The fam and I are going as Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem, the band from the Muppets. I will be Dr. Teeth, the wife Janice, the eldest kid Zoot, and the baby Animal of course.
The fam and I are going as Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem, the band from the Muppets. I will be Dr. Teeth, the wife Janice, the eldest kid Zoot, and the baby Animal of course.
October 17, 2006: I can't remember if the story I'm about to tell happened when I was in second grade or third grade. Let's say second.
Like everyone else in the free world, I wore Halloween costumes. I don't consider myself as having often been fanatical about my costume -- usually, it was one or two trips to various stores, a thorough but quick sift through whatever was left, and then I'd be done. It's with that plan of action that I spearheaded the "combination costume" movement, that being a Halloween costume that's actually made up of several Halloween costumes -- a mask from one set, a nylon thing from another set, random gorilla gloves and what have you.
But in second grade, there was only one costume for me, and I was either going to wear that costume on Halloween or die trying.
I wanted to be ALF. I needed to be ALF. I was convinced that the path of my life would forever lead to better things if I was ALF for Halloween. I was a clinical ALF nut at the time, like most boys my age were. Though ALF had tricked an entire nation into believing his sitcom was for "them," we knew it was really for us. During a time and an age when wit was weighed on a far different scale, ALF was more than a fuzzy alien sitcom character -- his words and mannerisms were fringe, edgy, and all the kids who watched ALF were fringe and edgy by association. Plus he had like seventeen different cartoon shows on Saturday mornings, and Burger King gave out little puppets shaped like him.
Very early in the Halloween season, I spotted an ALF costume like the one seen above. Its mask and bodysuit were lined with real fur, and by the time you were through, only the costume's eye holes gave any indication that the costume wearer was, in fact, not the real ALF. This was certainly not a cheap costume and was by far the most expensive one I sought during childhood, but with the kind of crying and pleading I was pulling, my parents caved and agreed to buy it for me.
We'd go on Saturday, they said. I spent the rest of the week envisioning all of the popularity-heightened benefits I'd find from my ALF costume. I'd make people love me and be jealous of me. I'd make the friends in my closest circle panic to their mothers upon first seeing me in-costume, because surely they'd realize how much they'd look like schmucks in their cheapass Halloween smocks standing next to the majesty that was my ALF costume. Halloween, and the few parties/gatherings that happened before it, were going to be some of the best days of my life.
Saturday came, and off to Toys 'R' Us we went. Toys 'R' Us stores looked a lot different then than they do now. They were organized more like supermarkets, with clear and precise aisles rather than a bunch of short standees that littered the grounds like a convention at the Javits Center. There were simply more toys then than there are now, trends and technology still dictating that dolls and action figures were more popular than pricey electronics and even video games, so it was just aisle after aisle after aisle of things I loved and things that were affordable enough to swindle my parents and older siblings into buying for me. (Visual reference of what TRU stores were like back then: Picture a KB Toys, but increase its size by like, 800%.)
Toy trends were different then, but so was the scope of Halloween costumes. Nowadays, you can walk into a Toys 'R' Us and spot, at best, fifteen costumes, all based on only the most popular television and movie characters. Back then, a TRU's Halloween section was as good as a bona fide costume shop. They had everything. Costumes based on characters you heard of, costumes based on characters you never heard of and costumes based on characters who weren't really characters at all. They even had costumes for adults.
So, we step inside, and as it was much closer to Halloween than it was when I first saw the ALF costume, it was absolute pandemonium in the costume section. Kids everywhere, parents everywhere, strollers everywhere, people...everywhere. The section itself looked far more messy and ransacked than it was a few weeks prior, and though my optimism levels were much higher in the second grade, fear immediately set in. A few minutes later, my mother returned from a conversation with a store worker and told me the worst thing I'd ever heard in my life: "They're sold out."
I was mortified, because Toys 'R' Us was the place to buy costumes. It's not like we were going to find a full-body furry ALF costume in the local pharmacy, and I was NOT going to wear that shitty plastic smock-and-mask version. Collegiate and Ben Cooper could fight over sucking my dick. I wanted the real thing.
