Halloween. Ah, the memories. When I was about five years old, my family lived in Presque Isle, Maine. I supposes if I'd been a teenager, it would have been dreadful, but for someone who barely knoew how to read, it was okay. I lived there when the Star Wars Holiday Special aired. Anyway, back to Halloween. I just glanced at an article online titled "Hallowween Isn't What It Used To Be." Maybe it is because I haven't had a chance to trick or treat in fifteen years, but I agree. I don't sense the climate of fear that used to exist around Halloween. Not fear on a national, epic level, but fear of razorblades in candy, that sort of thing. I suppose hospitals still offer to x-ray candy, but I sense it is half-hearted. My family had a ritual where my parents would inspect the candy, removing anything not hermetically sealed. In Maine, our next-door neighbor was an old woman named Goldie. Rumor and superstition had it her husband was buried under the wooden cross in her back yard, although for some reason, I seem to recall it was actually her German Shephard. For Halloween, she handed out popcorn balls one year. That same year I dressed as Spider-man. My costume was one of those old mask and apron affairs, and looked absolutely retared. Certainly it looked nothing like Spider-man's costume. It was like the costume company had rights to the name but not the design. The popcorn balls looked really good. Looked good, I say, because I never tasted one. My parents chucked them right out into the garbage. And they knew where they were from. I wonder what my parents knew about Goldie that we didn't.