The Karaoke Chronicles: Scaraoke at Kirk's

I love Halloween. I love karaoke. So, when I heard the two were joining forces as “scaraoke” at Kirk's Sports Grill after downtown Mesa's Second Friday in October, I was excited to see the result. According to Second Friday's Facebook, the deal was simple: Come to Kirk's in costume, get discounts on food and drinks. Oh, I love food and drinks, too.

With just that much encouragement, my girlfriend donned her sexy witch costume, and my buddy Ian gathered his gaudiest clothing possible to pull off a believable porn star (er, no pun intended). I dressed in my mother's old full body pumpkin costume, which is exactly as Oedipal as it sounds. The three of us were Halloween incarnate, and we excitedly entered Kirk's to join others presumably as enraptured by the spirit of the season as we were.

Turns out, “enraptured” is the wrong word, unless “biker” is the most popular Halloween costume this year.

Yes, we were the only ones in costume, but, undaunted, the witch, the pumpkin, and the porn star took a table and signed up to sing as readily as the rest of 'em. At that point, we had to. Fortunately, Kirk's is as open-minded and accepting as any other sports bar on Main Street in downtown Mesa. The crowd, with its wide age range and surprisingly even male/female ratio, sang along to my stirring rendition of “Piano Man,” at least until I obnoxiously slurred the classic chorus into, “Make us a pie, you're the Pumpkin Man . . .!”

Kirk's prices are probably the best in town; a pitcher of Amber Bock cost us five bucks, so ten bucks kept our glasses full for hours. Further, the karaoke jockey is a gracious host, and while I usually loathe k.j.s that invite themselves into a duet (this is MY fifteen minutes of fame, dammit!), his contributions were more supportive than selfish. Ian forgot to put his name on his song submission, which theoretically shouldn't have been a problem considering his distinguished porn star garb, but when we realized what was taking so long the k.j. quickly compensated, and my buddy's impression of Freddie Mercury was soon complete.

Granted, dressed as a pumpkin, I had a unique experience that probably doesn't reflect a regular Friday night at Kirk's Sports Grill. My girlfriend was afraid I'd get beaten up, but my theory stood true: Who's the bigger wuss, the guy dressed as the pumpkin, or the guy that picks on the guy dressed as the pumpkin? That I walked out of Kirk's safely, with a memorable night of karaoke to boot, definitely put a smile on this Jack O'Lantern's face.

Reviving Halloween

Since Halloween was on a Saturday this year, some celebrated the hallowed holiday all weekend long. For me, that's not long enough. I celebrated Halloween all October long, planning a haunted house at work and reviewing Halloween-oriented comics over at my funnybook review blog A Comic A Day. This year, my varied observations and experiences about Halloween intertwine and in some cases have implications or undertones that transcend the holiday, as any annual celebration should, so, like a child separating his favorite candies after a successful night of trick-or-treating, permit me this indulgence in organizing these thoughts, lest they linger like Haunted House cobwebs in my brain.


Bloody dancers, Mother, and superfluous terror on the War of the Worlds set.

First of all, at the beginning of October, some friends, my girlfriend, and I went to Universal Studios' Horror Nights. Yes, every year, my favorite holiday and my favorite theme park have a baby, and it's possessed, and we paid to see it puke all over the room. With the rights to some of the world's most memorable monsters, and the addition of the latest icons of dementia like Freddy Kruger and that creepy Saw puppet, the event is a comprehensive tour of terror, especially the backlot tram ride, where every fanboy's dream of walking up to those classic cinematic facades comes true -- at a price, unless you don't mind chainsaw welding freaks getting in your face on the front steps of Norman Bates' house. The War of the Worlds crash site is definitely the highlight of the tour, as if the grim sight of an airplane's carcass isn't enough to make your skin crawl in this post-9/11 age. Afterward, I found myself grateful to have my feet firmly on the ground, and six feet above it, to boot.

