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At this time of year, people feel entitled to come up to me and ask questions about my personal life. “How’s it going?” they ask. “What are you having for lunch?” Being a young, hip, with-it person for the last few years, I just answer the questions they haven’t asked, but I know they really want to.

“No, I don’t know what I am going to be for Halloween yet. I don’t even know if I am going to do anything for Halloween at all.” Most old adults with kids nod and smile and stumble out of the room confused yet relieved. They’ve ducked a bullet and don’t have to talk about their kids. Young, hip people, with-it (similar to me), have a different response.

“WHAT! I LOVE HALLOWEEN!” is usually the last high-volume sentence I hear for a few hours after admitting my apathy towards this holiday, this fancy schamancy Halloween. Make no mistake; Halloween has gone from low-grade attempt to steal working families’ hard-earned candy to a faux-debutant ball.

Faux, because one is supposed to become a character on Halloween and not merely a nicer-dressed version of himself. It’s debutant because would-be lycanthopes are presenting their credentials other would-be lycanthropes. Wearing a sheet with two holes for eyes has gone from being a default costume to verboten among, young, hip, with-it people.

I understand that people get passionate about things. I understand they think that dressing up is fun. I can even join these two thoughts together and conclude that some people are passionate about the artistry and celebration of costumes. But when many different people who have nothing in common other than their age issue the same violently loud response, something is up. Something has changed.

“Yes, I am going as Adolf Hitler who has been cryogenically frozen for 66 years. He has awoken and is confused about modern times and wonders what happened to the Nazis empire, who promised him that they would thaw him after they won. This experience has made him very introspective, and he is no longer the historical monster that everything THINKS he is. Grow up.” This Facebook status from Mark Sean Haynes is probably the most elaborate explanation of a Halloween costume I could find for this year. But I also know of a sexy zombie Muammar Gaddffi and a sexy Cap’n Crunch that are also planning to be on the scene this year. These people are also the ones who find costumes like, “hobos” or “ghosts” or “employee who was unable to change before coming to the party” completely not in the spirit of Halloween.

The new spirit of Halloween seems to be that everyone should pretend to be a professional costume designer. Those who succeed are rewarded with jealousy/respect from their peers and Pabst Blue Ribbon. Those who fail are derided by those same peers and punished with Pabst Blue Ribbon. As far as I can tell, the secret to a great costume is this: once upon a time, there was a person or fictional character that represented a simple idea. Maybe they were a ruler or entertainer or fictional.

Take the above examples. They are (I am told) going to be amazing, not just because they’ll be technically well done. These costumes will embody ideas about power. In the past, Nazis were good, flowing robes were good, and nautically themed sugar was good. But things have changed since the past happened and we, as a society, have a newer, better, more ambivalent understanding of what the world really meant. When people gather together to have fun, this ambivalence needs to be reflected. Nazis might have been good, but new historical evidence has shown that they made some pretty tough and costly decisions on their course to empire. Flowing robes are good too, but does that really justify wearing sunglasses indoors? Sugar is good, but did you know that sex is good too? But even though they are both good things, if you mix them, everything just get really weird and gritty.

I am not sure when appearing fair and balanced, but also humorous, but also edgy, but also cool, but not in an in-charge way–more like kind of the power behind the throne that has the wisdom to understand how things really work, dude–became the priority for my generation’s collective fantasizing.

Halloween, like the 21^st century, has become a big freaking mess. Going insane for a day and pretending that you are someone who never existed seems as good a solution as any. But it is a solution that I only put about…10 minutes of thought into (until this article).

I don’t understand the meaning of Halloween. I also choose to reject it.

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I was recently challenged by some friends to some, “light reading.” “You want the truth?” my own personal demons said, “You can’t handle the truth! Or airplane fiction! Do it!” Like it does for so many characters from so many detective novels the whole incident started innocently. Then I got in too deep. Then I stopped and everything turned out great.

Private dicks! You pay them the money; they bring you the truth. It’s easy. It’s simple. It’s transactional. As every opening monologue from every detective novel will tell you, every gumshoe wants it that way. A harsh past is mentioned. The client is irresistible. A hat gently turns upwards. The case is taken.

Storm Front by Jim Butcher, the first book of the Dresden Files series, introduces Harry Dresden, a regular wizard like you or me or Tim in Accounting. Harry is also a detective.

The story begins with this wizard-detective getting a phone call. Hey, says the future client, do I have your permission to show up at your place of business and request your professional services in exchanges for currency? Are you a real businessman or is this just a put on?

Since this is fiction, Harry is in fact a legitimate business wizard.

