Halloween has always been my favorite one. It's just the best one. It's a part of me. I remember every single costume, every single year. The first one I can remember was when I was like, three or so. I was a Jack-O-Lantern. You know those bags you're supposed to put your leaves and lawn shavings in to make compost for gardens? When I was three, my Mom punched two holes in the bottom of one-o-dems bags, stuffed my little legs through 'em, filled the bag with newspaper and voila! Halloween. It was dreadfully uncomfortable and I was leaking newspaper the whole night, and it is one of my fondest memories of my childhood. It was NIGHTTIME, but we were out walking around some neighborhood getting candy. A large part of my identity was established that night.

Ever since, Halloween has held a special meaning to me. I remember every fall when the leaves started to turn, my immediate association wasn't "Autumn is here", but "here comes Halloween". It has its own atmosphere, and I relish it for the entire month of October until it finally arrives. Then I miss it when it's gone. For a considerable stretch of years, my family went to the "Mall-oween" at the local mall because they were worried about razor blades or something. Despite how lame it was, the experience was still special. We'd raid all the participating stores (usually indicated by a cheap paper pumpkin in the shop windows and a grumpy looking sales clerk in a costume sitting outside the store), and after we'd hit every single one, we'd go to the food court and get lemonade from Chick-Fil-A, or however the hell I'm supposed to misspell that. It was just lemonade, but it tasted so good because it was Mall lemonade, and we all shared a single large cup because it was expensive. Eventually, it became a tradition for my brother and I to get the latest edition of the Pro Skater series after trick-or-treating since they usually came out in or around October. The Gamestop in the mall never gave out candy, so we had to wait until we were about to leave to get the games. We did this maybe four years in a row.

As I got older, I started getting more and more resistance from people about my habit of trick-or-treating. I blatantly defied the unwritten rule that you have to stop when you're fourteen or whatever. I've been refused candy because I'm too old. I've been ridiculed and taunted for dressing up at twenty years old. But you know what? Bring it on. I welcome the opportunity to challenge conventional thinking in yet another harmless yet alarming way.

So anyway, the point: This year, for the first time EVER, I had to work on Halloween. 3:00 to 11:00. The first year I'd not be trick or treating in some capacity. I was devastated when I saw the schedule at work. I couldn't get off, either, because I'd already requested time off for Nationals in a few weeks. So I sulked about for the week leading up to my favorite holiday in the world. I went to work on Saturday, miserable and grumpy, blowing off customers and trudging through my monotonous shift, one sandwich at a time.

After work, I drove home slowly, trying to make peace with my loss and drink in what was left of the beautiful, unseasonably warm, cloudy and faintly moonlit night... and suddenly it hit me: The night was not yet over! I was overcome with an urgent sense of determination. It was already 11:30ish, and it was Saturday so people would be turning in so they could get to church in the morning, but... There was something driving me to hit just one house before midnight. I had to. This was MY night.

I found a neighborhood near my house and scanned for activity. The streets were quiet, and a little spooky. Everyone's lights were out, and dread started to trickle into my previously invigorated mind as I wondered if I'd failed to fulfill my Halloween duty after all. But as I rounded a curve, I heard music. I followed it to a front porch with three guys sitting, drinking and smoking. I parked my bike, considered leaving my helmet, and then decided it would be part of my costume. I took off my backpack, opened it, and approached the porch. The three guys looked warily at me. I said "Trick or treat?" causing them to halt their conversation and stare. "Are you serious?" One of them said. "Uh... yeah." I replied, "You guys have any candy left?"
"How old are you?" one said.
"Twenty" I lied. I'm actually twenty-one.
"That's uh, that's kinda weird, man." one of them said, laughing.
That's when a girl walked out of the house. The music was louder during the instant the door was open, and I could tell they were listening to Cold Play inside. "Yo, Sue, this creepy guy's looking for candy" the first guy said to her. She kind of raised her eyebrows at me before asking "Who the hell are you?"

I explained how this was the first year I didn't get to go trick-or-treating, and how I'd just gotten off the clock and I needed to hit one house so I could say I'd gone out this year. I explained that I wasn't a lurker, and I really did just want some candy and I'd leave. Sue smiled, and said she hadn't put the candy away yet from earlier. She went into the house to get it. Then one of the three dudes said he felt bad for making fun of me, and said he had some candy for me too, and he went next door and came back with a bowl full of candy. Between the two of them, they filled up the main compartment of my backpack. Then they asked me if I wanted to stay for drinks, and I reminded them that I'm underage (which was a lie). Then I went home, triumphantly, from another successful Halloween.