A few weeks later, following my experience as a fortune teller, I was in Arizona for the annual Arizona Treasure Hunt and caught a news story about a haunted house in Tempe suffering from neighborhood complaints of traffic and noise, so I just had to see what the commotion was all about. My girlfriend looked up the address and we swung by on Sunday evening to find the gentleman, Richard Stoudt, setting up props in his front yard, and when we told him we'd seen the news story, he chuckled humbly and allowed us to tour what he'd already built. The multi-room haunted house spanned his front yard, backyard, and garage, with years' and thousands of dollars' worth of props creating a feel as authentic as anything I'd seen accomplished on a professional level, and frankly I was both jealous at its scope and thankful that the similar events I've hosted these past several years were comparable, if only on a smaller scale.


From Stoudt's set-up.

Unfortunately, like most good things, local politics have threatened Stoudt's annual event, which has attracted over 2,000 in recent years. Yes, traffic and noise are apparently an issue for his neighbors, undoubtedly keeping them up all hours of the night as any real ghosts and goblins would, but the city as a whole also takes issue with his tip jar. I understand the dilemma, because just the suggestion of collecting funds transforms his obsessive hobby into a small business, but after meeting the man, I find the antagonism tragic, because he is obviously only a man that seeks to share a passion with other appreciative people. I hope he finds the capital to rent space next year and take his haunted house to the next level. The thought that homemade events like his are endangered in this day of age scares me more than anything.

With Universal Studios and Stoudt on the brain, interestingly each on either end of the corporate haunted house spectrum, I prepared my own eerie event at work for the kids in our community. Traditionally, I like to host this event on Halloween night and provide a safe place for kids to come and uniquely experience the holiday in their own proverbial backyard, but weekend events of any caliber are difficult when families are conditioned to utilize us after school only, so my staff and I opted for Halloween Eve, Friday night. One of the keys to a structured haunted house is deciding themed rooms, to focus one's shopping for props when a seemingly endless array of thematic props is available. In past years, I've built dungeons, demented doctors' offices, graveyards, and pirate ships, some of which I've documented before, but this year my staff wanted to try something different: a scary circus room, a freaky fast food room, and a gypsy room. With this in mind, and a Michael Jackson's "Thriller" theme in mind for our outdoor graveyard, we went to work.

My thrilling beauty, the freaky fast food room, and scenes from the scary circus room.

Well, you know what they say about the best laid plans. Our event was scheduled from 7 p.m. to 8:30 p.m., and by 7:20, we had a line of 40 or more people waiting to get in. As the tour guide, I took groups four to six at a time, and the interior rooms took about five minutes to explore. Toward the end of the night, kids started to tour for a second or third time, and feeling more at ease, they started to tear things down. Outside, they were worse, kicking dirt at and taunting our faux Michael Jackson, who just so happened to be my girlfriend. I've never had problems like that, perhaps in part because I opt to host haunted houses on Halloween, when our event is just one stop among many in the neighborhood, and kids' hands are too busy protecting their candy to wreak havoc. As much as everything looked good (and how 'bout that zombie Jacko, eh?!), the lesson is clear -- forget about ghosts, goblins, witches, and monsters. Unattended children are the real terrors.



Halloween is truly the only holiday where bumping into pirates, ninjas, robots, and superheroes is commonplace, and I love to spread the cheer as much as possible. At my favorite local poetry reading Wednesday night, I read this favorite old blog post, and on Thursday, a coworker and I went to karaoke hosted by Alice Cooper (complete with dead babies, pictured above), which was actually a little more creepy than this Halloween karaoke scene sketched by my buddy Brent. On Halloween itself, my girlfriend and I had breakfast in our witch and fortuneteller costumes, respectively, and the wait staff at Norm's were dressed up, too, so we blended right in. That night, Batgirl and I hit another karaoke venue and to honor the resident Karate Kid costume, I sang Peter Cetera's "The Glory of Love" from the Karate Kid II soundtrack. To my delight, and perhaps one of the highlights of my karaoke career, when I sang the line, "Like a knight in shining armor from a long time ago," I stood next to a knight in shining armor from a long time ago! What happens on Halloween can only happen on Halloween!


Batgirl never looked so hot, Mr. T never looked so white, and a knight has never had better timing!

