What’s so special about the NFL? (Feels like you’re watching a sports movie every Sunday, it’s unreal, who needs the Premiership.)
Why does no one understand my accent even though I’m speaking English? (They think Irish people sound like Tom Cruise in Far and Away or like a leprechaun who was the star of ads for a cereal called Lucky Charms. Also, I mumble. And the Cork dialect is harder for them to grasp.) At least I figured out all these puzzling conundrums.
One I still don’t get is why people in LA love Halloween so much. As in they LOVE it.
Is it because Americans have no real culture of their own? Perhaps.
There are so many religions over here they all celebrate major holidays at different times? Potentially.
Or, is it because Americans love dressing up and acting like drunken prostitutes under the guise of a celebration? I think so but still not fully sure.
It’s crazy how nuts Halloween is in LA. Almost lost my mind a few times.
First, there was the time I arrived here with my long-term visa.
Flew in on Halloween, Friday night, went out for dinner straight from the airport with a few buddies. Ended up on a lavish gin fuelled Halloween weekend adventure, everyone dressed up like they’re in a Sci-Fi movie and just walked off set... this is intense, so many people, can barely move and I’m somehow in VIP suites and at red carpet events and all night B to D celebrity-filled parties in the Roosevelt Hotel, the Mondrian Hotel, the hills and God knows where else and I don’t know what’s going on.
Finally I get some sleep and wake up Sunday afternoon with the fear of God in me wondering what part of Cork I’m in... oh no, this is LA, oh Christ, I just moved here, what am I doing with my life... gin monkeys are attacking me, Sunday night Fear is upon me, I should really unpack my suitcases, settle in to my new abode and take LA by the scruff of the neck.
Where is my scissors that I usually use to trim my hair, had this scissors for years, can’t find it in my wash-bag... need this scissors because this is a mental rock of home for me to hold on to and now that rock is gone and I’m halfway across the world in my new apartment freaking out, my roommate is telling me she has a scissors I can borrow.
I’m telling her it’s not the same, you don’t understand, looking at flights home to Cork until I finally calm down and go buy scissors and start my life again. Fun times.
Next year I’m at a Halloween party in Robbie Williams’ abode. As you do. Everyone dressed up in million dollar costumes, who’s who, all disguised except that guy in the Slash costume looks pretty cool, oh no, that actually is Slash, mighty. Another normal LA Halloween, very nice.
Year after a load of Irish buddies came to visit me (all just happened to be in LA for different reasons but let’s just pretend I have friends who came to visit me, shh).
My LA buddy Rory Rory hooked us all up VIP at a lavish SkyBar Egyptian Nights Theme party, getting us all a table and drinks all night. VIP Hayes (plus ten) all the way.
Last year I went to the Halloween parade in West Hollywood. 250,000 drunk people partying on the streets.
Like Mardi Gras, just full of proper freaks, potential killers and people with props like the Mystery Van from Scooby Doo (as in they bought a van and got a custom spray job just for Halloween).
Mental. Streets were so packed at one point I couldn’t move, my feet were off the ground for a good minute, walking on people’s calves, fully stuck, screaming. Lovely claustrophobia.
This year was grand. DJed a few parties. Dodged the mayhem. Got paid. Happy days. Crazy part was how the parties started early October. Almost a full month celebration and most Americans have no clue what Halloween is or how it started.
“Celtic holiday? That’s so cool because I’m half Irish, half Celt, half Welsh.” Only constant every year is my outfit: Irish banshee.
Involves me wearing normal clothes BUT with the added bonus of a red top hat that I found in my bag the first Halloween I arrived and didn’t have a costume. Classic Irish banshee. Ahem.
On that note, one other thing I have yet to figure out:
Why do Americans believe spoof so easily?