The story goes from there. A hooker and a mobster are murdered via exploding hearts. The cops are worried; our protagonist arrives at the crime scene and offers no useful information. Later, a potential client wants Harry to find her missing husband. He (the husband) wants to be a wizard. The husband has recently, suspiciously disappeared. Harry has no insight. Three hundred pages later; our highly-able wizard-detective begins to suspect that these two cases might be connected.

Storm Front suffers from many weaknesses. Most annoyingly, Harry has to prove to people that he is a wizard using only the power of his words. Wouldn’t a competent wizard have some minor spells at the ready to convince potential clients that he is a wizard and not a poorly-branded detective? The excuse offered:

“There are powers in the universe that most people don’t even know about. Powers that we still don’t fully understand. The men and women who work with these powers see things in a different light. They come to understand things in a different way. This sets them apart. Sometimes it breeds unwarranted suspicion and fear.”

As a public service, I am announcing that you do not need to fear and suspect the wizard who cannot keep his love potions separate from his break-in-case-of-demon potions. Detective novels survive on the wits of their protagonists and a clever unfolding of the plot. Why? Because in the life of the detective, everyone dies or is betrayed. I don’t mind ridiculousness. A lot of detective fiction has a gallows humor to it. In Storm Front the only character that wasn’t too self-important was the talking skull that wanted to party.

Please don’t read this book.

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Dear Reed,

Hey Reed!

Thanks for the email message a fortnight ago. I was worried. You mentioned your desire not to go the way of AOL dial-up or Borders bookstores. Perhaps you glossed over your rival, Blockbuster, deliberately. After all, they spent years building a brand based on combination of reasonable prices, robust video selection, and convenience. They only made two mistakes: firstly, drastically overextending their physical presence in response to new competition. Secondly, they did not understand that one day people would want to route their movies via their computers to their television screen.

It was a different time, the mid-90s, a more arrogant time when people were blind to the future. I’ve been assured by the press coverage of Netflix and by your email message. You’ve learned from Blockbuster (a feat that Blockbuster has yet to pull off). Your vision is clear. Streaming is the future of content distribution and the future of higher profit margins. Despite the furor, nobody really wants Netflix to become Borders, AOL dial-up or Blockbuster Video. Your message helped and made the very fact that Netflix is a business clear, warm and accessible.

So thanks for that.

Let me address a different and more important issue. I like to watch things on screens. I also like quality, uninterrupted viewings. I don’t trust the Internet to provide stability. I subscribe to Netflix streaming because it’s cheap and I subscribe to DVD mailers because of the variety of programming available.

And what a variety! You said it yourself Reed. Nearly every movie or television show that’s available is available on DVD. Netflix came into my life in 2005 and I’ve been cool ever since. Being able to mention The Wire? Understanding Battlestar Galactica’s unfortunately complicated season structure? Being able to drop everything and show someone the “Motherboy XXX” episode of Arrested Development because it’s on Netflix streaming right now? These are your accomplishments Reed, and I’ve been happy to rent them out for the last five years.

I don’t care about the prices Reed. The people who do are either a) legitimately concerned about spending $20 a month on entertainment or b) believe that everything they want should be free. I think that you’ve built the best library in the world. It’s interactive, it’s speedy, it’s ever-growing. On the heels of a massive price hike, you more or less announced that you would also like to burn down the old beloved library to make way for two newer ones. There will be one streaming library that has fewer titles, more technical problems, and gets to keep the brand name.

“And don’t worry,” you announced, “the library I have less confidence in will be cordoned off from my resources and also be called Qwikster!”

Qwikster? Really? That’s the name you give a greyhound puppy with three legs.

This will probably be my last letter as a Netflix customer. In a few weeks time, I’ll be a Qwikster man.

Sincerely,

Josh Cole

P.S. I’m a Qwikster-man now? Damn it Reed.

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About two months ago, you may have felt a slight rumble as A Dance with Dragons, the sixth tome in the series, “A Song of Ice and Fire,” was released to the public. This rumble was not a natural disaster. It was the sudden vanishing of six years of nerd skepticism and rage. After much-publicized grief, the newest installment of one of the most intensely popular fantasy series had arrived and I think it is fair to say that the community simply got tired of being angry.

Which is probably for the best.

For those who don’t know, A Song of Ice and Fire series takes place in a world that’s medieval, a little magical, and very, very feudal. The series begins with the death of an advisor to the wine-powered king of the realm. The advisor’s replacement is the honorable king of the North..ish realm. Mayhem ensues and entraps the reader for hundreds of pages.

The books are structured very specifically, with each chapter is told from a point-of-view of one character. Many of the consistent narrators are heirs and members of the various dynasties. But many other chapters are told from the POV of one-off characters. Many of the characters die throughout the series creating a sense of uncertainty that never, ever goes away.