I can think of no better way to end the Halloween weekend than by watching the undead haunt the waking world on the big screen. No, I'm not talking about Zombieland (though that's a great flick, too), but Michael Jackson's This Is It. Indeed, watching Michael post-mortem attempt to revive his career through a patchwork of beloved hits has a certain Dr. Frankenstein quality to it, but we enjoyed the film and in spite of our observations couldn't pinpoint evidence of Jacko's drug use. If he was as strung out as they say, I expected my cynical eye to find some lack of lucidity, but at worst This Is It is the story of an eccentric performer, which is what we'd expect from a king of pop anyway. Appropriately, "Thriller" is the film's centerpiece, though the high notes of "Human Nature" were haunting in the context of Michael's life and untimely death. If concert footage can have a subplot, it's these performers' inability to experience this highlight in their careers. Make-up and special effects aside, what This Is It could've been is truly a ghost among us.

Now, like every year, Halloween itself is the ghost, long dead in the shadow of the impending Christmas season, haunting the 50%-90% off shelves at Target and Wal-Mart. As much as I love it, that's just where it should be, because you can't get too much of a good thing. Still, throughout the year, whenever I hear "Thriller" on the radio, or I see something that could easily be bloodied for a haunted house, or I reminisce about my favorite candy, Halloween creeps into the dark corners of my brain, like those persistent cobwebs in the corners of the attic. No blog post can clear those webs away.

Happy Halloween!

A Bewitching Guide to Pumpkin Carving:


1. Cut off the top of the pumpkin and scoop out the innards. Try not to look so excited.


2. Carefully apply design stencil and poke holes along its guidelines.


3. Carve along your perforated pumpkin design.


4. Give it up when you realize you'll never look as hot as this!

Alas, I wasn't deterred . . . What a little devil.

I See Halloween in Our Future

My favorite holiday, Halloween, rapidly approaches, and thanks in large part to my day job at a community-oriented non-profit organization, I've already begun to celebrate. First of all, I created a KaraokeFanboy O'Lantern this week . . .



And last weekend, I had the chance to play fortune teller at a local charitable dinner. A coworker asked if I'd play the role, since I have a reputation for thinking on my feet and embracing any chance to dress up, and I happily obliged in both departments. I wanted to secure a Johnny Carson as Carnac look, and a local Halloween shop had a hat (albeit yellow), so at a whopping $15 for headwear, I vowed to make the rest of the costume obscenely affordable. Some yard sale hopping produced the shirt, a silken woman's top, for a mere dollar, and the scarf, 100% silk and made in India, was the perfect accessory from Goodwill for $4. One gaudy 99 Cent Store belt later, I was a sheik, ready to wow a wine soaked crowd with my ability to foresee the future.



Unfortunately, I do not have the ability to foresee the future. My alternative was purchasing fortune cookies and helping my subjects interpret them, and in the last moments before the party, I decided to fill a "Bag of Chance" with some random "Baubles of Fate" from work -- essentially discarded carnival prizes and useless, donated incentives, most notably a slew of personalized "Patrick" calculators and undoubtedly lead-lined lip gloss. Anyway, the host of the shindig decorated her damp wine cellar for me, and after enjoying some free food and drink, my first subject descended to hear her future. Of course, she opted for a bauble of fate, and when I drew a Chinese finger trap, I smirked knowingly.

"The Bag of Chance has chosen a Chinese finger trap for you. Tell me, do you feel trapped in life?"

She replied, "Yes, sometimes I do!"

I paused. "Oh. Uhm, well, you may remember the riddle of the Chinese finger trap, as many try to pull it apart to free their fingers, but the trick is to bring your fingers together," I demonstrated, "like so. Can you think of someone or something that will help free you from your prison, if you pull them closer?"

Yes!" she blurted. "Yes, I think I can! Thank you!"

She ascended the staircase excitedly, as I sat in amazement at my own abilities to -- what? Bluff my way through a pseudo-soothsaying? Or do I really have a gift? Was it a coincidence the only Styrofoam glider I brought was pulled for the guy that was hopping on a plane to Texas the next day? Or that one of the folks to receive a Patrick calculator knew a Patrick? Or that I pulled a rattle for a pregnant woman? (Okay, it was more of a maraca . . . but maybe she had a burrito for lunch!) The experience was as hilariously fulfilling as I'd hoped, but for reasons I surely didn't expect. Perhaps that answers my question; if I truly had a gift, I would've seen it coming.



