Getting Freaky on Halloween
Text and photos by Shannon Kelley Gould
Take the still-surprising autumn chill in the air and the novelty of nightfall’s early descent, add a full day of blood sugar spikes and drops and one fantastically ridiculous costume, and what do you get? You get Halloween, or, more specifically, you get a night that is tinged with a distinctive aura of non-reality, a night that begins with the Tooth Fairy — a Tooth Fairy that bears an uncanny resemblance to one John Belushi — coming at you with an especially sinister looking pair of pliers, and ends with you dancing, onstage, to “Thriller” with a dude dressed up like one of the Feisty Bikini Girls. Or was that just me? To quote the Talking Heads, “Self, how did I get here?”
It all began innocently enough. I donned my costume — a two-foot tall, marching-band type hat discovered at a consignment shop, a pair of years-old white go-go boots, and a tennis dress purchased at Goodwill — that morning, and made my way to the office, ready to get some serious work done. It was just like this one time, at band camp. … Fourteen fun-size (fun-size surely means zero calories, right?) Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups later, I was bouncing off the walls, just in time for The Indy’s costume contest. My get-up scored me third place (for the record, I was robbed), which, at The Indy, translates to $15 in SOhO bucks, which was serendipitous, as I’d purchased my tickets for SOhO’s Halloween ALO show weeks ago. Beers were meant to be.
The passage of a couple of hours found me and my pal, a Freudian slut — I mean slip, at SOhO, chatting with Hunter S. Thompson and the Karate Kid, while digging the sounds of the ever-amazing Tin Man. My hard-earned SOhO bucks disappeared faster than you can say trick-or-treat, and before we knew it, the dance floor was packed and the werewolves of ALO were warming up. I worked my way toward the stage, passing an enormous, fin-wiggling trout and a well-lit Christmas tree, who was getting a festive groove on en route. After some serious jamming, ALO was ready for a break, and the slut — I mean slip — and I were ready to soldier on. (Little did we know, Zorro would make a surprise appearance during the second set.)
We marched down State Street, heading for the Feisty/Shorty’s/GBMI Heaven and Hell party at El Paseo. A little fast talking earned us entrée, at which point a federale nabbed us and directed us to the bar. We took a detour at the dance floor, which we proceeded to rip to shreds alongside Wyatt Earp and Paris Hilton. While taking a breather, I was accosted by a manic, shockingly hairy-chested Bikini Girl, who clearly had no intentions of getting his groove off. And so it went.
Another Halloween is in the books. Same as it ever was.