Halloween in the 'Burbs
"You doin' drumsticks this year?" Chip asked.
"You got fresh batteries for the witch's microphone?" I replied.
He smiled. As if either of us had a choice.
Living in a planned community has its pros and cons. As a man who needs his space, I think the cons probably outweigh the pros. That being written, Halloween is one of those few times of year where it's nice to be part of a tight knit neighborhood.
I'm a guy who likes to have a shtick. As a relative newcomer in the neighborhood with only 4 years of tenure, most of the good Halloween roles had already been taken upon my arrival. Hayrides are handled by Earl. There's Jello Shot George, keeping parents focused on the real meaning of Halloween. I could build a haunted house in my garage, but I'd have to compete against Syracuse Dan and his 8 year track record (and who has been planning this year's spookfest since November 1 of last year.)
It took a couple of years, but I now have an official place on the neighborhood team. I'm the drumstick guy.
Ladies, keep the undergarments on. I'm happily married.
At 6:00 p.m. 45 chicken drumsticks hit the grill. Not wingettes, mind you. Full blown drumsticks. Seasonings and low heat, they cook for 45 minutes until perfectly browned and juicy. A very light coating of barbecue sauce, another 5 minutes of cooking and they're ready for their spot on the driveway table next to the paper towels, wipes and the candy bowl.
The keys are outstanding seasoning and not boiling in advance, but fully cooking on the grill. That and a bunch of hungry, mostly drunk parents.
I gave away 41 drumsticks last night, all to people I know from the neighborhood. Ms. Fire and I each had 2. Outside tourists were welcome to candy, but I think most left disappointed with a watering mouth.
The morning after, when you're washing off the sin and the face paint you missed from the night before, looking in the mirror trying to piece together how you managed to shephard your kids around the neighborhood in one piece while drinking heavily for 4 straight hours, you always remember 3 or 4 houses that stuck out. My house is on that list.
"You got fresh batteries for the witch's microphone?" I replied.
He smiled. As if either of us had a choice.
Living in a planned community has its pros and cons. As a man who needs his space, I think the cons probably outweigh the pros. That being written, Halloween is one of those few times of year where it's nice to be part of a tight knit neighborhood.
I'm a guy who likes to have a shtick. As a relative newcomer in the neighborhood with only 4 years of tenure, most of the good Halloween roles had already been taken upon my arrival. Hayrides are handled by Earl. There's Jello Shot George, keeping parents focused on the real meaning of Halloween. I could build a haunted house in my garage, but I'd have to compete against Syracuse Dan and his 8 year track record (and who has been planning this year's spookfest since November 1 of last year.)
It took a couple of years, but I now have an official place on the neighborhood team. I'm the drumstick guy.
Ladies, keep the undergarments on. I'm happily married.
At 6:00 p.m. 45 chicken drumsticks hit the grill. Not wingettes, mind you. Full blown drumsticks. Seasonings and low heat, they cook for 45 minutes until perfectly browned and juicy. A very light coating of barbecue sauce, another 5 minutes of cooking and they're ready for their spot on the driveway table next to the paper towels, wipes and the candy bowl.
The keys are outstanding seasoning and not boiling in advance, but fully cooking on the grill. That and a bunch of hungry, mostly drunk parents.
I gave away 41 drumsticks last night, all to people I know from the neighborhood. Ms. Fire and I each had 2. Outside tourists were welcome to candy, but I think most left disappointed with a watering mouth.
The morning after, when you're washing off the sin and the face paint you missed from the night before, looking in the mirror trying to piece together how you managed to shephard your kids around the neighborhood in one piece while drinking heavily for 4 straight hours, you always remember 3 or 4 houses that stuck out. My house is on that list.
posted by Max Boom | 9:54 AM
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