Social life, as one ages, becomes event-based. Wan Chai 6x a week becomes LKF 5x a week becomes LKF 2x a week becomes LKF 2x a month. This will eventually turn into SoHo 1x a month then dinner parties 1x a month then divorce and then Soho 7x a week with drinks starting 6pm sharp until 11 when you stumble home, alone and lonely. If this sounds like a terrifying future, it is—but I’m really just putting you in the mood to be scared since this column is about Halloween.
Yes, event-based partying is my favorite. From Sevens to Grand Prix to the annual Pimps and Hoes Junk Trip (jks guyz, I’m not 16. Stop group-Whatsapp inviting me to this crap)—anything that brings you out of the daily monotony is something to cherish. So annually I cherish Ocean Park Halloween, a month-long transformation of “that place with the scary cable cars” to “that place with the scary haunted houses.” It’s good for a trip with friends, or a date, or with enemies who have weak heart muscles: spending the night wandering around seeing the things that go bump in the night.
There are eight “live-action” haunted houses—meaning somebody jumps out and screams as you wander from place to place. I always go, put on my macho paper diapers, and scream like a little girl. Actually, I do that guy scream which basically is to recoil in fear but then try not to say anything, so I just look like a chump who’s contorted my body weirder than that guy in “The Unborn” (btw, that movie sucks. If you want to see a scary one, watch “Sinister”).
Here’s my advice—to avoid the scariest thing of all, lines, head to Ocean Park as soon as the night park opens and take the underground shuttle (5 min) instead of the more pleasant cable cars (15 min). Head to the back and hit up the haunted houses, starting with “Rigor Mortis Live,” which hilariously says “YAHOO PRESENTS” outside. It’s like: Gee, thanks Yahoo for dressing 50 people in insane costumes to jump out at me. It’s a winding path of people screaming and jumping out at you, which is sort of de rigueur in these establishments.
The scariest part of all this, actually, is when you can see the terrors in front of you. Like in horror films the jump scares (BAM! THE MURDER POPS OUT OF NOWHERE!) always make you jump in your seat but dread is something that comes slowly and surely—the heart that beats louder and louder and louder until you know that you’re doomed. There’s a part there where you’re looking into another room and you see this person staring back at you and you’re just like “Oh no, something bad is going to happen to me.” One year I started arguing with the people in the group—“You go first.” “No! You go first!” —until I lost, and freaked the F out as soon as I got into that room. Given the simple formula of “weird costumes + poorly lit rooms = horror” I’m always impressed with the stuff OP comes up with. One day I’ll get to go to a creative meeting where they talk about how to make people as uncomfortable as possible without getting sued. It’s sort of the way I write my column.
The other haunted house I’d like to point your attention to is “Horror-Wood Studios,” which is inversely scary to the quality of the name. In other words the attraction’s name is bad but it’s really freaky. By far the funniest part of this is that the place is completely dark and they give you a glow stick to carry along with you. So you’re in this room alone—ideally with some chick but I mean sigh, such is life. Right, guy who’s drinking beers with me in SoHo at 6pm? Anyway, you’re clutching this glow stick knowing that you’re about to flip out when someone in white face paint hisses in your face. I always wondered what I might look like during such a ride and when I exited I found out—there are night-vision cameras showing boys and girls screaming as the performers hop out. And right there I realized the scariest thing of all: exiting a haunted house and looking at the 50 people who have just watched me jump up and down, screaming like a little boy.