Careenin' Halloweenin' Rockin' Funky Good Times

So I had this dream that for Halloween I costumed myself as a hippie, with a cymbal on my head. I'd walk around at parties and this big outdoor concert/basketball festival thing, tapping my fingers on the cymbal the whole time (ts ts-ts, ts ts-ts, ts ts-ts). In my dream I borrowed the wig from JLC and it was perfect.

So I woke up and decided I had to duplicate the dream. Imagine how could that would be, I told my friends. I could walk around and whenever anybody asked what I was for Halloween, I could say I was a hippie with a cymbal on my head, and it came to me in a dream.

So I text messaged JLC, who indeed is in possession of not one, but three wigs! Wow, I thought, this could actually work. Plus, I was in San Francisco, with easy access to hippie clothing. And I know drummers, so getting my mitts on a cymbal isn't exactly out of the question. Yes, I thought, I'm a-gonna be a hippie with a cymal on my head for Halloween, and go around telling people that it came to me in a dream. Not only would it completely solve the problem of what to costume as for the holiday, but it would be far and away the best costume I've ever had. I usually go for stock character types "70s Guy," "Hick," "Lumberjack" and the like.

But then I started thinking how it might be tough actually to pull it all off. I was, in fact, in San Francisco, while JLC and her wigs were in Phoenix. And I was headed back to Tucson... Plus, being in San Francisco was probably a detriment on the hippie clothese, at least as far as price was concerned. I'd probably end up getting hosed for $45 on an organic cotton, hand-dyed shirt by some burnout who used to drop acid with Jerry. And while I know drummers, I don't have the phone number of a single one.

So I abandoned my dream, for this year anyway. I went with the old standby: Zombie. In San Francisco I was a Zombie Nurse, accompanied by a Keg o' Beer. And back in Tucson, I was just a Zombie in a Shirt and a Tie, accompanied by a Zombie in a Blazer and a Pirate. The poor waitress on the patio thoughtly we were merely injured. Alas, we were the undead.