The tradition of Halloween seems to stem mostly from Celtic sources that celebrated the remembrance of the dead and martyred, specifically those that are cast into the Christian realm of purgatory where those souls who have died in a state of grace are further cleansed before their ascension into heaven. I guess I had always thought of purgatory as a bad and restless place that you went to if you were not worthy, but it seems I was wrong. Those in purgatory are merely being prepared for their final reward. Those of us that wear the electoral color blue and that boast proudly our Swifty bracelets (made by the granddaughters) that proudly say Harris*Walz, are all feeling very squidgy these days. We have all heard that Republicans declare their likelihood of success with great bravado while Democrats winge and moan about their concerns over what they could have done better. I’m not sure that is how it has always been, but it sure feels like the norm since 2016. Republicans bluster because it is what they do best and what bullies always do. We are worry warts because we all care too damn much. But on Halloween we all put on our masks and try our best to act scary, regardless of how we truly feel inside.
This Halloween, Kim and I have had an inordinate number of occasions to attend. Earlier this week we went to two Halloween parties on the same night held by various factions of Kim’s singing group. One was in a condo community center and the other was in someone’s apartment. Kim’s singing pals are just regular folk, both young and old. None of them really have tons of excess disposable income, but that doesn’t stop them from buying out Party City of all their resin tombstones and wispy spider-studded pseudo cobwebs to decorate and invoke a spooky air. Halloween may be the holiday with the most junk to store from one season to the next, but the good news is that spooky stuff this year is pretty much like spooky stuff next year. Kim went all out for those parties with a witches costume of her own creation, replete with a long warty nose that ended up annoying her delicate face. I bought a mask at Party City that appealed to me because it looked scary in a Terminator sort of way by being made out of plastic mirror ball material. I added my bowler hat (saved from a certain Hearst Castle affair a few years ago) and became what one younger attendee called a Mirror Ball Face Eater. Apparently that is a nod to something on TikTok that involves face eating. My costume was easy, Kim’s was very involved (and consequently much better). It was so involved that when we went last night to Mike & Melisa’s for a pre-Halloween diner party with Faraj & Yasuko, she changed it up and donned her Hippy Love Child outfit which she keeps amongst her various costume wardrobe. I remained Mirror Ball Face Eater long enough to be seen and then taken off. Mike dressed up as a sensible suburbanite wearing long pants for a change.
Today, on Halloween itself, we have no plans or costumes and, given our spread out neighborhood, don’t expect much in the way of Trick-or-Treaters. But on Saturday we have been invited to a fundraising gala for Cystic Fibrosis, a condition that afflicts two of our young cousins (twice removed). My sister Kathy (their grandma) invited us for this “Chef Throw-Down”, whatever that entails, at the Hotel Del on Coronado. Kim is in rehearsals all weekend long and I have an olive tree to plant on Saturday and a forklift not to crash. That, combined with having to go in separate cars made me think it would be better to cancel, so I emailed (I did try calling, cut couldn’t ge through) and begged off. When I didn’t get a response, Kim wagged her finger at my lazy ass and made me call Kathy. I know my oldest sister pretty well after 70 years and let’s just say that I could feel the icicles coming through the phone. She ultimately gave me an “It’s fine” reprieve so I asked about making a donation to CF instead. As soon as I got off the phone, I asked Kim if I should call back and say we are coming after all and she very quickly said yes. I did that AND I made a sizable donation to CF as penance for my waffling ways.
So, despite courting a sinful and selfish path, I have found myself momentarily in a state of grace and redemption, which is just in time for Halloween and whatever reverence is due to someone who might be worthy now of a stint in purgatory for a final cleansing. The truth is that we should all be wringing our hands right now as we anticipate the days ahead on the electoral scene. This morning’s topic du jour, once you get past the image of Donald Trump trying with great effort to get up into a garbage truck to make some idiotic gesture against a fellow octogenarian in the White House who misspoke in reference to a Donald Trump nasty meme about Puerto Rico, is the topic of Elon Musk. Musk is being charged for his grandstanding give-aways of $1 million per day to swing state wannabe voters. A greater perversion of democracy has rarely been enacted (by Musk, that is). This may be the best reason around for why the ultra-rich should get excessively taxed…to stop the Muskian idiocy that more money than sense shows us.
But what has really jumped up and bitten me this morning is that Musk as the Trump Budget Czar-in-waiting has declared that he can cut $2 Trillion off the Federal budget. To be clear, that would be about a 30% cut, which would be drastic and would largely cut all discretionary spending, which now totals $1.7 Trillion. This, combined with the Trump tariff plan to eliminate income taxes for the rich, would throw the U.S. economy into a fatal tailspin. Musk says quite openly that we have to crash and suffer so that we can rebuild better and sounder. Easy to say for a man with limitless resources and only eleven children and three wives to feed. This comes as the latest GDP numbers show an envious economy growing at 2.8% with record employment and inflation close to the targeted 2%. This invokes the old and sage adage of “Don’t fix it if it ain’t broke”.
I have taken over many an old and sagging business in my career and the temptation for radical change is always there, but you learn that incremental change is the only way not to throw out the baby with the bathwater. You simply do not play God with 8 billion people’s lives (since the wellbeing of these 330 million people in the U.S. set the economic drumbeat for the full 8 billion in the world). This is not a noble experiment, these are human beings. Playing the grim reaper for Halloween is one thing, but becoming a Death Eater on November 5th is no joking mater. I am used to saying that nothing Trump would do would impact my life so much as that of my granddaughters, but now I seriously wonder about that. If Trump and Musk fly this plane into the mountainside by design, the next two years could see things fall apart so dramatically and badly that life well might become immediately unlivable. That is suddenly a very scary thought.
I like my life, but if I had to give it up to save the planet, at this point I would. I care far more about peace of mind than comfort of the body. I know that’s easier to say than live through, but this is all serious stuff. On this Halloween 2024, Americans should realize that as much fun as Freddy Krueger is on the screen, scaring the bee-Jesus out of us, the man behind the mask now is the richest man in the world aiding and abetting the worst political nightmare this world has seen in a century. Happy Halloween. Boo!