A Dance with Dragons continues the many, many, many, many, many plotlines from the last book. Big recognizable names like Tyrion Lannister, Daenerys Targaryen, and Jon Snow command most of the book, while the Stark clan, the Onion Knight, the Greyjoys have a much smaller narrative presence. The House Frey is there too, becoming increasingly ominous. I guess that where the saying, “Revenge is a dish best served fat,” comes from. The current war is in full recession. The seeds of the next war are clearly being planted, by old characters and new.

For those who are superfans of Martin’s prose stylings don’t worry. Lavish descriptions of food, eating, and excessive drinking abound. Until, finally, winter comes: “The snow had started to descend more heavily and the fire in the ditch was guttering out. The crowd began to break apart and stream from the yard, queen’s men, king’s men, and free folk alike, all anxious to get out of the wind and the cold. “Will my lord be feasting with us?” Mully asked Jon Snow.” Dance advances the plot and characters slowly, but well. Not knowing exactly what the next books contain, I still think it’s safe to say that this book is the eye of the storm. A Dance with Dragons will be attacked for being slow, pointless, wheel-spinning. It’s true that not much happens, but A Song of Ice and Fire has always been a game of chess. If you want to root for a particular pawn on the board, that’s fine. When it gets taken, look to the rest of the game and understand that isn’t over.

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Quiz night! Have other words inspired such confidence or fear in the hearts of men? Quiz night! Where people compete in the grueling, debilitating world of ideas and the alcohol flows and everyone pools their remaining nickels for a quarter-order of tater tots. Quiz night! The time where your friends prove to be the best friends in the whole world or losers.

Quiz nights at The Swiss (1904 Jefferson Ave, Tacoma 98402) are on Tuesdays beginning at 7:00 p.m. and ending at 9 p.m.  Entering, one feels the magic of a bar that has the space of a bar, restaurant, concert stage and pool hall. This is a place you can actually hang out.  The gin & tonics ($4.25 post-tax) are strong enough and the rotating beer selection compliments the flavor of salt; useful for the post-quiz-cry into your beer. Quizmaster Joe strikes up a friendly, affable atmosphere and walks the competitors through five rounds; general knowledge and the picture round being the bookends of the night. The other three rounds are variable, but there is a strong rotation of movies, cars, computers and terrible, horrible song lyrics. The prize is the pool of money created by the $2 entrance fee. The team maximum is 7 people. Bring as many as you can. Many teams enter, one team leaves…with the all of the money.

Quiz nights at Doyle’s Public House (208 St. Helens Ave, Tacoma 98402) begins at 8 p.m. and ends at 10 p.m on Wednesday nights. The bar is a large-one room with a concert stage which began to see use as I left. Some people really like Doyle’s. Some people don’t. There are two rounds, each beginning at the top of the hour. The gin & tonic ($5.00 post-tax) had the taste of lightly spiced water. Many people would consider this a good drink, alas, I ordered, “the welliest well G&T you can possibly well-up from the well.” Perhaps I am too picky to be comfortable in new places, but Quizmaster Russ is the warmest and friendly presence in a relatively warm and friendly place. The quiz itself was an interesting mix of logic puzzles, word puzzles, and current events in Republican gaffes. There was no cover charge. Later that night, I heard that reward was shots.

If the quiz night at The Swiss is rooted in the gnostic priesthood of Voltron and carburetors, and Doyle’s quiz night replicates the genteel atmosphere of 1700’s French cafes, the quiz night at the Office (813 Pacific Ave, Tacoma 98402) is the closest thing to a dystopic communistic treasure hunt I’ve ever seen. The quiz begins at roughly 7 p.m. and ends at about 9 p.m on Thursday evenings. The Office glows from laminated wood floors, basks in brick-hued walls and is primarily lit by television’s warm glowing warming glow. The place is loud and crowded and everyone seemed to have at least three empty glasses in front of them. My gin & tonic ($4.25 post-tax) took about 15 minutes to arrive. Quizmaster Chris struggled bravely against his mike and the non-quizzers. He lost (and while we’re here, shout-out to the guy who kept yelling, “NEEEERDS!” You captured the spirit of our internal debate about whether we should list characters only from a specific Star Trek series to anyone from the Star Trekverse), but every team walked away a winner. With a $2 cover charge, every round has a cash prize ($20-$40) and occasionally, swag. Every round (word scramble, star trek/star wars, Seahawks, word scramble) resulted in a tie and divided treasure between the teams. After the best people in the world and I came down with acute cases of deafness, blindness, sudden-empty-wallet syndrome, we left.

Have a quiz in the Seattle-Tacoma area you think I should go to? Contact me at jacole25@gmail.com with suggestions and details!

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