This is part of an ongoing feature where I detail the brush I had with a particular celebrity and how it affected my life.
Who: Samantha Ronson
Why they are famous: Famous family, DJ & dated Linsdey Lohan
Where I saw them: Sound Lounge Halloween Party
When I was a kid, my sister and I weren’t allowed to buy Halloween costumes. Certain small things could be purchased at the store, namely face paint, but everything else we had to make our selves. This might seem like something my parents did as an exercise in creativity or an effort to instill some kind self reliance, but in reality it was just a way to save money.
All the the other neighborhood children went to the store and bought costumes, which, at the time, were little more than plastic masks held up with a thin elastic cord and a wispy sheet of vinyl with holes for your head and limbs. I know these were shit costumes. Cheap, unimaginative, utter crap. But when you are six years old and have assembled a Spiderman outfit comprised of a pair of your sisters blue tights, an Underoos t-shirt and your Grandmother’s lipstick, well, you get deflated pretty fuckin’ quick when your best friend comes over ready to trick-or-treat wearing a sweet, store bought He-Man costume.
Of all the my ill-conceived get ups, one stands tall above the rest. I was four years old and absolutely captivated by The Incredible Hulk. Between him and The Duke Brothers—whose flannel shirts informed my every day clothing—nothing seemed impossible. All of life’s problem could be jumped over, smashed, or out run. All you needed behind you was a just cause and maybe a moonshine running codger of an uncle.
So on my fourth Halloween, I decided to be The Hulk. An easy costume, almost impossible to screw up. A face covered in green paint and a shirt stuffed full of socks later, I was ready to go. Just before embarking on our little candy hajj, my father, who next to Beau, Luke and David Banner was still the most powerful man on the planet says to me, “Why don’t you put a pair of panty hose over your head?” which I did, never stopping for an instant to question why The Incredible Hulk might decide to stuff his head in a pair L’eggs for the evening.
Many a Halloween came and went after that night and though I hadn’t ever forgotten about the incident, I never stopped to think about it for very long. Finally, when I was maybe 20 years old and Halloween had become more about where to get drunk than it was about dressing up, I had a revelation; my Dad’s suggestion was nothing more than a way for him to amuse himself.
I can see him now, doubled over in laughter as I approached each successive house, him nearly engorged with self satisfaction at having provided a night of guffaws for himself and probably years of stifled chuckles and suppressed smiles any time the thought crossed his mind.
So thanks for the memories, Dad. And the humiliation. And the complex. And the thin scrim of nylon through which I have to look back on my formative years with.
Here are a bunch of photos of my boy...
These are all taken in October 2009.
Bah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! This pumpkin is an experiment in composting. The question is: will it totally collapse before it is put into the compost bin about 3 feet to the right?
Oh, one more thing, the pumpkin is sitting on a Habs car mat. Does that add to the scariness?