We did pick up the bodysuit, though. They had that, all pretty in its official ALF packaging. Problem was, the mask (and feet) were sold separately, and both were completely sold out. I could've lived without the feet, but until I had that mask, everyone around me was going to pay for it.
That weekend, we went to at least a dozen different stores. No ALF mask. Even my brothers and sisters, who rarely partook in my obsessions, went out on their own to hunt the thing down. No ALF mask. They all told me to give up, to pick something else, to get over it. Second graders have a hard time believing that the world won't reshape itself for them, and I refused to do anything but throw tantrums at such suggestions.
Finally, it was the week of Halloween. I was without my mask, and as much fun as it was to blame each member of my family for this crushing blow, there was still the issue of having a Halloween costume. I wasn't going to be ALF, but I had to be something. I wasn't against spiting myself if it meant making my parents feel bad, but I drew the line at actually sitting inside during Halloween. I was going to have to find a different costume.
So, we returned to Toys 'R' Us to exchange the ALF bodysuit for a less awesome but more complete costume, and my mother spotted a mask. It wasn't the ALF mask, but it was a mask that'd go with the bodysuit. It looked something like this:
I refused to admit that I liked it, but I did. Its brown fur looked a lot like ALF's, and the mask certainly matched up with the bodysuit. In fact, it was clearly produced to capitalize on ALF's popularity -- the mask represented a furry brown alien, one who looked more befuddled than scary, and it even had the darker wrinkles and mole that graced ALF's snout area.
I didn't want my mother to think this was anything more than a very minor concession, so I waited until I was alone in my bedroom to get excited. When I tried the full costume on -- ALF bodysuit and Not ALF mask -- I looked stunning. I knew what all of the other kids would be wearing -- face paint and ninja scarves -- and this was way cooler. It wasn't ALF, but it was still thirty times more impressive than what my friends would wear. Adding the ALF mask would've been a truly religious experience, but this came damn close.
My first chance to wear it in public came just few days before Halloween. Every year, my old public school would invite all of its students to bring their costumes in for a big Halloween parade. The parade itself was kind of ridiculous -- we'd get a few minutes to put on our costumes, we'd walk around the outside of the school for Kodak moments with our parents, and then it'd all be over. I don'
t know why we all looked forward to it so much. It was as if the school was contracted to give us a Halloween parade, but really didn't want to do it, so they made it as quick and shitty as possible. Nobody ever complained, because the alternative was a normal school day, and normal school days didn't let us prance around the playground in Dracula capes.
When I put on that costume, jaws dropped. There were school years when kids would fight over who had the best costume, but there were also school years when everyone knew from the very start who was champ. In second grade, I was champ. I was world champ and intercontinental champ, and I was sharing the tag team belts with myself. I was...a god.
The only tricky thing was that I had to present myself as something other than ALF. If I didn't, surely some kid would ruin my moment by letting everyone know that my mask looked nothing like ALF's head. On this day, I was lucky. This kid Adam -- this kid Adam who never once spoke in all the time I'd known him...guy didn't even sneeze -- looked up at me, readjusted his pirate sword and gave me an identity: "You look like ALF's cousin! You're Ralph!"
And so, Ralph was born. I was the hero of the class that day, and even though the teacher made everyone take off their costumes once the parade was over, the stink of the Ralph costume lived on. People were looking at me differently. People were asking for my autograph. Everyone wanted a piece of the boy with the amazing costume.
Two nights later, I got to wear the costume on an even grander stage. I was in Boy Scouts at the time, but my community's idea of what Boy Scouts were was probably a lot different than most other communities. It was less about the rules of manhood and more about a weekly babysitter service. My "pack" (or whatever we were called) would gather at the local church under a den mother's supervision, and just shoot the shit and eat pizza until our parents came to pick us up. It was great. I left the Scouts a year later, but only because the new team leaders wanted us to actually do stuff.
