Pumpkin Carving
No trick or treating this year. We're missing most of the Halloween parties tomorrow night because we'll be camping on Angel Island for Ash's birthday. I've wanted to do it for a long time, and when I told Ash the only reservation I could get was when she turned 29 on the 29th, she jumped on it.
Last year Diego and I party-hopped across the city. With a driver in one hand and slutty women cut out of magazines plastered to his torso, he was Tiger Woods, and I was a Tea Partier, with a sign that read "Show us the Birth Certificate." Zooming back and forth between Nopa, the Richmond and Russian Hill, Diego flirted with an Alice in Wonderland and we both eyed a sprightly Tinkerbell.
Tonight, we went over to Jessie's place, bumped the 80s mix, spiked the cider and carved almost a dozen pumpkins. St. Frances, of course, carved a wiskered kitty, and Diego tried to carve "Go Canucks Go" into his pumpkin, but it ended up looking more like a series of glory holes on an orange men's room wall. I carved a racist Asian jack-o-lantern, complete with rice hat, next to a cowboy pumpkin that looked a lot like Sam Elliott.
