Well I ain’t no Olympian but I can get behind anything… Including the original running track/stadium in Olympia, Greece…
Actually, since I lived in Olympia Washington (#OlyWa) for nine (!) years, I guess I’m in Olympian… And yes, attended two Olympic games so there’s that, but still… No gold medals except for that run of first place ribbons in the science fairs in elementary school and the “Mr. Fun” certificate from Boy Scout Camp…
But yes, this is the original Olympic grounds and me in a Greek fisherman’s hat and tunic, you know, going local with my awesome moustache and specs.
My halloween disguise – you’ll never recognize me with ‘stache, chops, cardigan & fancy new hat. Waiting for a bus (i left the house!) off to meet 藤田良子 in hot spring village of Maniwa, on the borderlands of Tottori. Same as it ever was, same as i ever am (except slightly more chubby).
Oh those notorious Olson boys, always up to no good, they make the Duke boys look like saints. This time it’s Dan headed to the brig while I strike my best rockstar pose – indeed my true calling if it wasn’t those pesky musical instruments.
My iteration was a mix of my uncle Randy Bachman and a bit of Elvis who had died on my recent seventh birthday. Hey glasses, big hair, bellbottoms with pom-poms and platform shoes… But oh that pose! Simply says, “I know you’re looking but I don’t care – i’m just here to rock”
I ventured out, moustachioed, into the wilds of Guilford complete with my inmate number for easy identification.
Along with brother Dan as a clown, no tears for this one, and brother Bob with some inappropriate cultural appropriation upon which I won’t comment upon further, we would rampage through Guilford Mews condos using pillowcases instead of plastic sacks to collect the trick or treat bounty.
Two bearded distinguished gentleman discussing how Ernest Hemingway is vastly overrated.
note: this costume was on deck a couple years ago, but life got weird for me, but in that moment of sadness, I realized I didn’t need to dress up as the most interesting man in the world as i’ve met at least a dozen people as interesting as this fictional dude.
I have stories which make Jimmy Buffett seem sober, Keith Richards cringe and Hugh Hefner blush… (well at least two of those are true) This is my homage to the crusty septgagrnarian and erstwhile Publisher and *cough “sexual liberator ?)”— I don’t look or read his magazine, nor say it’s name aloud, but I do admire his vast selection of smoking jackets. note: pipe, cravat/ascot, and hair/eyebrows to complete the masquerade.
Sidenote: this was the last time my face with cleanly shaven which I found to be rather uncomfortable.
Further sidenote: Kenny Trobman vastly upstaged me with his Ron Jeremy costume that year at the Eastside Club Tavern