Anyway, that Halloween, all of the "packs" from across town gathered at another, larger church for what I swear I remember being called a "Halloween ball," even though there were no girls, much less any dancing. Under normal circumstances, the amount of strange kids I'd never seen before would've scared me. But I was in my full-body Ralph suit. Nobody knew who I was, and I was free to gallivant as if I was a much cooler somebody than I actually was. People were putting their arms around me and inviting me into their cliques, and it wasn't like I didn't know where my bread was buttered. I wasn't going to take off the mask and start introducing myself as "Matt." No, I was going to be Ralph, inside and out. I wasn't going to speak, and I was going to do the stupidest arm and leg motions possible. I was going to be a star.
The highlight of the "ball" was a costume competition, where each pack of kids voted "leaders" to battle the leaders of other packs for the title of Best Costume Ever. There were a lot of great costumes at this thing, and not the kind you could buy at the stores. For every kid who was forced to come as Howdy Doody, there was another in some kind of kickass homemade Godzilla costume. As awesome as Ralph was, there were better costumes on display.
I didn't win the competition, but I was in the top ten. My reward? To parade around the church's stage in a circular motion while unseen speakers blasted "Monster Mash." Most of the top ten kids were mortified, because prancing around onstage in front of your friends is less something to pine for and more something to kill a person in an effort to avoid. But me? I was in a full-body costume. Nobody could see me, and I didn't give a fuck. I didn't just parade around on stage -- I did freakin' tumblesaults. And they cheered me. They cheered Ralph.
When the marching ended, I walked off stage, where one of those creepy old Boy Scout men in khaki shorts and safari hats waited to give me my prize. I wasn't the big winner, so it wasn't a very big prize. I got...a plastic collapsible cup.
I knew it was lame, but the kids at my party table seemed envious that I got any prize at all, so I of course played it up like the coolest thing in the world, spending a good ten minutes collapsing and "uncollapsing" the cup for all to see.
ALF's Cousin Ralph was the greatest Halloween costume I ever had. I've seen countless sitcom monologues about how Halloween is neat because it lets us be someone we aren't for just one night. I believed it that year. Whenever I had that costume on, everything that was awkward about me disappeared. I was fluid, I was cool, I was funny and I was a contender.
And if you're wondering why I'm not talking about what it was like to actually go trick-or-treating as Cousin Ralph, it's because...I didn't. There were a lot of big kids with eggs and shaving cream in my neighborhood, and Ralph had been too good to me to subject to such staining indignities. I think I went as a hobo, wearing my neighbor's mechanic father's oil-stained flannels.
Years later, I shredded the Ralph mask to pieces, because once a rubber mask gets even the smallest tear, a kid cannot resist the impulse to make it a bigger tear. I'm not sure how that counts as an "ending" to the story I've told, but then, this wasn't really much of a story to begin with.
I just thought that ALF's Cousin Ralph deserved a tribute. He got me a collapsible cup.
THE DEVIL!!! I am so excited. I have been growing the facial hair out just for my costume. A handsome devil, cunning devil. Grey suit red tie and red pants and homemade horns. Should be a nice night in my town.
I'm DJing a Hollerween party in DC that's doubling as a 40th birthday. As an inside joke, everyone is supposed to dress as a leprechaun. I'm in trouble.
I'm DJing a Hollerween party in DC that's doubling as a 40th birthday. As an inside joke, everyone is supposed to dress as a leprechaun. I'm in trouble.
I'm DJing a Hollerween party in DC that's doubling as a 40th birthday. As an inside joke, everyone is supposed to dress as a leprechaun. I'm in trouble.
same spot? I am doing a house party at the same place we had our reception a couple years back. Let me know if you need the sound system, my guy has his own at his place so I won't be needing it, just my tables. You are welcome to crash at my house too, we would just need to coordinate (assuming this is all on the 27th).
yeah every year i tell myself i am going to be rick nielsen. i'd get a custom made sweater with notes but instead of cheap trick have a.damn all over it, rock a bowtie and a flipped cap and make a fake five neck guitar and throw guitar picks at people.
but custom knit sweaters like that are $$$
I gotta believe that custom printed bow-ties ain't that cheap either. Making the 5 neck guitar would probably be the most fun part of this costume.