One thing is for sure: Halloween will be here before we know it. I can't wait for the future.

Ghosts, Goblins, Gays, and Ghouls

November 2, 2008. 6:20 p.m., Pacific Standard Time. Halloween isn't over yet.

Nevermind that I still have a haunted house to tear down, or that the annual Simpsons "Treehouse of Horror" episode hasn't aired yet. These things would be enough to delay the official retirement of Halloween 2008, but something else looms on America's horizon, something more frightening than any ghost or goblin . . . Election Day. A friend of mine texted me a few days ago and asked if I thought the liberal media had prematurely declared their winner, and I didn't reply because the following day I listened to Limbaugh and Hannity in the radio, both of whom predicted a very different outcome than "the mainstream," so . . . It's more suspenseful than any horror movie. Though, to be specific, I feel like the kid in the corner of the room in The Blair Witch Project.* I know something terrible is going to happen, and I'm going to be a part of it, but . . . what?

In the meantime, citizens can assume some control over their more local circumstances. Propositions, we call them. Even as I sit here at Starbucks, fifty or more folks are protesting California's Prop 8, which means to amend the state's constitution and define marriage as a union between only a man and a woman. In short, it wants to eliminate "gay marriage." I've heard all sides of the pro-Prop 8 argument, from the corporate resistance to permitting same sex partners the insurance rights of a traditional spouse, to the standard religious arguments, but I can't buy either of them. I'm definitely voting no on Prop 8, for many reasons, the first and foremost of which is its discriminatory context. What business owners and the religious fail to realize is that once we decide to change the state constitution in a way that definitively excludes a certain group of people, they might be soon to follow as a potentially discriminated group. Like censorship, this sword is double-edged; even if you're the one swinging it, you still stand the risk of slicing yourself.

To the business owners, I would suggest that their fear about paying overwhelming, domestically defined insurance premiums is small change in comparison to how they might limit their potential employee pool with this rejection. Generally, married people are more stable and productive in the workplace, and I don't know how a "gay married" person would be any different. To the religious, my argument is more philosophical; frankly, by so publicly protesting Prop 8, they've given the homosexual community a bigger opportunity and platform to spread their word, too. In the case of wanting to abolish something, keeping it subversive is best, lest it attract more supporters. Folks that might have voted for Prop 8 for tradition's sake might have since reconsidered it as a civil rights issue and decided to vote it down. A more persuasive argument about the supposedly destructive nature of gay marriage is to let it pass; then, when the first gay couple divorces, religious zealots can proclaim, "See! We told you so! It just doesn't work!"

Of course, how many business owners have used the benefits of an insurance premium for their own ends? How many "religious" people (I'm avoiding the term "Christian" to be all-inclusive) have been divorced, defiling marriage's "sacred tradition?" There's that swinging sword again.

Homosexual themes have been pretty pervasive in my blogs lately. No, I'm not coming out, but I'm waking up to the reality that these people, men and women, are a vocal sect of our general American fabric, and they deserve a chance at life, liberty, and most specifically the pursuit of happiness as much as everyone else. Gay marriage won't lead to polygamy, or bestiality, or any of the other extreme hypotheticals I've heard. At the very worst, it will lead to either more families, or more divorce. Like this election at the Presidential level, it will lead to something different . . . that will seem somehow exactly the same. We're cornered, and it's scary.

* Speaking of Blair Witch, I reviewed the Oni Blair Witch comic book at A Comic A Day. Check it out!

An Inner Child's Manifesto: Things You Shouldn't Pass Out on Halloween

A few years ago, I posted a list of things folks should not pass out on Halloween. In these few rare, quiet minutes between shopping for candy and setting up our Haunted House at work, I'd like to re-post and add two more items to the list:

1. Apples. First of all, they're heavy, and they take up valuable bag space. I mean, the surface area of an apple is undoubtedly equivalent to two or three fun-sized Snickers. And I'm not trick or treating for my health. If you're gonna pass out apples, dip it in something sugary first, or at least stick a gummy worm in it. God.

