Halloween is over. I’ve sampled almost every mini Nestle chocolate bar I dished out, sucked on some Twizzlers, and threw the unwanted packages of Skittles in a Ziploc baggie, to be dropped off at a homeless shelter next week.

It was an uneventful night.

Not enough kids, probably because we’re located at the very end of a dead end street, which is kind of spooky for those little supermen and princesses, who want a quick and easy supply of sugar to fill up their plastic pumpkins and grocery bags.

But I remember really spooky Halloweens. Psycho neighbours dressed up like Frankenstein who made me pee in my pants from fright, and one party at my parents’ home, back in the late 70’s. Aside from people vomiting everywhere, and a swarm of uninvited guests ending up in my parent’s bed and bedroom, there was music blasting from my boom box, people doing the Time Warp in my kitchen, and pseudo playboy bunnies and hippies gathered round the piano singing songs from the Phantom of the Paradise , that musical film from 1974, featuring singer/song writer, Paul Williams who played Swan.