Forgive me if this sounds inconsiderate, but some cultures are just strange.

I spent last weekend away from State College, in a place so different and so odd that I almost forgot how to function civilly back here on campus.

I was home.

It was an interesting time to be home because the locals were celebrating some sort of pagan holiday. They called it "Halloween" just like we do, and even celebrated it on Oct. 31, too.

But that's where the similarities ended. This holiday was so unlike the Halloween I know that I don't even understand how they can get away calling it by the same name. These suburban families completely bastardized our wholesome yearly celebration and turned it into something totally unrecognizable to me.

A group of children rang our doorbell at about 6:45 p.m. They were dressed in costumes and carrying pillowcases. Finally, I thought, somebody in this town knows how to party.

Oh, how wrong I was. I opened the pillowcases to see which one brought the Natural Light and which was carrying the Banker's Club Rum.

No luck. These kids didn't bring any booze at all.

In fact, they wanted me to fill their empty pillowcases with candy. Then they left right away, off to rope other unsuspecting residents into feeding their sugar addiction. What a backwards tradition.

Throughout the rest of the night, a steady stream of youngsters arrived at our door. Clearly, none of them had pre-gamed before coming out, which struck me as odd. Who goes out on a Friday night without a buzz on? It was all so new to me, so foreign a concept.

Each group arrived in different costumes. I saw witches, goblins, crayons and even a juice box. The "trick-or-treaters" (their term, not mine) were obviously trying to emulate our rituals.

However, they did a terrible job. There were no hooker witches, no hooker goblins, no hooker crayons or juice boxes. Nobody even bothered to go out as a plain old hooker. (Note to self: Next year's Halloween costume = slutty crayon, preferably blue).

Instead, the revelers paraded around the neighborhood as morally upright ghosts and ghouls. How bizarre.

By 8:30, the rush was over. The streets were dead. Lights were turned out. I expected to maybe see a fourth grader with a sugar high stumbling around the streets, futilely trying to find his way home before eventually passing out on someone's front lawn. I mean, it's only normal.

It never happened, though. By 9, I had resigned myself to the fact that the holiday was over. And I just didn't get it.

Luckily, I was treated to one last glimmer of hope, a simple sign that reminded me of State College and how things should be done.

A police car circled the neighborhood, no doubt looking for rogue toilet paperers and house eggers. Ah, the familiarity had returned.

With a lack of real crimes, the suburban cops had to be on the lookout for petty hoodlums and misfit middle-schoolers. Anything that would make them feel like they were actually doing something.

I felt like I was back in State College again. It's good to see that some things never change.

Paul Nordeman is a senior majoring in journalism and is The Daily Collegian's Wednesday columnist. His e-mail address is pjn5005@psu.edu.