Tuesday October 25, 2005
	The pumpkin carving kit at Wal-Mart and what I did during Hurricane Wilma.
	"Isn't it something?" she says. "It's really something," I say then putting the Budweiser bottle to my lips. A woman I've recently met (a sophomore at the University of South Florida) has invited me to her pre-Halloween pumpkin carving party.  I'm standing in the kitchen of her apartment and her mother is sitting in a chair.  It is raining.  Hurricane Wilma is close. "I love all the patterns that come with the kit," I say then smiling. Secretly and to myself I am thinking: What the hell am I doing here?  I'd rather be lying in an inflatable raft out in the Gulf of Mexico (at night) listening to Rammstein or Godsmack or Madge Weinstein with a couple of six-packs and some pork rinds. I don't love the patterns.  Patterns insure outcomes, they're comforting.  They're easy.  There's no need to think.  There's no surprises.  You're an American in control and getting (as usual) what you want.  Pick and choose.  Choose and pick.  Who the f-ck ever heard of using a pre-designed paper template to carve a face into a pumpkin?  Yeah right.  I'm gonna let a big corporation (or whomever) decide what non-offensive facial features (the message) I should put on my pumpkin.  Uh huh, right.  C'mon man.  I can picture these dudes in their marble floored office with a panoramic view on the 21st floor a gaggle of suited corporate imbeciles each one examining and scrutinizing proposed jack-o'-lantern template designs for their amazing and all-new pumpkin carving kit.  "We need a happy safe kind of scary," one imbecile says.  "What we're really selling is a special moment between a parent and their child," says another imbecile.  "We've got 33 million units to move," says their team leader.  "Let's include a cute knife that's non-threatening with an orange colored funny handle." C'mon man.  C'mon. Says my woman: "It's such a cute knife." "It really is," I say, smiling. My USF sophomore is fine tuning her freshly carved pumpkin and her mother is still sitting in her chair (looking like something you'd see in Madame Tussaud's wax musuem in New York) and while she's carving and while the mother is still sitting I'm thinking (secretly and to myself): What the hell?  I've always used big, wooden handled, stainless steel knives to carve pumpkins and there wasn't no f-ckin' paper pattern involved, ever.  To hell with cute, orange colored funny handled knives, too.  With regards to Halloween and pumpkins Americans instinctually know this, they've always known this.  There's only one way to carve a pumpkin:  position the pointy tip of your sharpest knife onto the soft flesh-like surface, smile, inhale, then slowly push the cold steel blade into the body (or vault) of the pumpkin while at the same time exhaling. "What's that noise?" says the mother. She spoke but her lips didn't move. "It's raining, mom," says the USF sophomore. I've never carved a pumpkin.     I've stabbed and sawed my pumpkin. Stabbing is what's really involved when creating a jack-o'-lantern but the word stabbing in itself, i.e., "Cindy honey, stab your pumpkin and start sawing out the face," makes the average peace loving, compassionate American uneasy. "Do you think Hurricane Wilma will miss us?" says my woman. "Hope so," I say.  The mother still looks like something you'd see at Madame Tussaud's and my woman is switching on the battery operated candle inside the pumpkin and I've opened another Budweiser and when I put the bottle to my lips I'm thinking: Jeez... Americans didn't invent Halloween but I don't want to believe it's an American company selling pumpkin carving kits to Americans.  Please let it be a Chinese or Japanese or even a Korean company.  An American company pushing a pumpkin carving kit complete with 16 patterns and a small orange handled harmless knife can mean only one thing:  governmental control of American citizens indirectly through the guise of seasonal and popular retail products manufactured and distributed by big business.  Perhaps the government believes/fears that Americans can't be trusted with big knives or their own organic thoughts.  To diminish original ideas and actions their message wanting you to unknowingly relinquish bits of yourself is delivered to the consumer at an affordable price and at a completely subconscious level using items like the Pumpkin Carving Kit (16 paper templates for carving your pumpkin and a tiny harmless knife purchased year after year might eventually equal: I'm no warrior and let someone else think for me). Says the USF student: "Almost done."   I smile and say: "That's maybe the best pumpkin I've ever seen." "I'm glad you're here," she says. "Me too," I say. She is putting the lid onto the pumpkin and while she is moving it into position I am thinking: On the other hand maybe 16 professionally made templates are nice especially if you're artistically challenged and what's wrong with including a specially designed safety knife especially if you have children or your hands shake (like mine).  C'mon Norm.  C'mon.   My woman hands me the illuminated jack-o'-lantern and says: "Would you please put it on the porch, Norm?" I say: "It's a really good jack-o-lantern." Norm' Note: Battery operated pumpkin candles probably exist because of insurance companies  wanting to pay out less when it comes to Halloween related incidents such as fires, burn injuries and lawsuits (my spoiled American kid fell on your lit pumpkin and her $150 costume caught fire) but maybe the battery operated candles are just plain better.  Happy Halloween, reader.      PREVIOUS   HOME   NEXT