There’s
probably no better timed holiday than Halloween. After all, it comes
just before the two most frightening times on the calendar: Winter, and
elections.
It’s
hardly surprising, then, that one popular Halloween mask is any famous
politician. Some years ago I went out as a Senator,
stopped all the other Trick-Or-Treaters, and collected 28% of their
candy. The problem is, half the people don’t
recognize political figures, and the other half get too scared.
So my criteria for choosing a costume: Warmth. It’s not unheard
of here to have snow by the end of
October. Any
Hoosier parent will tell you the main task in designing their kid’s
costume is incorporating a heavy coat and snow boots. Dressing as an
astronaut is very popular.
I
stopped celebrating Halloween after realizing I can just go to the
store, buy all the candy I want, turn off the porch light and eat it
inside, in the warmth.
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Yes, I know--but I already spent one Halloween in that outfit, and never got any candy.
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No human can produce a Halloween more frightening than
staring another Midwest winter in its frostbitten face. So those times when forced to go out for Halloween, I dressed as an Eskimo (These days I'd be an Inuit, or Yupik). Once, to mix it up, I went as that kid Kenny from South Park,
even though it killed me. He dresses as an Eskimo. I still wasn't warm –
an entire calendar worth of Playmates of the Year couldn’t warm me up
in autumn or winter – but at least I tried.
My wife loves Halloween--it’s one of her few faults.
She refused to marry me until I agreed to go annually to my brother’s
Halloween parties, which were sadly held outside. Usually I hovered near his wood burning
stove in the garage, especially after Emily decided I'd used up my Eskimo
turns and had to try something new.
One year we went as zombies. We attended the Zombie Walk in Kendallville, shuffled to
a cemetery for a photo op, and then, just for fun, walked into a
grocery store and demanded bran. The clerk said, “Last year
you were way scarier as Dick Cheney”.
We tried to do costumes on the cheap, because I’m cheap. That
gave me two possibilities, both wearable with insulted
long underwear:
My
adopted brother Martin gave me bags of hand-me-down clothes. Being that
I’m a small town white person and he’s a black guy from Fort Wayne
(which is big city by my standards), we didn’t have the
same fashion sense, but see above about me being cheap.
Anyway,
I found a couple of items that I’m fairly sure he threw in just to mess
with me. One was a uniquely loud puffy shirt, the other a pair of
oversized parachute pants that buttoned all the way down the side. I
refuse to believe he ever wore these things in public.
I could go to Halloween as a stereotypical 70’s
disco black guy, or as a clown. While I’ll never be politically correct,
we all know I’m not brave/dumb enough to tackle the former.
The
second choice was something my mother bought for me, back when she
(correctly) thought I needed to get fit. It was designed
to hold in body heat and moisture while you exercise, apparently under
the assumption that you’ll sweat yourself healthy. It’s like a portable
sauna. I used it once on the treadmill, and lost twelve pounds in thirty
minutes. That day I could have gone trick-or-treating as a zombie
without needing any makeup, assuming I could walk in a straight line,
which I couldn’t.
It was basically
an all silver track suit, neck to toe. A little silver makeup, aluminum
foil hat, and – tah-dah! The Tin Woodman. Or a space alien.
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Look out! Space alien!
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That's what I'll choose if I ever go again: Any candy I ate would sweat out of me by the time I made it home. Plus, anything that reflects that much body heat back is bound to
keep me warm, no matter how cold it gets outside. Since my one and only
goal from October through March is staying warm, I could celebrate
Halloween for months … even if the upcoming political campaign
leaves me cold.
And if that doesn’t work, the Eskimo costume is standing by.
Remember, everyone who doesn't read is risking a visit from Edgar Allan Poe.
