iraq.' This third season, however, has proven to be a bit harder for them to embrace. But why read my words, when others do a better job of following their knotty logic and outrage?

"But alas, this love affair between Galactica and the right was not to last: in its third season, the show has morphed into a stinging allegorical critique of America’s three-year occupation of Iraq. The trouble started at the end of the second season, when humanity briefly escaped the Cylons and settled down on the tiny planet of New Caprica. The Cylons soon returned and quickly conquered the defenseless humans. But instead of slaughtering everyone, the Cylons decided to take a more enlightened path by “benevolently occupying” the planet and imposing their preferred way of life by gunpoint. The humans were predictably not enthused about their allegedly altruistic rulers, and they immediately launched an insurgency against them using improvised explosive devices and suicide bombers. Needless to say, this did not go over very well in the Galacticon camp."

You can read the whole piece here.

See, now you have an excuse to watch something on the Sci Fi channel. It's not that you're a geek, it's just that you're trying to keep up with cultural-political issues.

1. So, I found this nifty ZOMBIE FONT generator. Come on, admit it, life isn't complete until you've had your name spelled out by the undead.
2. Pepperoni is scary. And not just to vegans!
3. Here's how to keep your pumpkin from rotting. Once again the scientific method triumphs. I'd like to see a creationist figure out how to keep their pumpkin from rotting.
4. Didn't find the perfect pumpkin carving stencil. Here's another...
5. A site called The Monster Club has posted 100 horror radio plays from radio's golden age! How cool is that? Listen to stories like Frankenstein, Sorry, Wrong Number and The Day the Earth Stood Still.

And for those of you who may think pumpkin carving is just fun and games... this film will turn your blood cold.

PS. I think I saw PETOP (People for the Ethical Treatment Of Pumpkins) casing my neighborhood.

HALLOWEEN WEBSITES

1. Need a pumpkin carving pattern? Here, here and here are some sites that provide cool templates. Make your jack-o-lantern the envy of everyone on your block.
2. Here's a compilation of musicians who contributed to CALLING ALL FIENDS, 31 tracks of creepy crawly music. Forget the cutesy novelty tunes of the 50s & 60s (if I hear Monster Mash one more time someone's gonna get stabbed) these tunes claim to be "frightening, damaging and disturbing."
3. You know things have gotten bad when jack o lanterns fall victim to corporate branding.
4. Be the coolest Happy Halloween Homemaker on the block! Serve these treats to your kid's first grade class and watch Child Protective Services swoop right in!

5. These are the most amazing pumpkin carvings I've ever seen. (thx Jeff Sherwood!)

6. If you were an Edward Gorey character how would you die? I was sucked dry by a leach.

7. Finally, check out the horror of haunted hot sauce. They even come with nifty coffins. I want some now.

HALLOWEEN, NOW...

The tampered treat scares of the 1970s and 80s are now just a dim memory. The Internet, thank God, has become the ultimate debunker of urban legends. Snopes.com , in particular, does a decent job of confronting the faux boogeymen that strike fear into the hearts of the gullible (of which I, on occassion, am one).

The site examines the history of false reports of poisoned candy and sheds light on the hand full of cases involving pins and needles. If academic appraisals are more your bailiwick... you might want to check out Dangers in the Halloween Candy…a Myth by Michael Pinney, Professor of Psychology & Folklorist, North Harris College.

At the very least, the articles will make you feel a little better about sending your wee-one out into the neighborhood.

Here in Ann Arbor, my neighborhood can only be described as Rockwellian (as in Norman). The neighbors all know each other, kids walk to school, dog owners gather in the park every night after the last soccer game has ended and in the winter, the 20 foot mound endearingly called 'Magic Mountain' is overrun by pre-teen sledders and their snot-nosed siblings.

This Halloween, like last, we expect 500+ trick or treaters. Our block is ground zero for teens and tots looking to fill their pillow cases and plastic pumpkins with cavity-inducing confections. Every year we spend $50-60 on candy, which Nate, my 4-year-old son, excitedly hands out to the endless stream of costumed canvassers.

During the entire decade I lived in the Pacific Northwest (Portland and Seattle) I could count the number of trick or treaters that came by our house on one hand. Year after year I picked up a couple of bags of candy in expectation of 3 year-old princesses and 4 year-old super heroes ringing my door bell. And year after year I'd end up sharing the fun size chocolate bars with my wife over a rerun of The Simpsons. At least it was a Tree House of Horrors episode.

