Bring out yer dead.

As has become our custom, Kevin and I attended the Day of the Dead celebration in the Mission together. Unfortunately it has gotten so big I think next year it might be out of control. I did love how most everyone was very into it, both in the respectfulness of the day, and into the wardrobe/makeup.


It was such an intoxicated, street-glogging revelry that I started calling it "Dead Pride."








At one point I turned to Kevin and said, "You know, we're just any number of mullets away from this being a Kiss convention."

There were some beautiful altars, and all of them heartfelt, and some more evocative than others. This year someone built an elaborate tribute to Neil Armstrong.












On our walk over, I did say to one guy in full skull makeup, leaning against a building on an empty street corner, seriously inhaling on his cigarette, "You know, smoking will kill you."

Thoughts and prayers to those passed, and a not-so-silent thank you to scenes like this one:


Blessed be.