Oh, Halloween. The pumpkins, crisp leaves, crisp air and the chance to be someone else for a day. It’s my favorite fake holiday.
But after Halloween, it’s the day after Halloween. Just like the day after Christmas, the built-up excitement evaporates, and apparently, all that’s left is a lot of trash.
Orange boa in River North. Slutty pumpkin, perhaps?
Harry Potter or a witch left his or her broomstick in a cab.
Miss America lost her gloves.
The Devil went down to Wicker Park. And forgot his pitchfork.
Plan ahead for next year and snag this fairy costume at Damen and Division.
The King is alive in Ukrainian Village.
As I cross Damen and Iowa every morning on my way to work, his piercing brown eyes serenade me with “Love Me Tender.” And every evening, “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” My Elvis is the pre-war Elvis who makes the girls swoon with his sultry voice and gyrating hips. He’s not the Vegas-performing, sequin-jumpsuit wearing Elvis clouded by a pill-popping haze.
But this Elvis is not just my Elvis. He belongs to the whole neighborhood, but in particular to the owner or renter of the house on Damen and Iowa. I can’t help but imagine how this textile effigy came to fruition. Why not another famous American icon who died prematurely, like Marilyn Monroe or James Dean? And does the inside mirror the outside, with a million little Elvi quietly observing visitors?
I’m perplexed and intrigued. If you have the inside scoop, please do share. (I’m strongly resisting the urge to say, “Thank you, Thankyouverymuch”)