[Read the beginning here.]

Even the scariest Halloween setup becomes even better when someone is there to haunt it. My parents and sister came down from Connecticut, mainly to visit the nephew/grandson, but as soon as they heard about the Creepy Cafe, they started plotting.

My dad, especially, threw himself into the spirit of the thing. He decked himself out in a full chef’s outfit, and spent the entire week before Halloween writing and rehearsing material. So once we’d spent some time on Washington Street, enjoying the annual ragamuffin parade, we went back to the house to hand out candy at the Cafe.

Very quickly, I realized that my job was to hand out candy and let Poppy do his schtick. He had all his banter down pat, welcoming folks to our “family barbecue” and offering a host of dishes, including “handburgers,” several variations on “lady fingers” and “finger food,” Shish-ka-Bobs and shish-ka-Larrys. (He called me from his car on the way home that night and said, ruefully, “Frankenfurters!”)

Dad also had something he called “light fare”: two light-up fake thumbs from some joke shop. He’d reach his hand into the candy bucket and light up his thumb with a howl, or pull a small red glowing ball of light from behind someone’s ear, or pop it into his mouth. He always managed to pocket the things before letting someone examine his hands close-up. He won’t admit it but I know he practiced for a week in front of a mirror (who am I kidding, he’s done stuff like that all his life!), and made sure his pants had roomy, easily-accessible pockets.

So thanks to him, and also to the hot cider we ladled out, the Creepy Cafe was a smash. Many a local parent was heard to say “now we know where you get it, Dave” after meeting my father.

Much later in the evening, after I’d run out of candy and the stream of trick-or-treaters had slowed to a trickle, I wandered over to 12th and Bloomfield to check out the Halloween Scene. It was a sidewalk party as usual, and I had a glass of wine in my hand in moments.

That’s when a couple of the dads started complimenting me on the Creepy Cafe. They loved the setup, loved my dad and his patter. They declared the whole thing worthy of their block and invited me to consider joining them next year. I’ll think about it. I still want to see the other families on my block join in the fun. And I need a new idea, don’t want to simply repeat, now, right?

I’ve never figured out just why I love Halloween so much. Maybe it’s because it was my mom’s favorite holiday when we were kids. She spend hours crafting amazing costumes for us. Or maybe it’s the costumes themselves, playing dress-up and taking on a different persona for a little while. Or maybe I’m just working through the childhood trauma of having to go into this one neighbor’s house and get candy from a bowl clasped in the arms of a corpse in a coffin… I still shudder at the thought. It’s quite possible and even likely that my love of Halloween is nothing more than sweet, sweet payback.

In any event, Hoboken is the right town for me. Entire blocks will go nuts with the decorations, cobwebbing up their stoops and decorating every window with ghosts, ghouls, goblins and, this year, McCain-Palin signs (eek!). The stretch of Bloomfield Street between 12th and 13th streets becomes an after-dark block party, with music, costumes, crazy decorations, candy for the kids, and adult beverages for the over-21s. I’ll probably never be wealthy enough to live on that block (oh, such gorgeous brownstones!) so if you can’t join ‘em, the saying goes, beat ‘em.

My original plan was to get the houses on our side of the block to all join in on decorating and celebrating, Bloomfield-style, but I just couldn’t get my act together in time. In fact, I hadn’t even started decorating by the 2nd week of October. But a few trips to Target, and good ol’ Spencer’s at the mall, were enough to serve up some inspiration.

The Creepy Cafe was born.

The centerpiece was our charcoal grill, which I dragged from the back yard and situated out front. Hidden inside was a little fake fireplace: a red glow and simulated flames (created with the awesome technology of thin fabric and a fan). “Cooking” on the grill I put a couple of phony severed arms, and even a leg. Fake bones strewn around the grill added to the cookout, and an enormous cleaver, saw and meathook (cool props from Spencer’s) served as the grillmaster’s tools.

Oh, I was off and running. I brought a small table and two chairs from the back deck and set them up near the grill, with a creepy old tablecloth and a skull for a centerpiece. My beloved wife, who wholeheartedly supports my bizarre Halloween habit, added some drippy fake blood (including handprints that went up on the window) and a black rose for extra morbidity.

The Creepy Cafe by day

Other props included a candle in a skeletal candlestick, and a fake-rat-in-a-mug that kicks it feet and wiggles its tail when it detect motion. Back-lighting the whole thing was 400 little orange lights. On the night itself, I hooked up a strobe light, fog machine, and iPod with Halloween playlist (”Werewolves of London,” “I Put a Spell on You,” that sort of thing). The Creepy Cafe was ready.

[to be continued]

I haven’t posted since the Art & Music Fest! It’s not that I haven’t been doing anything… quite the opposite. The Lemons are rehearsing and performing every sing week, I’m halfway through my semester of Music Together, and my offspring’s potty training continues apace. Ok, too much information, I know, sorry. Anyway, I’m gonna dive back in and catch up on the rest of the Arts Fest posts, and then Fuzzy Fridays. (Then I’m going to back-date the postings so no one will ever know!)

Dave

Obamanos

Heard this on NPR this morning. Popular among pro-Obama Hispanics in New Mexico, which is (once again) a vital swing state.