29 October 2002


Blake and I carved a pumpkin Friday night. It was simple, but it looked good: round eyes, traingle nose, big smiling mouth and evil eyebrows. I sat it by our front door.

The New Orleans climate, though, isn't kind to pumpkins. When I went outside this morning I noticed that fuzzy black mold was growing out of the pumpkin's eyes, nose and mouth and that it was totally gross and squishy looking, if also very cool and Halloween-y.

By this evening, though, it was threatening to fall in on itself. I carried it to the garbage, careful not to punch my fingers through the soft sides. It splatted in the garbage can like a big orange raindrop.