One too many costume boo-boos

Andrew Stadelberger

I’m out of ideas. Every Halloween I get distracted by one thing or another and wind up throwing a costume together an hour before a party. It’s embarrassing really. Try to visualize approaching a group of five female students who are wearing well-executed interpretations of cops and robbers while you just threw on a derby cap and called yourself a caddy. For me, nights like these don’t generally end well.

Halloween has never really been my holiday. I’ve tried humor. I dressed up like Bill Clinton in grade school, which really didn’t bother anyone. In fact, a few others had similar costumes. Unfortunately, a stunt I pulled involving (what I still believe to be) a dead-on impression got me sent home before lunch. I guess some people just don’t understand true art.

I kicked around a few ideas this past week. I’ve heard some pretty witty ones, too. Direct imitation is always a popular choice. I’ve been Sinatra in the past, which was really just an excuse to get boozy and sing songs all night. And yes, I had a great time, thank you very much.

There was also that one year I wanted to be Hulk Hogan. My mother, not really understanding where I was coming from on this one, kind of just painted dumbbells on my cheeks and told me not to hit anybody. I’d say that could be the low point of my Halloween escapades, unless you count the seventh grade spin-the-bottle disaster which, surprisingly enough, turned out to be nothing like we saw on “Dawson’s Creek” the week before.

But I’m out of ideas. Walking the fine line between being embarrassed, not offending a good majority of the party and being something everyone would readily recognize just leaves you with what … Quail Man? Interesting, but you and I both know it’s just an excuse to show everyone your tightie whities. And most of us outgrew that back in the first-grade, right?

So, where does that leave me this year? I’ll tell you where: Nowhere. This being said, I’m going to go as myself: an average college student. This way, when someone asks me who I’m supposed to be, I can say “You know what, I don’t have a bloody clue.”