Pumpkins? What Pumpkins?

Out of the three hundred and seventy-two bagillion CDs in my music store I'm beginning to think that this is my favorite one out of the big bad bunch. La Historia by Tejano superstar Emilio Navaira. I haven't had the chance to hear the album so other than it being Tejano music I have no idea what it sounds like, but this one guy I work with says that every time he sees this album cover he immediately thinks, "DO THE HUSTLE! doo-doo-doo dee-doo-dee-doo-doot-doot..." and he will often chase me around the Musica Latina section waving the CD in the air while yelling singing that song to me, and of course I'd put in the de rigueur screaming involved when running away in terror. Man, I wish I could find a bigger pic of this. Something about it just... pleases me, somehow.

Anyway, Happy Halloween gentle readers. No parties for me tonight, although I'm going to try and stop by S.'s work place and see what she's doing later in the evening. We rarely ever went out on Halloween night anyway, since Halloween was the one night a year when you were least likely to get away with anything since people were expecting it the most. We preferred to pull our night-pranks on the most innocuous of holidays. Like, for instance, Arbor Day. Boxing Day. Sometimes even Guy Fawks Day. Never Halloween, although a lot of shenanigans went on in the weeks leading up to that day. One year we took pumpkins from people's doorsteps, carved them into Jack-O-Lanterns, put candles in them, and put them back on the stoop so the next morning people would step outside and go, "Uh, Martha? Who the blazes carved the pumpkin?" Smashing was just too gauche for the likes of us. And that one year S. and I tried to talk Pete Shelley and Steve Diggle from The Buzzcocks to come out pumpkin-snatching with us. S. kept telling them that it was "perfectly legal here in America." and although they were definitely curious about this (as Pete put it) "bizarre American ritual" we just couldn't talk them into the car with us. But I gotta say I still get misty-eyed every time I pass a pumpkin patch this time of year. Ah, to be 21 and snot-nosed punk. Again.