Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

Martha Stewart, having a particularly bad day

What should have been a four-hour journey took five hours, from Philadelphia to State College on Friday. First, there was horrendous rush hour traffic in Harrisburg, and then football traffic between Harrisburg and State College.

But I'd gotten started early enough I still got there by dinner time. I was there to spend Halloween with my sister, which is a tradition between us spanning several years.

We like to dress up and go out to parties or just wander the streets of State College.

I had found some mirrored glasses at a yard sale, and they reminded me so much of a state trooper that I had to buy them. I happened to have a generic police shirt, which I used to wear for sketches sometimes at the Penn State Monty Python Society meetings or events.

It fits me again, although it's somewhat the worse for wear, having accumulated a few mouse holes while in storage in my mom's attic. I figured if anyone asked, I'd tell them they were acquired in the course of duty. "I was attacked by a vicious man-eating mousie!"

I'd called my sister on the phone and told her my idea, but we wanted a more creative angle. That's when she suggested that she be Martha Stewart and I her escort.

It was a done deal.

Friday night, we ate some stuffed peppers and then got ready, which didn't take terribly long. She helped me pull back my hair into a really tight ponytail and then slick it back with hair spray, for hiding it underneath my hat. I helped her curl her hair under to approximate Martha Stewart's hairdo. We took the fuzzy bits off my fuzzy cuffs to make them appear like normal handcuffs, and we were ready to go.

Well, first, it was silly picture taking time.

My sister had a basket of goodies with her, in order to make crafts. She was going to explain how each of the items had been made from something available to her in her cell: such as ear wax candles, or the basket itself, constructed from the hair of her cell mate.

We were going to hit two parties that evening: one in Bellefonte and another at the International House at Penn State, which was supposed to have a really jamming party.

We drove to Bellefonte and met one of my sister's friends in her apartment, which was huge. My sister was suffering from apartment envy, after she found out this friend was only paying about $450 for this huge, beautiful space. This was about half what you'd pay in State College for an apartment of that size, and about a third of what you'd pay in Philadelphia.

Her friend was dressed like Trinity from The Matrix. She'd actually made her coat, which was fantastic. I took an action shot of her once we got to the party.

The party was held at another huge Bellefonte apartment, in a building we were informed used to be the house of ill repute. This particular apartment had been the madam's quarters. It was a nice place; the madam did well for herself.

A small group of partygoers greeted us: the Cat in the Hat, sans hat; Little Red Riding Hood, who'd ditched her hood. There was also a guy dressed as a cow. Men are the only ones who ever dress as cows. I believe it's the udders.

I went up to him, introduced myself as Officer Alyce, and asked him if he'd had any troubles with people trying to tip him. I told him to let me know if he did; I'd write them up.

The Cat was looking for his Hat. I told him that if he believed it was stolen, we could file a report. In the meantime, I launched into a tirade about his famed exploits, informing him of all the charges that could have been filed: trespassing, vandalism, kidnapping. It really wasn't much of an example for the young kids of today, I said.

As we were sampling the foods, I mentioned that they were thinking of making celery a controlled substance. A lot of people didn't know how addictive it was, I said.

I also informed them that while most units have trained dogs, we had trained cats because we found they made better undercover agents.

At one point, they asked me where my ward was, and I explained that I had a remote control device I would press to bring her to me. My sister heard me saying this, so when I aimed my car's remote control key at her and pressed, she lurched towards me as if controlled by an outside power.

My sister's costume was a hit, which wasn't much of a surprise when we discovered the hostess was a Martha Stewart fan. She had not only put together a terrific spread of food, cheese, fruit and hors d'oevres that must have taken her hours, but had also carved pumpkins, including one inside the door that said, "Welcome."

The host was dressed as a witch, which was appropriate, given the number of Wiccan books I saw throughout the apartment. She'd sewn her own hat and had also made the Cat in the Hat costume. I took a picture of her with her black cat, also known to us police as Special Agent Mittens.

We tried to look out a telescope in the witch's bedroom. You were supposed to be able to see all across town with it and watch people on the street, as well. Not only were there few people on the streets, but she also couldn't get the telescope set up. First, it was because the lens cap was still on, but even after removing it, we couldn't figure the bloody thing out.

One of the activities the witch had planned was to carve pumpkins at the party. As soon as my sister and Trinity started working on an intricate spider design, I knew we weren't going to make the International House party.

I chatted with my sister and Trinity for awhile, watching them work. From the other room, we heard strains of rock music.

"Oh, no," Trinity said. "The Pink Floyd is starting."

I drifted into the other room and talked to Trinity's husband, who was a pirate. We started out talking politics — Hitler specifically, and how there are other governments that are just as anti-Semitic but Hitler had been the most infamous because he acted on it.

Conversation drifted around to Pink Floyd. The pirate told me how he and his friends were real Floyd Maniacs, and how they'd get together and listen to Pink Floyd or watch Floyd videos for hours on end. They'd all gotten into the band after it broke up, and never had had a chance to watch them live.

He told me about one song and his theory that the three women singing in it represented three different types of love: one was romantic love, one was the love of a daughter for her mother, and the third was the love of a mother for her daughter. After having explained his theory, he wanted to show me the video. So we went into the other room, and the guys turned it on, looking guiltily into the kitchen all the while.

"We're not supposed to watch any Floyd at the party," they said.

"It's okay. I'll tell them it's my fault," I said.

Once the spider pumpkin was finished, we hung around a little longer. The witch made a Cat in the Hat pumpkin.

By then, the cow had left with Little Red Riding Hood, and the guys had taken off their costumes and were watching Pink Floyd and discussing politics. It was time to go.

We discovered, much to our surprise, that it was 1 a.m. No time to make the International House, only time to cruise back to State College blasting Michael Jackson's Thriller.

More Halloween weekend shenanigans:

November 4, 2003 - Getting Wiggy with It

November 6, 2003 - Penn State of Change

Copyright 2003 by Alyce Wilson

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