the letter G
I want a Halloween party to attend, instead of a "we're-too-cool-to-dress-up-but-the-party's-on-the-29th" party. I came up with my costume months ago. I was going to be a Lego man. It had to be a man, because then I could have the round spot on the top of my head to snap little hats on to. I was going to buy a ball, cut out a hole for my face, and paint it (and my face) yellow. My hands were going to be split beer cozies (brilliant double purpose) and I was going to buy a pair of way-oversized overalls and put wire in them to make them square. I had it all planned out. And now my plans have been thwarted by a party which I cannot get out of. It's a friend's going away forever party, you can't skip those without a written note from a doctor. And even then, it's dicey.
Last year, I was supposed to attend an annual party. It's thrown by a guy who picks a letter, and all costumes have to start with that letter. The year before it was P, and he went as une pomme de terre (a potato. It's a predominantly francophone party.). This costume entailed a giant puffy suit wrapped entirely in tin foil. If you've never seen a drunken potato staggaring around and running into everyone, you're missing out. Anyway, last year, the letter was G. I sat down with my french dictionary and read the G section, looking for inspiration. I found it in gelee. I was going to be fucking frozen. Brilliant. I had it all figgered out in my noggin. I was going to be one of these girls you see on St Laurent in the dead of winter, chattering by in a light sweater and a short skirt, skipping bring a coat to save $1.50 on coat check, only to pay $10 cover, buy six $8 fruity drinks, and then take a cab home. But circumstances forced me away from Montreal, and even though I still attended a costume party, it was less funny to be frozen without the whole "G" theme. And I discovered the silver stuff I rubbed all over my arms and legs left glittery streaks behind on whatever furniture I sat on. However, I think I did outdo the guy who came as a Guantanamo Bay prisoner. That just plain, old-fashioned, wasn't funny.
A few years ago, in a crap-I-have-been-studying-so-much-that-I-forgot-it's-Halloween-and-the-party-is-in-an-hour rush, I ran into the dollar store. I bought a blue tablecloth and a pooper scooper. I went home, grabbed an old, oversized orange T-shirt, and drew a big circle with a downward-pointing triangle in it, with a dot under the triangle. I wrote "this is the back of my T-shirt" on the back of my T-shirt. I called it my "Pooper Scooper of Truth." I ran around all night saying things like, "you are holding a beer!" and "you are not the only man on the planet!" On the front of my t-shirt, I wrote "I am Captain Obvious." Nobody got that one either.
Halloween rules. I am in a lovely pattern these days of not wearing costumes that anyone gets but me, but hey. Who else am I here to amuse?
Last year, I was supposed to attend an annual party. It's thrown by a guy who picks a letter, and all costumes have to start with that letter. The year before it was P, and he went as une pomme de terre (a potato. It's a predominantly francophone party.). This costume entailed a giant puffy suit wrapped entirely in tin foil. If you've never seen a drunken potato staggaring around and running into everyone, you're missing out. Anyway, last year, the letter was G. I sat down with my french dictionary and read the G section, looking for inspiration. I found it in gelee. I was going to be fucking frozen. Brilliant. I had it all figgered out in my noggin. I was going to be one of these girls you see on St Laurent in the dead of winter, chattering by in a light sweater and a short skirt, skipping bring a coat to save $1.50 on coat check, only to pay $10 cover, buy six $8 fruity drinks, and then take a cab home. But circumstances forced me away from Montreal, and even though I still attended a costume party, it was less funny to be frozen without the whole "G" theme. And I discovered the silver stuff I rubbed all over my arms and legs left glittery streaks behind on whatever furniture I sat on. However, I think I did outdo the guy who came as a Guantanamo Bay prisoner. That just plain, old-fashioned, wasn't funny.
A few years ago, in a crap-I-have-been-studying-so-much-that-I-forgot-it's-Halloween-and-the-party-is-in-an-hour rush, I ran into the dollar store. I bought a blue tablecloth and a pooper scooper. I went home, grabbed an old, oversized orange T-shirt, and drew a big circle with a downward-pointing triangle in it, with a dot under the triangle. I wrote "this is the back of my T-shirt" on the back of my T-shirt. I called it my "Pooper Scooper of Truth." I ran around all night saying things like, "you are holding a beer!" and "you are not the only man on the planet!" On the front of my t-shirt, I wrote "I am Captain Obvious." Nobody got that one either.
Halloween rules. I am in a lovely pattern these days of not wearing costumes that anyone gets but me, but hey. Who else am I here to amuse?
posted by M at 8:00 PM
3 Comments:
I just recently got back into dressing up for halloween. Last year I was a Japanese high school student. This year I'm reprising my role as Taketori from Kurosawa's "Throne of Blood."
A friend of mine is always captain obvious. At every costume function. He does it well, too. He has an army uniform with "obvious" where the name would be.
-Suley
The best Halloween costumes are the ones that nobody understands. Too bad you can't use the Lego man idea this year. It sounds like a good one. You should save it for next year.
Damn dude, you are so creative. :)
I got a big Halloween gig to go to and I got nothin'. I can never think of what to be. All my creativity is spent up in other places...and I wind up being something lame every year. Oh well.
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