Fright Night.

I've always been a huge fan of Halloween. I think I'll probably post a full list of my myriad breathtaking costumes later this week so you can get an idea of just how much I've always loved it. But I think my commitment to the holiday really came of age in my undergrad years. One of my dearest pals in the world became one of my dearets pals in the world when she knocked on my res room door dressed as a devil, bearing a bottle of vodka and asking if I wanted to do shots. It was a night that still lives in infamy. We all know that I love opportunities for nostalgia, and Halloween is great because it makes me nostalgic for being stinkin' drunk and totally giddy in public, which is a state I don't find myself in nearly as much as I'd like these days.

Anyway, I'm still trying to decide if I'm dressing up for Halloween this year. Part of my reluctance stems from a burgeoning relationship with someone who refuses to do anything more than "put on a hat" for a costume (and actually, he later withdrew even the hat offer). The guy once dressed up as Che Guevara, though, so I have leverage and precedent for getting him back into a costume, you know? I was discussing this extremely important issue with my best friend Freya (she of the vodka and devil suit of yesteryear) the other day, and she suggested pouring Captain No-Fun back into his Che suit. And to round it out? I should dress as Sexy Fidel Castro.

To fully appreciate this idea, I think you probably need to have gone to school with us back in the halcyon days of Sexy Devil, Sexy Village People, and Dirty Superhero to really get how important it was to really whore it up for parties at our college. This past weekend there was an article in the Globe and Mail about just how douchey the place was, and how this doucheyness leads to increased literacy, or perhaps just a lingering literary pomposity that translates into elevated sales at the college's annual book sale (at least, this was my interpretation). The article poked fun at the Brideshead-on-cheap-sherry foolishness that was and is our alma mater, just like every article about Trinity does. The college gets a lot of totally understandable flak in the national press. I think these journalists are all missing the mark, though. I think they should expose how buffoonishly skanky the place was. Red light parties and completely baseless cross-dressing nights are so much easier to target than a love of British aristocracy and a gown.

Come to think of it, when you stand back and think about the two solitudes of Trinity College (vomit-inducingly awkward sexual awareness, and vomit-inducing misguided sociopolitical opinions), I'm pretty sure Sexy Fidel Castro is the greatest costume a Trin party never forged. Maybe I'm just feeling nostalgic, or maybe this is most fitting tribute I could ever pay to Old Trinity. If anyone needs me, I'll be on my way to Michael's crafts for a Made In Cancer beard and a camo bikini.

I also briefly considered dressing up like Feist. Or maybe I didn't. Maybe I just wanted to post this song, because I am a terrible music fan and always about five years behind the eightball and I only just heard this for the first time tonight. Also, she's kind of pointy in the face. Witchy, right?