We spent Halloween in the Castro, which is one of my favorite things to do ever. We’ve been traveling a lot, so we haven’t been in a few years, and I’m always disappointed to be away on Halloween night. This year, we went with a group of friends, and had a lot of fun, but the vibe was incredibly different.

Usually, it’s just a big block party with hordes of fun gay people in outrageous costumes, and swarms of fun straight people in outrageous costumes. Everyone’s drunk and dancing and flirting with each other, and the police are mostly there to help out if some hostile weirdo starts a bar fight or if someone falls down and cuts themselves. Boy, have things changed.

First, there were police everywhere, and you had to pass through alcohol and weapons checkpoints to even get into the neighborhood. And the cops weren’t getting into the spirit by being friendly and celebratory like usual, they were kind of grim and poised for action. Which made everyone feel, you know, grim and poised for action.

This, combined with the unusual enforcement of open container laws, made for an unexpected tension. Only about thirty percent of people were even in costume, and the crowd wasn’t gay enough, friendly enough, or fun enough to have been predominantly San Franciscans. It felt like someone flew in and air-dropped a different city right on top of Halloween.

We had a great time because we arrived early, and stuck mostly to the edges, hanging out with people who were there to have fun. For the first time, though, I felt wary all night. I attributed it to the combination of complete sobriety and protectiveness over the baby, but I realize now that it was just a different crowd.

We popped into Lucky 13 to get drinks and use the bathrooms, and left about an hour later, right as ten people were injured by gunfire a block away from where we were. Gunfire on Halloween.

I hate to say it, because Halloween in the Castro is one of the things that makes San Francisco more fun than other cities, but I don’t think I’ll go again. It’s not safe, and it’s not about hanging out with the neighbors anymore. Halloween has become the violent Fisherman’s Warf of holidays.

Next year, let’s have a hometown costume parade the Saturday before — one that starts early enough that people with guns don’t feel like getting out of bed for it. I’ll bring the Bloody Marys.

Bryan is helping organize a Bill Clinton event tomorrow, and he went for a walk-through with Secret Service this morning. When he returned to the car, Bryan gestured at the crowd outside. Everyone was wearing bright T-shirts and jeans, but one guy was in a severe dark suit and shiny dress shoes.

Bryan: Can you guess which of those guys is Secret Service?
Me: (Singing) Which of these kids is doing his own thing?
B: Which of these kids is heav-i-ly armed?

This is a follow-up to yesterday’s entry, so please read that first.

Though one of my strongest beliefs is that any individual can make a profound difference in society, movies seem to be less entertaining all the time. I pulled the quote below because it had me shaking my head, but then nodding a little. I get what he means. There’s a right place for fun, and if the entertainment industry isn’t the right place, then what the hell is?

At one extreme, you have Hotel Rwanda, and at the other you have Nacho Libre. What do you watch when you’re too exhausted to delve into the social implications of genocide, but you’d still like to keep your brain switch set to “on?”

That’s been a real frustration for me. Not enough movies in the last few years have made me feel both happier and smarter. In fact, only Amelie and Junebug come to mind–and Junebug isn’t everyone’s idea of a feel-good flick.

So I guess I’m wondering if this is a real trend, or just my personal experience. What movies have left you feeling smarter and sunnier afterward?

A few days ago, Bryan and I made our first trip to Borders just to see my book in its natural habitat. We found a few copies in the Web Design section (beh?), and Bryan took them up to the counter so I could sign them.

I didn’t realize this was a thing, authors going into random Borders and signing their books, so I felt all sheepish. Afterward, a clerk stuck “SIGNED BY THE AUTHOR!” stickers on the cover and put them back on the shelf. I gazed upon them lovingly. Still, it felt like I’d paid to have them printed by some vanity press and then snuck them in to a real bookstore just to see them on the shelf.

Also, they didn’t check my ID or author photo or anything. This made me wonder what other books I could sign at random bookstores. Would they believe me if I said I was Nora Ephron? Jonathan Safran Foer?

In conclusion, I encourage you to go into bookstores and surreptitiously sign copies of my book, as I think it would be funny.

Excellent stores near our home:

1. Palace of Fine Junk
2. Save a Lot Mart
3. House of Stools

If you thought the men’s bathroom at Blogher was empty, you should see the women’s bathroom at the Future of Web Aps conference.