This past weekend was a good one, if you weren’t a sports team getting upset by an underdog.

A group of friends and I traveled to Iowa City last Friday night. We were split down the middle of those supporting Iowa and those supporting Northwestern for the impending football game.

We all know the outcome of that …

However, previous to a victory that, at least in my lifetime, has become the upset of all upsets, I was immensely frightened on the car ride into campus as I watched my car filled with those of us clad in purple become engulfed by a sea of black and yellow. Physically walking to the stadium, people’s eyes followed us from one side of their gaze to the other, mentally inquiring about where we possibly found the nerve to wear that color into their town. These stares morphed from inquisitive into almost hateful after the game; but that is another story.

What I do respect about Iowa, however, is the sheer amount of dedication it seems the entire state puts into its football team. It’s almost as if this football team has a cult following, present throughout the entire state of Iowa and the states that surround her. The Mondays after Iowa wins football games, multitudes from my school seem to show up wearing something yellow or black with “Iowa” stamped across their chest.

I was afraid for my own safety after the game until we crossed the border into Illinois. I felt as though the gaze of 70,000 patrons of Kinnick Stadium didn’t leave my back as we cautiously, however gleefully, retreated out of the stadium.

I went trick or treating this year. My friend and I rushed home from volleyball, showered, straightened our hair, found the largest pillow cases we had, hid our costumes beneath sweatpants and fuzzy jackets and ventured out into what turned into an increasingly blustery evening.

We were followed by what was undoubtedly a pack of eighth graders who had consumed far more than the appropriate amount of candy for the night.

We started off breaking into sprints between houses; but after a few one hundred yard dashes, I dropped onto a neighbor’s front porch and, sitting on the ground, was barely able to muster another “trick or treat.”

The solution? As a 16-year-old trick-or-treater, well, I cheated. My friend and I mustered up just enough energy to shuffle back to her house, pile into my car and weave through the hordes of children on the street until we found a suitable parking spot positioned strategically between three streets.  

 

I hate scary movies.

And as the latest frightening film sweeps its way through America, yielding pandemonium and leaving thousands of people afraid to go to sleep in its wake, I refuse to see it and cower when the previews come on television. For the record, these “previews” show little actual footage and focus more on audience reactions … still incredibly alarming to me.  

I don’t understand the point of seeing a scary movie. Why spend upwards of $10 to hide your face in either your friends arm or the arm of the stranger next to you. The point being, you spend more time cowering into a shoulder than actually enjoying the full effect of the film.

Afterward, viewers enter this post-movie state of shock for the rest of the night. I spent a full four or five hours with friends who had seen a scary movie and I was able to convince them multiple times that demons were coming for them. Yes, it was mean, but so very fun.

What is this hysteria with people wanting to pay money to be afraid? Is it enjoyable not being able to sleep alone for a week? I didn’t think so.