Caesar's Greetings

We got a number of stories out of our recent trip to New Orleans. Here’s one of  'em.

It was Halloween week in New Orleans, and it looked like everybody was going to be in costume. That was the price of participation in this huge celebration all over the city, and it was a fair one. I wasn’t ready.

Kathy had a great red dress with a sugar-skull design, and a matching mask. All I had was a shirt designed with the pattern of the Overlook Hotel, and some blue jeans. It’s a cool shirt, but it wasn’t enough. 

So we went to Mr. Binky’s, a costume shop a couple doors down from our hotel. And it had a TON of costumes: wizards, cops, princesses, devils, vampires, etc. And plenty of accessories: knives, wands, swords, boas, hats, hairpieces, vibrators, dildoes, buttplugs…

Oh, yeah. Mr. Binky’s is also an adult boutique. The costumes kind of take over the store this time of year, but a few racks of the sex toys were still there when we first stopped in. (The next day, they were gone, and the place was as family friendly as it was ever going to get. Which is to say, about 95%; don’t look too closely at the lotions behind the counter, kids.)

I had my eye on a Julius Caesar costume. (Actually, it might have said Augustus Caesar on the package, but why quibble?) There were two reasons for this. One: It was basically a robe, and there are fewer fitting issues with robes than other costumes. And I’m not an easy guy to fit. And even so, I had my doubts that this was going to fit me. 

But looking around, I didn’t have many other options. I didn't want to be a cop. I didn't want to be a clown. And some of the costumes, well… ”racially insensitive” is the kindest way I can categorize them. (Even the wizard costume—a solid choice for me—was titled “Grand Wizard.” I’m sorry, but what? I just wanna be Gandalf, don’t make him sound like he’s in the Klan.)

Ultimately, I didn’t trust the sizing of the Caesar costume, and “all sales final,” as the sign says, so I went with a simple partial Sherlock Holmes costume – a shoulder wrap to suggest his cloak, and a deerstalker hat. I bought a pipe along with it. Kathy bought some costume jewelry to go with her dress, and we were set. 

We got in line and saw our friend Carrie, in the shop for some accessories for her costume. (One of many—Carrie does it up.) We chatted for a while, and she invited us to Bingo Night at the Black Penny, a bar on Rampart. Then she was rung up and left, and we checked out and went back to our hotel.

I looked at my Sherlock Holmes outfit right away, and it turns out it was missing the hat. So I went back, and despite the “all sales final” sign, they found me a kit with a Sherlock Holmes hat and a pipe and magnifying glass. I bought some makeup to go with it, in case I needed it for something. I wasn’t sure what, but I’d need a backup plan in case I couldn’t get the hat. 

OK, fast forward through a great night of music and food, and we decide to end our night at Black Penny Bingo. There are a few rounds left to go. And for the first round we play, the announcer holds up the prize: a Julius Caesar costume. And it has the magic word on it: PLUS. It’s gonna fit me! 

So I take my ticket, and bingo away… and somehow, I win! The costume is mine! Kathy wins the next one, an awesome white commedia dell'arte style mask, similar to a plague mask. So we’re both lucky, and after drinks with Carrie and her friends, both more than a little tipsy. And with the makeup I’ve already bought, I decide to be Great Caesar’s Ghost, a wink at my intrinsic comic nerddom. The Sherlock Holmes costume can stay in the suitcase, and maybe wait until I have a way to make the whole thing work. 

So we dress up—Kathy looks fabulous, and I’m trying my best—and we walk on over to a balcony party in the French Quarter. And once we’re on the street, before we’re a block away from the hotel, someone spots me and says, “Hail, Caesar.” And I, a college-educated person with a liberal arts degree, don’t know how to respond. So I raised my arm in benediction and said the first Caesar-like thing that popped into my head: 

“Pizza! Pizza!”

Rob

I'm Too Late To Wish You a Happy Halloween

But I'm gonna do it anyway.


And how did the Devil land a lady like Lois? Maybe he tempted her with nougat!

