October 17, 2005:
A few years ago, some friends and I got the crazy idea to head up to Salem, Massachusetts as part of our pre-Halloween celebration. It's become an annual thing, and I just got back from our latest excursion. Through countless literary and film exercises, most of you will recognize Salem as the city famed for its filthy witch action. More or less a tourist trap born of the Salem Witch Trials of the late 1600s, the town knows that its bread is buttered with dragon's blood and juiced sage. While it's more genuinely just a picturesque, liberal community a hair away from Boston, the more touristy streets give Salem a blanket reputation of being all about witchcraft. It'd be wrong to say that every local supports this, but for those of us who only need to endure the endless occult references and guys walking around with giant rubber demon masks for a single weekend, this is Halloween fun of the highest order.
Salem is a place where visitors are free to roam cemeteries without consequence. Hell, we were grabbing from big bags of kettle-popped popcorn as we lumbered through, careful to balance our cups full of steaming cider on tombstones when we wanted to take pictures. Everybody was doing that. You had families and friends from all walks, in plain clothes and costumes, prancing around the cemetery as if the tombstones here looked at all different from anywhere else in the world. While you'll see big gray bricks naming some of the biggest players of the old Witch Trials, they're here more in tribute than to mark spots on the ground that might get goopy when you step on 'em.
It's a strange city. The Witch Trials are notable as a travesty of justice than of anything actually "occult," and yet, there's witchy stuff everywhere. Museums were as far as the eye could see, and they could be as simple as a homeowner converting his garage into a courtroom setting and hanging a few "accused" mannequins. Though no less historically accurate than any other town-built-on-some-loose-piece-of-history, there are certainly a few people who make blanket criticisms on what Salem's come to be known for. Indeed, it's as much a carnival and freakshow as it is a city that knows its roots, but while that might be an issue for true historians or the people who are sick of having the cars of eighty tourists piled in front of their house, it's Halloween heaven for those of us just passing through. After all, where else can you find quartz crystals, blueberry beer and a guy dressed as Dracula in the span of six feet?
Some of the streets of Salem, like the one shown above, have been completely taken over by the various souvenir shops, attractions and junk food stands. Unless they're employed there or fifteen-years-old with a Slipknot shirt on, the locals tend to avoid places like this. Here we find tourists from every state, slowly wading through the sights with a disposable camera in one hand and a candy apple in the other.
This is the first of three Halloween Countdown entries detailing the highlights of my trip. It took an excruciatingly long time for us to reach Salem, and despite the fact that it rained pretty much every second we were there, I can't recommend it enough for the Halloween lover in us all. Granted, the various celebrations are more in the same vain of Halloween than for Halloween itself, but in a town full of dying leaves, hot cider and dark cloaks, you probably aren't going to miss the trick-or-treat references. With Salem, there are "Things To Buy", "Things To Do" and "Things To Drink." Today we attack the first.
"Things To Buy" is my favorite category, because uhhh, I like buying things. A vacation isn't a vacation unless I return home with at least ten pounds worth of bullshit souvenirs to find a place for. Salem is great for that. I was raised and remain Catholic, however undevoted, but I really hope Christ's secret agents don't blow me away with boiling holy water over my very conscious interest in Wiccan philosophy and paraphernalia. I really can't help it. Any religion that calls for its followers to collect rocks and make their bedrooms smell like lavender seeds can't be all bad.
Problem is, my vague interest in Wicca is more something I just remember having a more defined interest in when I was a teenager -- or more specifically, when I had time to assemble altars and do money spells instead of, you know, working. With the passage of time, it's become completely subdued. I know I shouldn't kick somebody in the balls unless I want to be kicked in the balls three times myself, but beyond that, bring on Christmas and the manger statues.
Course, when you're in Salem, Masssachusssetttess, all previous allegiances are thrown out the window. Come on, fair city. Make me a warlock.
The Magic Parlor is just one of dozens upon dozens of stores that sell all the tools necessary to turn your enemies into skunks, and it should give you a good idea of just how easy it is for the faithless to plow through several hundred dollars on one night out in Salem. Why this particular store got the nod for site coverage above its many competitors will be revealed shortly, but suffice to say, the Magic Parlor was no ordinary Witching for Posers gift shop...
