Historical November–December 2005 article. Dates, prices, services and contacts describe the source period; current availability has not been established.
Fall is my favorite time of year. I’m not sure if it’s the cool morning weather, the colors to which the leaves turn, the fact that it’s football season, or Halloween.
All I know is that I like it.
But it’s hot, the weather has been dry so the leaves are dull, and the Rams are pedestrian at best. Thank goodness for some all-American traditions like Halloween and steroids.
In my youth, lightyears ago, I wasn’t a fan of Halloween.
I could neverfind a costume that suited me, pun intended. I’d look and look then use all of my creative resources to disguise myself. Alas, it never worked. People always recognized me.
I grew so tired of hearing, “Hi Richard Nixon, we know that’s you, Hawkeye!” My favorite Halloween time was the year that I dressed up as a gorilla.
The temperature must have been 85º and costume was so hot, it felt a bit like wearing my own portable and personal sauna. Back in those days, I used to have a white convertible, a tiny Miata.
If you remember Peter Sellers as Inspector Closeau in the movie, “A Shot In The Dark,” you know where I’m going. That movie ends with a great chase scene, a score of cars racing after one another in a small European town, cruising around a fountain.
The chase began after a masquerade ball, so, yep, everyone is in costume. Pirates lions; princesses are chasing policemen; knights in armor are chasing apples and bananas. (It reminds me a bit of a Democratic National Convention, but that’s a story for another day.) Anyway, you guessed it, one of the protagonists is wearing a gorilla outfit and, you guessed it again, he’s driving a tiny white convertible, top down, around the town square.
When I got my gorilla outfit, that was the image that I had in mind. (In fact, it was the image that I had in mind when I bought the white Miata.) Alas, by the time Halloween rolled around I realized that I might be pushing the realworld envelope a bit if I drove my car in the gorilla outfit. Actually, most of the outfit worked just fine.
I did drive it dressed as a gorilla from the neck down. People stared but when you think about it, that outfit is almost normal in the Central West End.
It was wearing the gorilla mask while driving that was over the top.
First, the photo of me on my driver’s licence doesn’t look at all like the gorilla’s face. OK, OK, it does a bit, but not that much. Second, visibility is hindered in the mask. Can you imagine wearing a gorilla mask while driving a car and then being in an auto accident? “Well, officer, this isn’t as odd as it may appear,” I’d begin. Most, though, I was worried about the impact that this outfit would have on other drivers and passerbys. Imagine that you’re driving down Delmar. You’re on your way home from work and have decided to stop at Miss Saigon for some calamari. Things are normal and SUV after SUV is on the road.
These are Republicans, on their way to their homes in Chesterfield. You spot several Democrats’ cars, and they are easy to identify: old, rust spots, and bumperstickers that sting. “No one died for Clinton’s lies” reads one.
Another says, “A village in Texas is missing its idiot.” A third one states, “Let’s Not Reelect W again.” Now where was I? Oh yeah, you’re driving down Delmar when wait, what’s that ahead? Is it a white convertible being driven by a gorilla? Yes, that just might be a bit distracting. So the full gorilla suit never made it behind the driver’s wheel.
I still regret that onset of maturity, though, especially whenever I see the movie. Much older and a little wiser, the gorilla suit has gone into retirement. That means that each year is a new challenge. What to wear? Finding my costume at Halloween is the most fun of all, even more fun than wearing it. (What is it that they say about anticipation?) As I write, that wondrous day is looming around the corner, but I’ve already narrowed my choices to a few.
I could be Wonder Woman. You may think this a bit odd for me, I am not a woman and rarely wonder, but actually it works quite well.
She has a cape, these really cool bracelets, long yellow boots and lots of hair. What more could a guy want?
I could be Alfred E. Neuman f rom MAD Magazine. Nah, I worry too much. (Get it?) Besides, I’m not into freckles.
I could be Oprah.
All I need is a little rouge, a lot more hair (which is true for me for any costume), an empathetic smile, and a head that bobs upanddownandupanddown like one of those ceramic dogs that sits in the back of a car’s window.
In truth, I’d be bored listening to these heartthrobbing stories. What possesses these people to share their dirty linen before millions? I’d roll my eyes throughout.
But I could handle her gazillion dollars.
The red and yellow dresses don’t work for me, though – I’m a winter hue – so I doubt if I’ll go this route.
I could be Senator Bond. I’d be chained and muzzled, masking tape around my knees, with blood dripping down my face, and there would be an electrical battery attached to a sensitive part of my body. Ouch!
I would be much thinner and weaker, not having eaten for days. Why? Our illustrious Senator Bond was one of the nine senators who voted against legislation that would prohibit torture by our troops. Yeah, that’s right, Kit thinks it’s OK if our soldiers torture captives. Does this man represent Missouri or what?
I wonder where he stands on Intelligent Design?
I could be Casper, my standard poodle. ARF! Once ensconced in curly white hair, the job is pretty easy. Sleep, be fed, bark at any passing movement, sleep, eat treats, sleep, dream of Lassie, be fed again, go for a walk, bark, and sleep. You know, this costume and role sound so good, I wonder how I could pull it off for the other 364 days each year?
I could be Karl Rove, Bush’s political advisor.
The advantage of this outfit is that it’s simply a business suit, white shirt, and dull tie, so all I need to do is find the dull tie.
The disadvantage is that I’d have to get my tongue forked and drink a full bottle of duplicity juice.
I could be Harry Potter.
All I need is a scar on my forehead and some old clothing. Given what’s in my closet, I just need a scar.
This outfit doesn’t really appeal to me, though, because Harry’s gift is what he does, not how he looks.
On the other hand, carrying a Quiddich broom has some appeal, plus I know where the Dursleys live!
I could be Lance Armstrong. Nah, too skinny.
I could be Martha Stewart.
Now let me see, what color handcuffs go best with this dress? How can I get the electronic home monitoring system to also work the DVD recorder? Can I wear a paisley tie with a checked shirt and a plaid jacket? Or do the pinstriped pants take that outfit over the top?
I probably won’t be Martha because by the time that I’d coordinate my costume, it would be Thanksgiving.
I could be George W. Bush. No, I couldn’t. Halloween should not be that scary. Oh well, regardless of what I wear, you can recognize me by my favorite riddle: Why do cows wear bells? Because their horns don’t work.
Originally published in The Times of Skinker-DeBaliviere, November–December 2005.
Read this article in the original newspaper issue.
Archival transcription note: Source chase-scene sentence prints Pirates lions without intervening verb; no missing wording invented.
Original source: SD_Times2005_11.pdf, printed page(s) 8; PDF page(s) 8.
