After at least three days of being tricked into a Halloween state of mind, I'm not sure this story will be much of a treat. The longest Halloween ever started for some this past Thursday, and I bet somewhere in New York right now there are still a few partying on. First of all, when did the Village Halloween parade get kidnapped by the straights and the Disney Channel crowd? It used to be a gayer, smaller, sexier, more risque parade. Only a few years ago, it was witches who were switches and a "Top" Chef costume would have looked much different. I guess over the years, observing through the amber-colored glasses of my Elvis costume, I didn't notice. It's not a bad thing, but it is different. Although the rain transformed some costumes, as running mascara turned Britney Spearses into Courtney Loves, and hobgoblins carried umbrellas ... but the spirit was not dampened at all.

My late date had me watching it a bit on the TV, which was quite fun, but there is nothing like being there. My favorite costume, not counting the ones people spent months perfecting, was a Kanye West. The genius had brought his pants legs down to hide his right shoe and stuck a fake severed foot in his mouth. I was my usual old Fat Elvis, although this year I added a hundred Alessi-drawing flies and lots of other creepy crawling things to my costume, as Elvis is deteriorating. By the way, if you ever have to pin a real freeze-dried insect to your costume or wig, penetrate the beastie in the thorax away from the head, or it wont stay. What a nightmare ... next year I'm going as Lady Gaga, if that's still relevant.

I was at that hyped-up party at Broadway and 29th Street from the Jane crew. It was fun-ish. I was told in a very hush-hush whisper-whisper that Lady Gaga was showing up. Despite morbid curiosity about what she could possibly be wearing, my crew decided to cut out. "Lady Gaga is coming" whispers have become far too commonplace for me. I mean, it's great that she's out there, but it's becoming passé to announce it. When Gaga becomes commonplace or passé, it's time to go go. Patrick Duffy's soiree christens Serpentine which is now deep into construction. We took a bike cab to his event, as getting around required thinking on your feet and lots of walking on them as well. The Serpentine party was fabulous, although of course it was near impossible to identify anyone. All were decked out and with someplace to go. Can't wait for the official opening of the place -- it's going to be a winner.

I pulled down the Elvis shades so doorpeople could recognize me. I always asked how is it inside, and they all answered with "I'm not sure" or "I don't know." Anonymous great costumes get into even the great places and Halloween becomes one of the few days in the year when doors break down a bit; the other two are the day before Thanksgiving, when frat boys and sorority gals return for holiday break and hijack the clubs. The other of course is New Year's Eve, when most places sell in advance and you get a mixed bag of nuts and amateurs. Halloween is almost like that unless you hit the real private events. I asked the door peeps what they look for when everyone is hiding their social status behind makeup and fantasy. "Shoes still say a lot ... you have to look real hard at stitching, and you have to talk to people much more. I can't tell you honestly if it's really good in there." Some places had armories of plastic weapons and canes and such, as security guards felt it was better to be safe than sorry.

The Friday before Halloween was much better. The best crowd was there to visit Lupe Ramos and Kelly Blevins over at Ilili. A sophisticated, beautiful, costumed crew made this the best party of the weekend. SubMercer on Friday night was grand as well. Mr. Black was all that it could be. Yoni Goldberg's bash at the Red Bull space had every player in town there -- probably -- could tell under the mask.The PAPER magazine blast attracted a crowd in and out of costume, all visually fabulous. I hated to leave and am blocking out all of next Friday night, or is it blacking out? Sunday felt like New Year's Day. I took two showers to get the sequins and parade dandruff off of me. With younguns in tow we were off to dim sum as the evening was Norisol Ferrari's fashion show, and the night was set to be all about those damn Yankees, Californication, and Mad Men. The younguns were still pumped from the day before when the Halloween treats turned them from sweet little nymphs to sugar-rush faeries. We couldn't deal much with the dim sum food carts and screaming and opted for the Peking duck and whole steamed bass. A good meal, three Advils, and a sit-down with friends relieved me from the weekend of hard work involved with Halloween. On the way out, while others fumbled with their coats, I showed a cutie who was a monster just a day before the fish in Ping's tanks. She asked me, "Is that the fish we ate?" I wasn't sure how to answer, so I looked desperately around for parental supervision "Yes," I said, expecting her to cry. She looked up at me and said, "Cool ! But where do they keep the ducks?" Good question.