2. Loose change. I'm not a bum. I don't want your money. I want your candy. I can find loose change in payphones and in gas station leave-a-penny trays. Plus, how can I toilet paper your yard later with loose change rattling around in my bag? Now you can hear me coming! That was your plan all along, wasn't it?

3. Religious literature. Of any kind. I don't care what you believe in. Halloween is about one thing: dressing up like restless spirits and devourers of human flesh to beg neighbors for candy. What's so spiritual about that? Actually, I have a solution. Chocolate Jesus. The best part is, one fun size Chocolate Jesus can feed 5000, with a few wrapper-fulls to spare. I just made that up.

4. School supplies. School started two months ago. If I couldn't afford a pencil then, don't you think that food would be more valuable to me now?

5. Candy substitutes. Granola bars aren't candy. Pretzels aren't candy. Potato chips aren't candy. Popcorn balls are good, but they're not candy. If its headline ingredients aren't sugar, chocolate, corn syrup, and partially hydrogenated vegetable, soybean, or palm kernel oil, it isn't candy.

Listen to you inner child. If he wouldn't want it, the kids in your neighborhood don't, either. If you don't listen, beware, because nothing is more frightening than a neighborhood full of unsatisfied children. Halloween would just be the beginning.

Justice League Holidays

The attacks on Santa have begun.

I've explained the palpable connection between the holidays and comic book culture once before: in a nutshell, both are colorful cultural genres that hinge on selfless, sometimes myth-based icons conveyed via a childlike suspension of disbelief. I liken these politically correct attacks on Santa and his peers with Dr. Fredric Wertham's Seduction of the Innocent scare from the '50s. Indeed, St. Nick is as sexist with his "ho"-ridden chuckle as Batman and Robin are gay.

Yes, I'm a staunch advocate for Santa Claus and have been ever since I saw a TV special advocating his existence, which even included celebrity eye witness accounts from the likes of Stevie Wonder. (Figure that one out.) I consider the charitable work I facilitate around this time of year as direct marching orders from Kringle, because, in these days leading up to The Big Night, he's too busy to do everything. After all those years of He-Man and Super Powers action figures under the tree, it's the least I can do.

I even wrote a comic book about Santa Claus. Still have some copies laying around if anyone want to cough up the three bucks. I'm actually thinking about revisiting the material, if time and inspiration permit . . .

Incidentally, considering Santa's frequent cameos in comics, I've speculated that he should be an honorary member of the Justice League, but since I've established a roster of reality star Leaguers, I now feel compelled to do so with holiday iconography, too. So, sitting around the Watchtower, North Pole Branch would be:

1. Santa Claus. Of course. He's the Superman of the holiday season, boasting the most special abilities and even an Arctic fortress of solitude.

2. The Easter Bunny. Trapped in Santa's shadow, the Easter Bunny is the Batman of the group, particularly since his existence hinges around a holiday steeped in the implications of death.

3. The Tooth Fairy. Like Nancy Grace in my "real Justice League," the Tooth Fairy offers a woman's touch to the group and, when roundtable arguments get too heated, can always tell the boys to watch their mouths. Yes.

4. Cupid. The Most Powerful Baby Alive.

5. Uncle Sam. Representing Independence Day, Presidents Day, Memorial Day, and Veterans Day, Uncle Sam has the biggest burden to bear. More than upholding any one of these holidays, he carries the weight of The American Dream.

6. A leprechaun. Drunk. Like Aquaman must be. Also, rich.

7. The Halloween Chair. Halloween has a steady rotation of representative mythical characters, from vampires to witches to mummies to Frankenstein. I don't know if any one of them truly stand up as the ultimate liaison, though a classically sheeted ghost could conceal almost anyone's identity . . .

With Thanksgiving right around the corner, I'm tempted to include a turkey, but I don't think he would last very long.

Despite that article, I know Santa respects women, but I don't think he can resist a good meal.

The Ghost that Haunts Me

Halloween said good-bye this morning with a big, wet kiss.

