It seems appropriate to end the year with the dark and twisted origin tale of “Spooky Mama.”
Many years ago, my bff, Melette, knowing that Halloween is my favorite holiday, sent me a huge care package filled with a delightful assortment of All Hallow’s goodies. One item stood out, however. A pair of socks. Halloween socks. The kind of holiday-themed socks that you’d only wear with a holiday-themed sweater.
Black cats, full moons, witches, and ghosts cavorted with wanton abandon on these socks, mocking me with their diabolically cheerful expressions and vivid colors.
At the time, I was in the company of my other bff, Sean Bagley, to whom I held up the socks and said something much like, “What he fuck?” He slowly took in the socks, one eye twitching like a German sub commander in a WWII film who knows that he and his crew are headed straight for Davey Jones’ Locker, and then shrugged and said: “Melette must think you’re a spooky mama.”
In that instant, I became Spooky Mama to friends and family. It’s really appropriate in many ways, and as a nickname, I’ve come to own it.
I suspect that people (who know me) find me scary in general. Possibly because the governor in my brain was dismantled by the Warner Brothers’ Gremlin long ago, and I’m likely to say anything that I believe needs saying.
Another excellent friend, Mike Walsh, once referred to me as “Jozzgul” in an attempt to liken me to the Nazgul which have been terrifying readers of Tolkein since 1954. I immediately made that my Instagram account name.
Lord knows what other names float around out there to describe me, but know this: I AM the spookiest of Spooky Mamas.
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