I'm DJing a Hollerween party in DC that's doubling as a 40th birthday. As an inside joke, everyone is supposed to dress as a leprechaun. I'm in trouble.
same spot? I am doing a house party at the same place we had our reception a couple years back. Let me know if you need the sound system, my guy has his own at his place so I won't be needing it, just my tables. You are welcome to crash at my house too, we would just need to coordinate (assuming this is all on the 27th).
27th. Yes. Same group, but at Tabaq instead the Big Hunt. They said I could plug into the house sound system. I hope it's good enough.
I just remembered what I had thought of back in april.
But I need some help from someone like Edith or SoulonIce who know about old movies
and Yuichi's make-up artist GF for tips.
I would like to appear to be IN black and white so
Im thinking something along the lines of Louise Brooks. or a b&w film star from that era.
I have a black wig that is similar to her look. I figure a black dress would be easier than gray or white. I paint so I think I just need black and white make-up to work the gray scale on my face and arms.
I have no direct connection or admiration to Louise Brooks that was just an idea.
Does anyone have any favorite stars that might be easy to pull this look off??
I think they should have strictly blond or black hair to make it easier...I dont want to use the spray shit I just want to wear a wig.
I am open to suggestions for silent film stars or ladies that looked great in shades of gray. So suggestions up into the 60's is cool.
Maybe I could be the chick from the Birds and put a stuffed blackbird that we have on my shoulder
I just remembered what I had thought of back in april.
But I need some help from someone like Edith or SoulonIce who know about old movies
and Yuichi's make-up artist GF for tips.
I would like to appear to be IN black and white so
Im thinking something along the lines of Louise Brooks. or a b&w film star from that era.
I have a black wig that is similar to her look. I figure a black dress would be easier than gray or white. I paint so I think I just need black and white make-up to work the gray scale on my face and arms.
I have no direct connection or admiration to Louise Brooks that was just an idea.
Does anyone have any favorite stars that might be easy to pull this look off??
I think they should have strictly blond or black hair to make it easier...I dont want to use the spray shit I just want to wear a wig.
I am open to suggestions for silent film stars or ladies that looked great in shades of gray. So suggestions up into the 60's is cool.
Maybe I could be the chick from the Birds and put a stuffed blackbird that we have on my shoulder
marilyn monroe is the only person people will recognize. Also easy to do in B+W
Comments
someone gotta do a Tazer Zonday-Don't Taze Me Bro combo costume.
that would be sweet
Don't Tazer Zonday Me Bro graemlin perhaps.
Subcomandante Marcos?
I may have to bite this idea..
aww, this is too good.
i like that janice plays a les paul.
genius
They're gonna draw straws (youknowyouwannaPASUEpatrick) to see who's who.
Seriously, look for lots of dudes to go as Mystery this year.
I'd say Mystery, Dick in a Box, maybe Ahmadinejad...these will be the I'm Rick James Bitch's of 2007.
I'm disconnected from your post-frat humor experi-AHHHHNCE.
Who dat who dat who dat?
http://www.x-entertainment.com/halloween/2006/october17/
October 17, 2006:
I can't remember if the story I'm about to tell happened when I was in second grade or third grade. Let's say second.
Like everyone else in the free world, I wore Halloween costumes. I don't consider myself as having often been fanatical about my costume -- usually, it was one or two trips to various stores, a thorough but quick sift through whatever was left, and then I'd be done. It's with that plan of action that I spearheaded the "combination costume" movement, that being a Halloween costume that's actually made up of several Halloween costumes -- a mask from one set, a nylon thing from another set, random gorilla gloves and what have you.
