Recently, here at my day job, my desk has been repeatedly visited by ladybugs. They always come one at a time — perhaps it’s the same bug — and I’ve just given up releasing them outdoors. I now let them (it?) hang out at my desk. As I type this, there’s a ladybug nestled against a stack of contracts next to my keyboard.

Perhaps it will bite me, endowing me with ladybug-themed superpowers, which is what clearly happened to this fortunate heroine/sexxxy ladybug(!):

I’ll try to provoke the ladybug at my desk, and I’ll let you know what happens.

Speaking of which, here’s some trivia for today! What do the following two individuals have in common?

Answer after the jump!

That’s right! They’re both dead!

The familiar, black crossbow shape of Chewbacca’s weapon from the Star Wars movies caught my eye as I was binding some spec books. It was sitting atop his desk, leaning against the wall amidst Halloween decorations that seem to stay up at his desk year-round.

“Why, yes it is!” Travis replied. It was homemade, part of a Chewbacca Halloween costume he’d constructed for his son. He opened the photos and showed me how he basically made the entire costume from scratch. And it’s damn good. It reminded me of the costumes my family and I built when I was a kid.

(It should be noted that Travis is cool. Actually cool. Funny, easygoing, socially functional, has good taste. So those of you who are picturing an awkward, cloistered office drone, you’re off-base. Travis is a cool nerd.)

I mentioned that my friend Ed was part of a Star Wars costuming group, the Rebel Legion, and he troops in a screen-accurate Rebel pilot costume. This was not a new idea to Travis. He has a costume of his own, and he’s clearly passing the geeky creativity to his son, who I think is pretty much guaranteed to turn out cool. Travis mentioned that he had the bowcaster here at the office, because he was going to work on making it more screen-accurate, because his son wants to go to the next CONvergence.

Musicians, pilots, and now creative Star Wars geeks. Fun people work in this print room.

Ran into two people I know,
But they were busy,
Working on Shakespeare text.
One of them is a good friend,
The other didn’t remember that we knew each other.
I forget people too, quite often,
But I still take it personally when I’m not remembered.

Speaking of which, I think I’ve met the girl sitting alone at the table next to me, but I’m too stunted to ask and confirm.

Today, I attended a work-related lunch.
It was fancy, and there was free wine and talk of galvanized metal.

After work was the Holiday open house.
I sat alone at my desk with
Free food and a beer while
Others with families and trophy girlfriends feigned interest in one another.
More free food and drink.
Now I’m here at Acadia, having another.

Going to do a workshop at The Playwrights’ Center this Sunday and Monday.
I play the young(er) guy among septa- and octagenarians.
It’s me (a fraud) and a host of heavy-hitters,
The old guard of the Twin Cities theatre.
We could make a drinking game.
Whenever I put my foot in my mouth among those I respect,
Take a drink.
Whenever I feel the need to keep talking,
Filling the air with uhs, ums,
Misinformation, and half-baked thoughts,
Take a drink.
Whenever body language makes it clear that others in my profession don’t take me seriously,
Take a drink.
Whenever I make it clear that I don’t take myself seriously,
Take a drink.
I have been.

I have started working out again. Somehow, this has also meant that I’ve started eating drive-through fast food a lot. Yesterday’s lunch was Wendy’s, dinner was McDonald’s, and breakfast was coffee. This coincidence has not been intentional.

A track from Danny Elfman’s Batman score is playing now. Seven or eight years ago, a friend of mine wrapped his car around a tree with me in the backseat while listening to this soundtrack.

Go see Commedia Beauregard’s The Klingon Christmas Carol. It should be amusing. http://www.cbtheatre.org

Most importantly go see The Santaland Diaries at BLB. See my previous post for details. http://www.bryantlakebowl.com

Since rehearsal is in the afternoon, I’m only working mornings at my day job for these two weeks. Unfortunately, one of these days — today, in fact– is Halloween. I haven’t been ordered to decorate a pumpkin this year, but I will have to leave at noon, which means I’ll miss most of the fun. No one is working today. They are eating, talking, and smashing things.

I forgot completely about the Halloween festivities, and I came to work without a costume. Not that I would’ve worn a costume, but I feel like a party pooper. Someone is dressed as a Ghostbuster, which makes me a little envious. At least it’s not a good Ghostbuster costume. Then I’d be crushed.

Coincidentally, I am dressed out of the ordinary. I’m wearing a suit (currently sans tie). This is because I’m taking Kat to the Guthrie to see The Home Place tonight. Truly, a spooky Halloween celebration. Anyway, I won’t have time to change in between, so I’m already dressed for tonight. I was also wearing a black trenchcoat when I came into the office this morning, and someone asked if I was dressed as someone. I decided that I would be Fox Mulder.

One of my coworkers (the cool guy in the mailroom) just visited my desk. He’s Tigger. The costume is official — it even says “Tigger” across the chest — and is a huge, plush onesy like an infant would wear. With the hood pulled back, he looks like an enormous, berserk stuffed animal swallowed a young, black man in The Disney Store. Yesterday, he said he would also carry golf clubs and be “Tigger Woods,” but he just settled on plain old Tigger. I must confess to some disappointment.

