Rick Nelson and Claude Peck dispense unasked-for advice about clothing, etiquette, culture, relationships, grooming and more.
CP: I feel you were robbed last year at Halloween when you went as your own 1978 high school yearbook photo — and won nothing. The feathered hair alone deserved a blue ribbon. Still, I hope the crushing blow doesn’t make you want to just stay home this year.
RN: If only I still fit into that corduroy three-piece suit. That’s what’s really depressing. I was wondering if you’ve decided to go less conceptual for All Hallow’s Eve 2013, since last year’s turn as a yeast infection sort of fell flat.
CP: Thanks for the reminder. That was about as much of a head-scratcher as when I was “butterscotch” the year before. I give up. You have it easy — you can just throw on dogtags and an Army jacket and go as that one guy on M*A*S*H again.
RN: You’re close. It’s Dr. Mark Green of “ER,” Anthony Edwards. With that wig collection of yours — your basement looks like Cher’s dressing room — I would think that you’d have plenty of options.
CP: Owning a variety of brazen wigs is a comfort.
RN: This from a man over, ahem, 40, and possessing a full and rather brilliant head of hair. Whatever.
CP: The spirit may move one to toss together a Robert Smith of the Cure at the 11th hour. I’ve been ratting that hairpiece now for years. Then you smear on some off-kilter red lipstick, kohl the eyes, and you are out the door. In case I don’t have a party to attend, I like to scare the young ones by handing out candy as Mr. Smith. Or Kitty Wells.
RN: Speaking of scary, I might dress up as the terrifying new carpet in the IDS Center’s skyways. Or perhaps wear a Philip Johnson rubber mask, one with his face contorted into the abject horror the late architect would undoubtedly exhibit when gazing upon a red-and black Navajo-meets-Ralph Lauren-style floor covering in his Modernist masterpiece.