You should remember an article I did a while back about "The Store," a dusty old collectibles shop located in Upstate, New York, where time held no meaning and candies that hadn't been produced in fifteen years were still on sale right next to the register. It's one of the planet's best kept secrets, and if it had a sister, the Magic Parlor wants its hairdryer back. Click here for a larger version of the photo above. The insane little shop provided an equivalent amount of real estate to witchcraft tools and, of all things, pranks and gags. On one side of the store were piles of parchment and charmed bird feathers. On the other side? Whoopee cushions.
They had everything. Battery-operated coffins that shook wildly when you walked past, a hundred different sets of false teeth ranging from fanged to triple-fanged, and yes, even a can of "Instant Poop," which literally let you spray piles of fake shit. It took me a while to figure out why everything felt so oddly familiar, but it eventually hit me: I used to order from this place's mail order catalog constantly as a kid. It was one of the lesser cousins of Johnson Smith. With ads placed in the backs of comic books and Boys' Life magazines, one look at their online catalog should spark a few memories for anyone who used to waste their allowance on the same crap I did.
The people running the Magic Parlor were less pretentious than some of the other shop owners, but I'd guess you'd have to be if you were selling tools to be used in religious ceremonies next to tools to be used in making people think there's fake dog shit on the floor. Shamelessness is an underrated trait; it isn't always bad.
The Magic Parlor has been in business long enough for its owners to collect the best of the best Wiccan goods -- or at least, the kind of Wiccan goods that'd appeal to people who are only going to be Wiccan for the weekend. Easy stuff. You don't have to know much about the rules and lore to gain false hope that placing certain spices and rocks around your house will bring you riches and luck, but as it's a series of beliefs based just as much on meditation and visualization as the blood of innocent newborns, it's not exactly a "false process," either. If having a chalice full of fennel in your living room makes you feel more at peace, then why the frig not? Is it really that much different from choking down a holy circle wafer and thinking God likes you better for it? I think God would forgive us our trespasses, and forgive us if we like the way fennel smells. If he won't, I bet that Buddha guy would.
There are a few shops in Salem that reflect a more "honest" and true Wiccan lifestyle. The only real difference is, with shops like those, everyone inside looks at you as if you don't deserve to be in there, and the tiny wax candles cost three times as much. I'm okay with faking it, so mote it be and all that. The stand full of pendulums seen above represents the general extent of witchy stuff found in most of Salem -- it's more along the lines of "novelties." If you've never heard about the pendulum trick, it goes like this: You hold the chain tight between your thumb and index figure and wait for the pendulum to hold still. After it does, you "use your mind" to make it move in the direction you want it to go. Believe it or not, it works every time. Some say it's because the mind is an untapped wealth of psychic power just waiting to take over the universe. Others say it's because you're subconsciously moving your fingers ever so slightly to reach your goals. It's kind of like the Ouija board deal, only without the ever-present Milton Bradley logo to totally ruin any notion that you've stumbled upon something most people haven't.
When I finally made my way over to the Wall of Pranks & Gags, I didn't know where to start. All of the stupid tricks I once believed to be the pinnacle of hilarity were right there in plain view, dirt cheap and waiting to be plucked. Deciding that bugs in phony ice cubes and snakes in peanut brittle cans weren't very Halloweeny, I responsibly limited what would've been a catastrophically large purchase, vowing to only buy one item. But which one?! I searched and searched and searched, and finally, one gag rose above the rest and screamed at me to take it out of the store. It needed space to grow and develop into the world-ruler it was destined to become.
Click here and here for larger images of the dumb pranks.
Yes, it's "Whoops!" Made in 1985, it's the best example of fake vomit ever made, and one I purchased a number of times throughout youth. A big, rubbery pile of naughty colors and painful chunks, I absolutely had to own this beautiful vomit once more. The idea that this thing had been hanging there untouched for at least a decade added to its allure, but to be honest, I just wanted to make somebody think a cat threw up on their bed. I'm With Stupid.
I left the Magic Parlor with a richer perspective on life. I left the Magic Parlor with all the tools necessary to win big money and attract pretty ladies. I left the Magic Parlor with awesome fake vomit.
Salem is an awesome town, really it is. Tomorrow you'll see more of why. We're going to the witch dungeon, folks. Don't think they'll be selling any phony throw up there, but with the spells I've learned, anything is possible.
