I once spent a Halloween in London. It was the fall of 1999 when I worked on assignment for BP-Amoco with my old company Scient. I remember being amused by the Brits take on Halloween and its accompanying "fancy dress"; that it's all about the kiddies donning their scariest costumes and knocking door to door for candy. I dressed as a Japanese geisha that year and explained to my friend Tony who was dressed as a green-haired bride of Frankenstein type creature that here in San Francisco, it's all about assuming a role; throwing on a costume that makes you feel and maybe act crazier, sexier, scarier, wackier, or more creative than what society might accept from you on a daily basis. I suppose it's a little like Burning Man in that way.

Mary arrived on Saturday, just in time for Halloween festivities to get under way. We fueled up for the party weekend at Dottie's True Blue Cafe, my favorite quintessential American breakfast joint complete with bottomless coffee, blueberry pancakes the size of your face and a portion of coffee cake big enough to choke a horse.

For the big night out, Mary dressed as a naughty doctor in white leather and I was a scantily-clad witch in black feathers and lace. After a few hours at the Opel party at the Gingerbread Warehouse, we headed off to the Brass Tax 4:20 Renegade Party, an annual sunrise party put on by my favorite music crew in San Francisco and easily one of the best events of the year here in SF. We shared the sunrise and nasty beats with a fantastic crew of creative, wacky types in brilliant costumes. One favorite: a salt shaker wielding a butcher knife = "Assault with a deadly weapon".

The setting of the party, a small park at the end of a long jut of land on the Bay in Hunter's Point was home to the U.S. Navy’s Radiation Defense Laboratory during WWII. The land here has remained a toxic dump site, home to the majority of San Francisco's poor black residents living in derelict housing projects, and land that officials like to consider "out of jurisdiction." Murder and street violence is everyday in this place. As a resident of Hunter's Point once said in a documentary entitled Straight Outta Hunter's Point, "We are like roaches. They have tried to shoot us. They have tried to poison us. They have contaminated our land and we are still here." It's a forgotten wasteland and an odd location for a party. Though it was free and open to all, none of the neighborhood residents awoke to join our motley crew on the dancefloor.

On election night, we shared a dinner of fresh crab from Fisherman's Wharf accompanied by steamed artichokes, sourdough bread and white wine with Jai and his roommate Mattia. We watched in stoned silence as Bush won the election. The mood here was somber. People were enraged. My sister cried at the thought of raising her daughters in America during the next four years. I voted in my first presidential election ever and ended up with a knot in my stomach. The thing is that I care more about Bush winning than I do about Kerry losing. I can't say I thought he was the best choice to replace Bush and often felt utterly woeful that he was the best candidate the Democratic party could muster to face off against the incumbent incompetent. I'm not particularly interested in politics but a friend of a friend who is wrote a brilliant blog entry here.

It's official. I'm a Nick Warren groupie. Mary and I went to see Way Out West at a club last Wednesday. Thanks to small turnout for the event and a bit of gumption, Mary and I finagled our way into the band's VIP suite to meet Nick and Jody, WOW's co-creators. Jody had been giving me the eye throughout the show and Nick fancied the pants of Mary, so with free Jack and Cokes from their suite, we were feeling quite welcome. After a long chat we walked them to their hotel with their record cases in hand, true groupie style. Nick wrote his email address with my Sharpie on a CD for Mary, I got three XXXs from Jody. Mary and I giggled like schoolgirls and went on our way, ecstatic and a bit relieved that they did not extend the invitation up to their room.

I started work yesterday at my old company, Siebel as a part-time contractor. Commuting in the rain, sitting at this desk, listening to the Indian engineers over the cubicle wall blathering away to one another in Hinglish, drinking Flavia pre-packaged Chai, I wonder if maybe it was all merely a dream. Did I ever actually leave this place? At least I've got broadband. Photos of Halloween and Mary's visit coming soon...