Camp time again. I'll be gone for a week, though I don't know why I bother to say that since I probably wouldn't have uploaded anything new this week anyway. I'll be back next friday with more more karate experience, stories and art. maybe art? Probably. Camp is always awesome. Can't wait.

Peace.

Let's see...

I don't have a nickname for Joe. Maybe because he's older than me? It's not a conscious thing, He's just... always been Joe. He calls me by my given name.

Kenya has been 'Jakie', nicknamed after my best friend since my little brother began learning all of our names. He insisted upon calling her Jakie, much to her exasperation, (it was the only one he got wrong consistently,) and the name stuck. Even she uses it now as her game handle. She usually calls me Spaniard, a progression of Spaniel.

I don't have so much of a pet name for Gaby so much as I say her name funny (Gyabuh). Sometimes I say it numerous times, too. Gaby usually uses my name, though she adds odd inflections much in the way I do to her.

Shani's name has gone on the longest journey. I used to call her Shani-Kabani, which evolved to Kabani, then Kabashi, then Yashi-Kabashi, (Sometimes just Yashi,) Kabongie, Kafongie, and currently Fodgie. When we're in public, I'll refer to her as Fodgie and everybody's like "Who?" She calls me Danny, oddly enough.

Lincoln is Dinkin. I wasn't calling him that for a while because I had trouble relating to him. Now that he's getting older we're friendly again, thus the nickname is more natural. Other people call him Link sometimes. Dinkin just uses my name.

And finally, the universal Alias for the youngest brother, Elijah, is 'Lijah. Sometimes someone will refer to him as Yoshi, for his middle name, but it hasn't stuck. He's just 'Lijah. He uses my name too.

Yes, there are seven of us.

Mom is Mom, and she's the only one who calls me by my full given first name. Dad is Dad, and calls me by my preferred, shortened first name.

On border control:

It's obvious to me, and any other true American with any morals that any and all illegal immigrants in these here United States should be rounded up and deported immediately, no excuses, no exceptions. Some argue that there would be negative consequences for everyone- Americans included- if we executed this drastic course of action. I would say to them only that in our proud nation, we have laws. These laws are NON-NEGOTIABLE, and no one is above them. If something is a law, that means it is God's will, and as such beyond contestation.

I would even extend this standard to any immediate family members or descendants of such border offenders. Why should they be allowed leniency just because of where they happened to be born? This includes children of illegal aliens. What do you mean they don't even speak spanish? They should have thought of that before they were born here.

I believe it was 1492 when the first illegal immigrants came to this continent. Just look at what happened then! They killed off the local inhabitants, ravaged the land, consumed all the resources and generally made a mess of everything. Then those border offenders forcibly smuggled aliens into the country from Africa. And yes, before you ask, I do vehemently maintain that even these immigrants, to whom some refer as slaves, are no exception to the law. Did African slaves ever complete the trials requisite of lawful immigration? Certainly not. Neither did the European invaders. They should ALL be kicked out without delay. NO EXCEPTIONS.

There are Americans citizens who patrol the southern border on volunteer status, armed with battle rifles. They are referred to as Minutemen. The Minutemen of the Revolutionary war were courageous, selfless colonials who were ready to throw their lives down at an instant's notice for nothing but the hope that their fledgeling nation might not be crushed that day by the angry empire that was picking on them. They were outnumbered and outgunned. They were brave and they were strong.

Damn you. Damn you for presuming to liken yourselves to them. You'd be more accurate to equate yourselves with rich snobs in gated communities who alert the neighborhood watch at the slightest sign of lawn protocol violation. What if a Canadian decided to sneak across the northern border? You couldn't care less, could you? Please, don't confuse your bigotry and cowardice for patriotism or heroism.

Woah... where did that come from? God, sorry guys. This just came out. Despite what it sounds like here, I don't have a strong opinion on this issue. I'm just disgusted by some of the attitudes that are becoming prevalent in the people of my nation. Dr King said there can be no great disappointment where there is no great love. I try not to post journals without posting art. It wont happen again.

I am return. My sister is making like three hundred dollars a week, so she's paying the internet bill thingor. Works for me. I missed you, DA.

In more different news, the east coast tournament is coming up, and I may actually be able to compete this year. There was some uncertainty due to a conflict with school, but I think that's resolved. And by resolved, I mean I don't have to do it. You have no idea how relieved I am. Like seriously, I find myself pumping my fist in the air at random times in the day, no joke.