“Are you a virgin?” 

A middle-aged man, dressed only in a tight golden speedo, looked at me intensely and awaited my reply. It was midnight on Halloween in a small historic theater on Main Street, and I had no idea what was going on. 

Just then, the movie started, and a gigantic pair of plump, red lips appeared onscreen. Over the next two hours, I witnessed people singing nonsensical tunes about Flash Gordon in silver underwear fighting androids, men dressed in lingerie performing enthusiastic pelvic thrusts in the aisles, and women dressed as space aliens shouting nonsensical phrases at a “Dr. Frank-N-Furter” as he chased a barely clothed “Rocky Horror.” I had known that I was taking a risk coming to a midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, but I had not expected, well, this. But soon, something strange started to happen. Before I knew it, I too was yelling expletives at the main characters at every opportunity possible and throwing month-old toast at the movie screen. About two hours later, I exited the theatre knowing that, not only was I no longer a Rocky Horror virgin, but also that the film was the greatest combination of moving images and sound ever to grace the earth. I was hooked. 

I go back every midnight on Halloween to take part in the madness that is Rocky Horror. And, since we’re roommates now, it’s your responsibility to come with me -- oh, and yes, costumes are mandatory.