Photo credit: Linda Simpson

Halloween is terrifying! It brings swarms of normally well behaved adults into the streets, where they stomp around oozing pus and looking like ghouls—and some of them aren’t even in costume.

This year, October 31 falls on a Saturday, so the terror alert will be even higher in scary-enough New York City. That’s the night the bridge-and-tunnel people invade Manhattan every week for low-budget thrill seeking, and anyone sane double bolts himself inside his apartment while ritualistically throwing garlic out the window. As a B-and-T person myself (I’m from Brooklyn), I know just how crass and awful these people can be. And when you add vampire fangs and Sarah Palin drag on them—not mutually exclusive motifs, by the way–the effect is even more chilling than the SAW series.

But the truth is, I barely bat a pirate’s eye over all the potential atrocity. As someone whose life is largely spent in nightclubs filled with attention-seeking people in outrageous getups, every night is Halloween. This is just a more formal annual version of my everyday routine!

And so, I play along with the hoopla and I even end up admiring the creative displays of chutzpah, as long as the faux-gouged eyes don’t clash with the blood-soaked handbags. This year, everyone will surely be dressed as either Jacko or Bernie Madoff–or, as one of my readers suggested, a bizarre hybrid called Jackoff–but I prefer to go for glitzy fantasy ensembles rather than join the living-dead parade.

For years I wore a sparkly bodysuit with a hoodie, and it was extremely fetching—except that everyone kept asking, “What are you supposed to be?” I had no idea! A gay sperm cell? More successful was a brightly colored clown suit I shamelessly sported along with a rainbow wig and giant Smurf slippers (see photo), but I don’t know…I looked like such a clown!

This year I’ll be dressed as a wrapped gift–a welcome image to help brighten our economic landscape. I’ll wear it to a party zany hostess Susanne Bartsch is supposedly throwing at her husband David Barton’s gym, where the every-night-is-Halloween crowd will undoubtedly outdo themselves in designer orthopedic shoes and high-end hypodermic needles. This time, I might just drop my attitude and give in to the arrested-child madness that makes Halloween such a popular group-trip to the dark side. If all goes well, I might even get unwrapped by midnight. Imagine how scary that could be!