Rob

Six True Things

1) When I was knocking on doors to get out the vote for Obama in Darby, Pennsylvania, one kid told his father that John McCain was at the door.

2) I find it much, much easier to write a cover letter when I have a specific job to apply for.

3) The ratio of leftover Halloween candy in the house to leftover Halloween candy in my stomach is decreasing. Hopefully, it will reach some sort of nougat equilibrium.

4) It's a weird feeling, to be emotionally girding yourself for long hours of hard work, and then have that pulled away from you. It's one thing to take my job, but I feel like I'm losing my closure.

5) I have a lot of good friends pulling for me through this.

6) Without comfort and certainty, the universe would have no need to throw pies.

Rob

Briefly Noted

The plastic witches' cauldron that we use to display Halloween candy for trick-or-treaters has finally made its way fully up to the attic on this day, 78 days before Halloween 2008.

Rob

Girl's Costume Warehouse

As much as I love that Mike's Marbleopolis commercial, this one captures the kooky local ad vibe even better. It's out of season, but I don't wanna wait seven months to share it.



Rob

And Her Little Dog, Too!

I made a quick trip to the pharmacy a couple of minutes ago to pick up some cold medicine. On my way, I was listening to a podcast of an old episode of Command Performance, a radio show that aired only on Armed Forces Radio during WWII. Hosted by Bob Hope, this episode had Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra having a sing-off to be in the next movie with Judy Garland. Not a bad cast.

Well, I'm listening to Bob, Bing and Judy chat through some patter between numbers, when on the side of the road I see Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz. I gotta tell ya: Hearing Judy Garland's voice on my radio, and seeing Dorothy over by the pizza place...it took me a minute to remember it was Halloween. In my congested, muddleheaded state, I thought I was seeing ghosts.

Rob

The Last Great Halloween

Inspired by Thom’s ongoing overview of the Halloween movies, I thought I’d share a tale of my past, inspired by the awfulness that is Halloween 3: Season of the Witch.

Years ago, in college, my friends and I would watch all sorts of awful movies, guided by the philosophy, “If they’re awful, they’ve got to be good!” This led us to such gems as Slave Girls from Beyond Infinity and Beaks (shudder), as well as Halloween 3, one of the worst sequels ever committed. Not “committed to film,” either — committed, like a crime.

The details of this movie are mercifully hazy at this point. It has no relation whatsoever to the Mike Myers stalker from the first two and subsequent movies. Instead, it has a group of occult scientists scraping off bits of one of the Stonehenge rocks for use in a computer chip for use in a mask that will transform the wearer’s head into a mass of snakes and bugs when the chip receives a certain broadcast signal, and there’s an incessant “X more days to Halloween” jingle to the tune of “London Bridge.” And, at some point, the evil mastermind recalls the good old days, saying, “The last great Halloween was over five hundred years ago, when the hills ran red with the blood of children.”

This phrase captured our imagination like few others. It became a regular part of our repertoire of in-jokes, through our college days and beyond. And so it was that, years later, when we four ex-roommates were confronted at Universal Studios with a machine that would speak whatever was typed into it in the voice of various members of the Munster family, we decided to have jolly old Herman Munster say the most disturbing thing we could think of.

So we typed it in.

And out of the machine, in Herman’s chuckly voice, boomed
The last great Halloween was over five hundred years ago, when the hills ran red with the blood of CHIL-dren!

This was loud.

Really loud.

Parents drew their kids in close to them. The security guard gave us a suspicious glare.

We kept it up, Pat Benatar-style:

Hell! Hell is for Hell! Hell is for Hell! Hell is for CHIL-dren!

Man, this thing was loud!

There was only one thing to do: See what it sounded like when Grandpa said it.

His voice was reedier—Al Lewis had a tenor to Fred Gwynne’s bass tones. Somehow, that made it even more creepy.

We didn’t want to overstay our welcome, so we left soon afterward. But it kept us laughing all day long.

Rob