Through sleep-crusted eyes I reached out to its fleeting silhouette in my doorway and choked desperately, “Was it good for you?”

Building the haunted house, though time-consuming, isn’t the hardest part. Making every five-minute tour a uniquely haunting experience is the real challenge. After all, these kids see us everyday. They know, or they think they know, what we’re capable of. Yes, the fear grabs them when we’ve stretched the bounds of their expectations, and perhaps even their imaginations, and completely embraced the spectral spirit of Halloween.

For example, as I was browsing through Target’s premature Halloween aisles two months ago, I was inspired by their adult-sized Operation game costume. What if our Learning Center, in which kids often play Operation, was really haunted? What if the books moved off the shelves like the opening act in Ghostbusters, and the games sprung to life?

Oh, we’ve done the “creepy doctor’s table” before, complete with the cooked, cold spaghetti guts, but when the kids saw this,

,

they weren’t sure what to think. Only options, really: laugh your head off, or proceed with caution. The creepiness had settled in, but the fear . . . it reached out and grabbed them when our Operation patient did, when she activated the buzzer hidden underneath her latex-gloved hand. Sure, anybody can go to Target and look like the Operation game, but to sound like it? If it touches me, will it shock me, too?

The question is enough.

Our mummy’s tomb, staged in the computer lab as an homage to ancient Egypt’s knack for advanced technology, was pure old school Universal Studios, with a fraction of a fraction of the budget. I wanted a brochure-style photo of our proverbial grand finale, and our impromptu photographer pulled it off:

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Working with children (and the operative phrase is “working for them”), the question that drives my mania behind every significant event like our annual haunted house is, “Will it be memorable?” I don’t care if the kids talk about last night’s haunted house today, but ten years from now, when they’re old enough to reflect upon (and hopefully long for) their youth, will they fondly remember anything we do for them? My job is as selfish as it is selfless – I do not want my hard work and good intentions buried beneath these kids’ better memories. Not that I want to be above them, either, but right there beside them: home, school, church, and my team and me. If one future grown-up can say that we helped imbed his childhood as a treasured experience. . .

Everybody says that. “If I can change just one life.” I’ll take a few dozen. A hundred. I say making a difference means that the difference between the people you meet and the people you influence is zero. Quantity and quality are not conflicting or contradicting qualities.

“Was it good for you?”

Halloween comes but once a year, but the question haunts me everyday.

Mother Nature's Halloween Prank

Orange County school district superintendents united via conference call last week to deem local air quality too poor for outdoor play until further notice, which has severely cramped my Halloween plans. Our after school program facilitates an annual Penny Carnival and Costume Contest every Halloween afternoon, which is usually run outside, but with the ash from the 2007 Wildfires still spectral in the atmosphere, the festivities will have to come inside -- a challenge considering the, er, quaintness of our facility. We've managed to pull it off for the past week, utilizing our knowledge of indoor games from countless training and workshops, but to recreate the spirit of a definitively outdoor holiday under a roof will be hard -- like "Bah, humbug" Halloween equivalent, I reckon. Additionally, with our Haunted House hidden behind hanging tarps, one of my Staff will have to embrace the assignment of dissuading kids from peeking, a task that sounds scary in itself.

What stinks more than that lingering scent of ash is how clear the weather seems to be, and, as my natural rebel churns, I wonder what standard or gauge the superintendents are using to judge the air quality. Are they more concerned about potential parental backlash if the kids are permitted to play? Do they, and those parents ready to chomp at the bit about their children's safety when they should be making dinner anyway, understand what they're doing to their teachers' day, when students can't storm the playground but rather remain seated for some contrived game of Heads-up 7-Up at recesstime? These lessons should be exploited and explained to children . . .

Because nothing might promote arson prevention and fire safety more than the risk they pose to the pursuit of free candy.

Eulogy for September

Long before the leaves
have begun to fade,
department store aisles
embrace autumn's shade,
adorned with the yellows,
oranges, reds, and greens
of Halloween, Thanksgiving,
and even Christmas scenes.
In such a hurry
to savor the moment,
mankind loses the minutes
twixt the tide and current.
So long, September,
we hardly knew ye;
under autumn's heel
you'll forever be.