But in second grade, there was only one costume for me, and I was either going to wear that costume on Halloween or die trying.
I wanted to be ALF. I needed to be ALF. I was convinced that the path of my life would forever lead to better things if I was ALF for Halloween. I was a clinical ALF nut at the time, like most boys my age were. Though ALF had tricked an entire nation into believing his sitcom was for "them," we knew it was really for us. During a time and an age when wit was weighed on a far different scale, ALF was more than a fuzzy alien sitcom character -- his words and mannerisms were fringe, edgy, and all the kids who watched ALF were fringe and edgy by association. Plus he had like seventeen different cartoon shows on Saturday mornings, and Burger King gave out little puppets shaped like him.
Very early in the Halloween season, I spotted an ALF costume like the one seen above. Its mask and bodysuit were lined with real fur, and by the time you were through, only the costume's eye holes gave any indication that the costume wearer was, in fact, not the real ALF. This was certainly not a cheap costume and was by far the most expensive one I sought during childhood, but with the kind of crying and pleading I was pulling, my parents caved and agreed to buy it for me.
We'd go on Saturday, they said. I spent the rest of the week envisioning all of the popularity-heightened benefits I'd find from my ALF costume. I'd make people love me and be jealous of me. I'd make the friends in my closest circle panic to their mothers upon first seeing me in-costume, because surely they'd realize how much they'd look like schmucks in their cheapass Halloween smocks standing next to the majesty that was my ALF costume. Halloween, and the few parties/gatherings that happened before it, were going to be some of the best days of my life.
Saturday came, and off to Toys 'R' Us we went. Toys 'R' Us stores looked a lot different then than they do now. They were organized more like supermarkets, with clear and precise aisles rather than a bunch of short standees that littered the grounds like a convention at the Javits Center. There were simply more toys then than there are now, trends and technology still dictating that dolls and action figures were more popular than pricey electronics and even video games, so it was just aisle after aisle after aisle of things I loved and things that were affordable enough to swindle my parents and older siblings into buying for me. (Visual reference of what TRU stores were like back then: Picture a KB Toys, but increase its size by like, 800%.)
Toy trends were different then, but so was the scope of Halloween costumes. Nowadays, you can walk into a Toys 'R' Us and spot, at best, fifteen costumes, all based on only the most popular television and movie characters. Back then, a TRU's Halloween section was as good as a bona fide costume shop. They had everything. Costumes based on characters you heard of, costumes based on characters you never heard of and costumes based on characters who weren't really characters at all. They even had costumes for adults.
So, we step inside, and as it was much closer to Halloween than it was when I first saw the ALF costume, it was absolute pandemonium in the costume section. Kids everywhere, parents everywhere, strollers everywhere, people...everywhere. The section itself looked far more messy and ransacked than it was a few weeks prior, and though my optimism levels were much higher in the second grade, fear immediately set in. A few minutes later, my mother returned from a conversation with a store worker and told me the worst thing I'd ever heard in my life: "They're sold out."
I was mortified, because Toys 'R' Us was the place to buy costumes. It's not like we were going to find a full-body furry ALF costume in the local pharmacy, and I was NOT going to wear that shitty plastic smock-and-mask version. Collegiate and Ben Cooper could fight over sucking my dick. I wanted the real thing.
We did pick up the bodysuit, though. They had that, all pretty in its official ALF packaging. Problem was, the mask (and feet) were sold separately, and both were completely sold out. I could've lived without the feet, but until I had that mask, everyone around me was going to pay for it.
That weekend, we went to at least a dozen different stores. No ALF mask. Even my brothers and sisters, who rarely partook in my obsessions, went out on their own to hunt the thing down. No ALF mask. They all told me to give up, to pick something else, to get over it. Second graders have a hard time believing that the world won't reshape itself for them, and I refused to do anything but throw tantrums at such suggestions.