Ann Arbor, for all its faults, has become a Halloween mecca and every year I spend a little more on decorations and hand outs. This year I bought glow-in-the-dark bats for all the kids at Nate's daycare.

Yet, despite my holiday enthusiasm, I live in the shadow of my neighbor three houses down. Each year, Jim lines his formidable entry way with boxes and boxes of full size candy bars and treats. Every visitor gets to select their choice of sweet and, as you might expect, kids line up in droves to get a grab at the booty. It's the Halloween Holy Grail. And greedy 6th graders trade costumes for a second trip to the trough.

My only consolation is that our house is the most decorated destination on the block. Tombstones spring from our garden, a skeletal scarecrow sits on the porch. Hanging from the second story porch a ghostly apparition sways in the wind as a hidden boom box broadcasts terrifying moans and screams. I can't get the Halloween bug out of my system and year by year my son becomes more infected. It warms my heart and worries my wife.

I can't wait until he's old enough to watch horror films with me. We'll start gently with Universal's Creature Classics (Frankenstein, The Wolfman, The Mummy, etc) then see where the mayhem leads us....

HALLOWEEN, THEN...

I remember the year it all changed. 1978. When rumors of razor blades and straight pins turned my favorite holiday into a police state of parental intervention. Anyone who handed out a homemade or unwrapped treat was immediately a suspect. Nevermind that no one in my town actually knew of any incidents, the threat was real and dammit my parents were sure that the old greek woman down the street -- the one who dropped orange dyed popcorn balls into our pillowcases for the last eight years-- was just biding her time. This was the Halloween she would plant the razor blades that would turn our mouths into raw hamburger. The dentist up on Montauk Highway even offered to x-ray our overflowing bags of candy... just in case heroine tipped needles were buried inside our Tootsie Rolls.

To my 10 year old mind, this was just another case of my parents ruining a perfectly good time. Halloween was hands down my absolute favorite holiday. I would trade Christmas, Channukah and Easter for just one extra day of trick or treating.

And it wasn't the candy. Not really. It was the total embrace of all things terrifying and macabre. 364 days a year I was the gangly geek who showed an unhealthy interest in monster movies and horror novels. But on Halloween I was the master.

I made cool, unabashedly horrifying costumes, turned my garage into a haunted house for my friends and broadcast scary sounds --recorded on my Realistic tape recorder-- out my bedroom window. Peeled grapes became eyeballs, cold spaghetti with vegetable oil became a bowl full of tapeworms and a pail full of cherry jello mixed with sour cream and Crisco became a bucket o' guts.

The evening before I would hide a walkie-talkie in the box spring of my sister Stacey's bed and start hissing, whispering and growling at the stroke of midnight. She'd wake up screaming and my parents, convinced I was to blame, would spend half an hour trying to figure out what it was I had done. Never once did they find the walkie talkie.

The local TV News put an end to my fun.Pointed woman with brittle hair dos warned of the insidious ways treats could become traumas. "Beware! Your neighbors plan to maim little Suzie." Only pristine store bought sweets --preferably hard candy-- were safe... and then, only after careful inspection.

The effect was immediate. Lame Halloween parties replaced door-to-door canvassing. Kids were encouraged to go trick or treating at the Mall. The Mall! Under fluorescent lights with 'The Girl From Ipanema' tinkling in the background.

My parents, always looking for an excuse to save a few bucks and minimize their social obligations, used the panic as an excuse to hand out nickels instead of candy. "We're just being safe, Jeffrey."

For those that still braved the trick or treat gauntlet my house became the lamest destination on the block.

How did this happen?

Halloween was created as a way to confront our fears of the unknown. For one wonderful day we got to dress up; become the vampires, demons, witches and ghosts that frightened us all year long. It was a way to steal ourselves against the cruel uncertainties of the world.

How sad that the most terrifying creature our parents could imagine was the neighbor they didn't quite know. And as we changed into wigs and masks, the monsters put on costumes of their own and became the thing we feared most: ourselves.

Welcome.

RUSTEDEYE is the blog of Jeff Meyers. I'm a freelance writer, film critic (reviews can be found at rustedeye.com), screenwriter, democrat, critical deist, father and husband. I currently live in Ann Arbor, Michigan but hope to someday return to the West Coast -- in particular the Pacific Northwest.

I started this blog as a way to share stuff I stumbled across on the web and in my mind. I hope you'll poke around a bit and come back often.