I always kind of want to do stuff for Halloween. Every Halloween, I feel like I’m missing out on the party. I generally don’t participate, because I don’t have the time and money to assemble a costume. (Or attend parties at all, for that matter.) Costuming itself is the other part of my problem: Ever since childhood, I’ve been a costume perfectionist. My costumes have to look real. I don’t want to dress as Han Solo unless my costume is screen-accurate. My friend Ed and I have long talked about putting together good Ghostbuster costumes for Mardi Gras, and we even bought some of the supplies to build our own proton packs in high school, but we lost momentum.

In addition to wanting the clothing right, I would only want to be a Ghostbuster if it were clear which one I am. I wouldn’t just be “a Ghostbuster;” I’d have to be Peter Venkman or Egon Spengler. I wouldn’t have been “a Ninja Turtle;” I had to be Donatello. I would have to try my damnedest to look just right. And I would have to be in character. Years before I entertained the notion of being an actor, I treated Halloween and Mardi Gras as acting jobs. It’s just a natural outgrowth of my lifelong need to pretend to be someone else. For a period of time when I was very little, I insisted that people call me Bastian (from The Neverending Story).

I still think about how great it would’ve been if Joey, Brad, and I went as R.E.M. when we all still lived in Louisiana. Joey would be Mike Mills, Brad would be Peter Buck, and I’d be Michael Stipe. Depending on which era, Joey and I may swap roles (I look a lot like early ’80s Mike Mills). Anyway. If I were Stipe, I’d shave my head. Someone told me I could buy a bald cap. No. I would shave my head.

Because of my neuroses, I’m unable to just whip something up or buy a costume in a bag. And since I never have free time to put something good together ahead of time, I just scrap the whole idea. There’ve been times when I’ve had enough odds and ends lying around to put something together, but in Minneapolis, I have no costume pieces with me. Well, I have a Han Solo vest, but nothing to go with it.

You might assume that I’m not big on joke costumes, and you’d be right. I can see someone else’s and appreciate it (see “Tigger Woods” above), but I wouldn’t do one myself. If I did, it would probably be dark and subtle and would require explanation. In fact, ”a young man being eaten by a stuffed Tigger at a Disney Store” sounds like the kind of joke costume I would attempt.

If you’re going to set yourself up as funny, you really better be funny. There’s a fine line between a funny joke costume and just flat out douchebaggery. Hey, there’s an example right there. Someone who goes as ”a douchebag,” and takes the term literally: not funny.

Even if your joke costume is funny, I can only imagine that after ten minutes, you’d be tired of the joke. “Oh, look, it’s hilarious, you’re ____!” followed by raucous laughter may be ego-building for a while, but after twelve times? Or worse: if people don’t get it. When faced with the prospect of explaining my costume over and over again to people with blank looks on their faces, I would just go put on some damn jeans. Also, as the night wears on, parts of the costume would inevitably come off for comfort and utility. It would be tiring and impractical for Tigger Woods to keep carrying around golf clubs, so he would end up just being Tigger anyway.

There are two instances in my life where “just whipping something up” resulted in success.

In college, I decided to go to a Halloween party and dress up at the very last minute. The party had already started, and I was tossing on a costume pretty much on the way there. I wore jeans, white Nikes with red swooshes (which I still own), a white, button-down shirt, and a jean jacket. I broke into the school’s costume shop for black suspenders and arrived at the party as Marty McFly. Unfortunately, I didn’t yet own a down vest (and now that I do, I no longer own a jean jacket). Anyway, it worked perfectly, particularly since I was often compared to Michael J. Fox in college.

The other time that a spit-and-chewing-gum costume worked was Halloween 1990. My family had just moved to Bush, Louisiana. Our first year living in the woods. Surprise! You can’t trick-or-treat in the forest. We decided on Halloween that we could drive to a subdivision in Mandeville (Greenleaves, for those of you “in the know”) and trick-or-treat there.

I suddenly needed a costume. The year before, my family collaborated on an elaborate Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle costume (Donatello, specifically). It was a full body suit with fake muscles and a papier mache shell. I still own the costume and wish it still fit me. (Incidentally, the year before that, I had been a Ghostbuster. I used the toy proton pack and store-bought jumpsuit. It looked good, but again, it won’t fit me now.)

A year later, I was still a rabid TMNT fan. My parents and I ended up crafting a Shredder costume using cardboard, aluminum foil, and a sweatsuit. Our inspiration was the movie version of Shredder. I re-used the bo from my Donatello costume (a broomstick with tape wrapped in the middle), and we were good to go. It actually looked really good, particularly considering our $0 budget.

That was my last real Halloween. I always loved Halloween as a kid. I still feel like, if I don’t participate, I’m missing out on the fun. But I have rehearsals and shows and real life. It would take too much planning and effort to make sure I had the time to care about Halloween, but who knows. Maybe next year.

 Coworker (after asking me about my travels): “…and now you’re back in Minnesota.”

Me (sarscastic): “Yep. It’s exciting.”

Coworker (apparently missing the sarcasm): “No, it’s not!” 

Later…

Coworker (out of the blue): “So, have there been any shootings lately out where you live, in North?”

Me (laughing): “No. Not where I live, anyway.”

Coworker: “Oh, well, you’re lucky. You could get shot just walking down the street.”