Finally, it was the week of Halloween. I was without my mask, and as much fun as it was to blame each member of my family for this crushing blow, there was still the issue of having a Halloween costume. I wasn't going to be ALF, but I had to be something. I wasn't against spiting myself if it meant making my parents feel bad, but I drew the line at actually sitting inside during Halloween. I was going to have to find a different costume.
So, we returned to Toys 'R' Us to exchange the ALF bodysuit for a less awesome but more complete costume, and my mother spotted a mask. It wasn't the ALF mask, but it was a mask that'd go with the bodysuit. It looked something like this:
I refused to admit that I liked it, but I did. Its brown fur looked a lot like ALF's, and the mask certainly matched up with the bodysuit. In fact, it was clearly produced to capitalize on ALF's popularity -- the mask represented a furry brown alien, one who looked more befuddled than scary, and it even had the darker wrinkles and mole that graced ALF's snout area.
I didn't want my mother to think this was anything more than a very minor concession, so I waited until I was alone in my bedroom to get excited. When I tried the full costume on -- ALF bodysuit and Not ALF mask -- I looked stunning. I knew what all of the other kids would be wearing -- face paint and ninja scarves -- and this was way cooler. It wasn't ALF, but it was still thirty times more impressive than what my friends would wear. Adding the ALF mask would've been a truly religious experience, but this came damn close.
My first chance to wear it in public came just few days before Halloween. Every year, my old public school would invite all of its students to bring their costumes in for a big Halloween parade. The parade itself was kind of ridiculous -- we'd get a few minutes to put on our costumes, we'd walk around the outside of the school for Kodak moments with our parents, and then it'd all be over. I don' t know why we all looked forward to it so much. It was as if the school was contracted to give us a Halloween parade, but really didn't want to do it, so they made it as quick and shitty as possible. Nobody ever complained, because the alternative was a normal school day, and normal school days didn't let us prance around the playground in Dracula capes.
When I put on that costume, jaws dropped. There were school years when kids would fight over who had the best costume, but there were also school years when everyone knew from the very start who was champ. In second grade, I was champ. I was world champ and intercontinental champ, and I was sharing the tag team belts with myself. I was...a god.
The only tricky thing was that I had to present myself as something other than ALF. If I didn't, surely some kid would ruin my moment by letting everyone know that my mask looked nothing like ALF's head. On this day, I was lucky. This kid Adam -- this kid Adam who never once spoke in all the time I'd known him...guy didn't even sneeze -- looked up at me, readjusted his pirate sword and gave me an identity: "You look like ALF's cousin! You're Ralph!"
And so, Ralph was born. I was the hero of the class that day, and even though the teacher made everyone take off their costumes once the parade was over, the stink of the Ralph costume lived on. People were looking at me differently. People were asking for my autograph. Everyone wanted a piece of the boy with the amazing costume.
Two nights later, I got to wear the costume on an even grander stage. I was in Boy Scouts at the time, but my community's idea of what Boy Scouts were was probably a lot different than most other communities. It was less about the rules of manhood and more about a weekly babysitter service. My "pack" (or whatever we were called) would gather at the local church under a den mother's supervision, and just shoot the shit and eat pizza until our parents came to pick us up. It was great. I left the Scouts a year later, but only because the new team leaders wanted us to actually do stuff.
Anyway, that Halloween, all of the "packs" from across town gathered at another, larger church for what I swear I remember being called a "Halloween ball," even though there were no girls, much less any dancing. Under normal circumstances, the amount of strange kids I'd never seen before would've scared me. But I was in my full-body Ralph suit. Nobody knew who I was, and I was free to gallivant as if I was a much cooler somebody than I actually was. People were putting their arms around me and inviting me into their cliques, and it wasn't like I didn't know where my bread was buttered. I wasn't going to take off the mask and start introducing myself as "Matt." No, I was going to be Ralph, inside and out. I wasn't going to speak, and I was going to do the stupidest arm and leg motions possible. I was going to be a star.
