Blond. James Blond.

Friday night was the BAR’s annual Halloween-Time Super-Fun Good Time Party, which typically translates into good costumes, fun people and more pagan revelry than a coven of witches galavanting around a maypole. Also, there is candy. I’m happy to say that this year was no different, save for the guest list swelling to roughly seventy-three times the maximum capacity of my apartment, six guys showing up in really, really convincing cop costumes – complete with squad cars, packed heat and a complaint from my curmudgeonly neighbor – and an altogether lack of those awesome little trick-or-treat Oh Henry bars. Can’t say I’m surprised about the candy – those snack sized pieces of heaven have a higher street value than crack at this time of year – but I was honestly a little amazed that we’re fantastically popular with everyone but Downtime McKilljoy next door.

Granted, I didn’t know most of the people there. And neither did my roommates. But they seemed to know one another, which is something. My guess is that our 150-strong mob of Halloween revelers might have been due to the evite general alarm of “Keg of Bud Light” – as much of a draw to parties as the bat signal is to vigilante crime fighting (I aced analogies on the SAT, so just go ahead and accept that one at face value) – being broadcast less than 24 hours before launch, but for all I know it was due to the growing legend of our monster bashes, now on par with that of the chupacabra…and just as terrifyingly real.

?Now don’t get me wrong – the party was incredible and the crowd turned out to be pretty damn cool, especially once wigs, masks and makeup came off to reveal some familiar faces. While an interesting trend of friends dressing as friends emerged this year, with both Casey and Phil staring down their dopplegangers, the winning costumes of the night were definitely Liz’s Sofia Coppola costume (someone said she was Marie Antoinette, but same dif) and Casey’s gay figure skater outfit. An honorable mention goes to Keith for his emo outfit, which was realistic enough that I wanted to pummel him until he stopped writing wussy poetry.

This year was a big one for me, since my rental jetpack from SHOOT FOR THE MOON and inspired casting by the producers of the latest 007 flick meant I could finally go as James Bond (James Blond for the copyright-sensitive.) While it was suggested that I lose my tux pants in favor of the turquoise booty shorts (barely) worn by Daniel Craig in the latest trailer, full black tie won out in the end. Our second visit from the 5-O proved the costume to be multi-purpose, since I was magically transformed into Ryan Landels: Party Nazi (not to be confused with vampire Hitler, who was also in attendance) once the jetpack came off. Apologies to anyone who suffered the wrath of my oh-so-threatening finger to the lips as I embarked on a mad crusade to minimize the apartment’s drunken roar to something more like a slurred whisper. In hindsight, that absinthe making the rounds didn’t help my cause.

?Saturday brought with it a 4AM finish to the monster mash, as well as the revelation that we’d successfully maintained our three-year “Awesome! No one stole any of our stuff!” streak. With the exception of candlesticks stolen by MySpace ally Ally. Luckily, I’d used them to beat Colonel Mustard to death in the library earlier that evening, so she was doing me a favor by disposing of the weapons. One whirlwind cleaning session and seventeen naps-while-standing later, Andy and I were off with cohorts Justin and Todd to conquer a veterinarian’s costume party, attended mainly by people dressed as…veteranarians. Great work, team. Better costumes were in store at a bonfire bash on the beach, where a paper mache witch was burned at the stake while Strawberry Shortcake, the Donnie Darko Bunny and some guy dressed as a banana looked on with pyromaniacal glee. Props to Tim and the Beach Haüs for throwing a bash worthy of the fall harvest. Or the candy god. Or the God of Candy Corn, which seems a convenient deity for the season.

And now here we are on Halloween proper, with my only plans for the evening being a quiet screening of THE SHINING or – dare I say it – MONSTER HOUSE. Which reminds me – a few months back, the theater down the street from me had doubled up titles on its marquee. The result? INVINCIBLE MONSTER HOUSE. The mere thought of what that movie would be made me want to weep tears of ecstasy.

Happy Halloween, kids!