The highlight of the "ball" was a costume competition, where each pack of kids voted "leaders" to battle the leaders of other packs for the title of Best Costume Ever. There were a lot of great costumes at this thing, and not the kind you could buy at the stores. For every kid who was forced to come as Howdy Doody, there was another in some kind of kickass homemade Godzilla costume. As awesome as Ralph was, there were better costumes on display.
I didn't win the competition, but I was in the top ten. My reward? To parade around the church's stage in a circular motion while unseen speakers blasted "Monster Mash." Most of the top ten kids were mortified, because prancing around onstage in front of your friends is less something to pine for and more something to kill a person in an effort to avoid. But me? I was in a full-body costume. Nobody could see me, and I didn't give a fuck. I didn't just parade around on stage -- I did freakin' tumblesaults. And they cheered me. They cheered Ralph.
When the marching ended, I walked off stage, where one of those creepy old Boy Scout men in khaki shorts and safari hats waited to give me my prize. I wasn't the big winner, so it wasn't a very big prize. I got...a plastic collapsible cup.
I knew it was lame, but the kids at my party table seemed envious that I got any prize at all, so I of course played it up like the coolest thing in the world, spending a good ten minutes collapsing and "uncollapsing" the cup for all to see.
ALF's Cousin Ralph was the greatest Halloween costume I ever had. I've seen countless sitcom monologues about how Halloween is neat because it lets us be someone we aren't for just one night. I believed it that year. Whenever I had that costume on, everything that was awkward about me disappeared. I was fluid, I was cool, I was funny and I was a contender.
And if you're wondering why I'm not talking about what it was like to actually go trick-or-treating as Cousin Ralph, it's because...I didn't. There were a lot of big kids with eggs and shaving cream in my neighborhood, and Ralph had been too good to me to subject to such staining indignities. I think I went as a hobo, wearing my neighbor's mechanic father's oil-stained flannels.
Years later, I shredded the Ralph mask to pieces, because once a rubber mask gets even the smallest tear, a kid cannot resist the impulse to make it a bigger tear. I'm not sure how that counts as an "ending" to the story I've told, but then, this wasn't really much of a story to begin with.
I just thought that ALF's Cousin Ralph deserved a tribute. He got me a collapsible cup.
as you can see from the costume the wizard's head is actually at your chest level, and your real head is in his hat (pasue?).
I am so excited. I have been growing the facial hair out just for my costume.
A handsome devil, cunning devil. Grey suit red tie and red pants and homemade horns.
Should be a nice night in my town.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/dustyrecords/sets/72157594351444025/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/dustyrecords/sets/85609/
Tell the happy couple I said hello.
same spot? I am doing a house party at the same place we had our reception a couple years back. Let me know if you need the sound system, my guy has his own at his place so I won't be needing it, just my tables. You are welcome to crash at my house too, we would just need to coordinate (assuming this is all on the 27th).
I gotta believe that custom printed bow-ties ain't that cheap either. Making the 5 neck guitar would probably be the most fun part of this costume.
27th. Yes. Same group, but at Tabaq instead the Big Hunt. They said I could plug into the house sound system. I hope it's good enough.
Cosizzle on the TMNT tip. This was last years.
This year, Dr. Zoidberg.
But I need some help from someone like Edith or SoulonIce who know about old movies
and Yuichi's make-up artist GF for tips.
I would like to appear to be IN black and white so
Im thinking something along the lines of Louise Brooks.
or a b&w film star from that era.
I have a black wig that is similar to her look. I figure a black dress would be easier than gray or white. I paint so I think I just need black and white make-up to work the gray scale on my face and arms.
I have no direct connection or admiration to Louise Brooks that was just an idea.
Does anyone have any favorite stars that might be easy to pull this look off??
I think they should have strictly blond or black hair to make it easier...I dont want to use the spray shit I just want to wear a wig.
I am open to suggestions for silent film stars or ladies that looked great in shades of gray. So suggestions up into the 60's is cool.
Maybe I could be the chick from the Birds and put a stuffed blackbird that we have on my shoulder
marilyn monroe is the only person people will recognize. Also easy to do in B+W