It’s time to go back in the hazy mists of time to the days when men were men and women were women and cantaloupes were really these advanced beings from Jupiter sent to either destroy all life as we know it or pick up an extra-large Blizzard TM at Dairy Queen. (It’s currently unclear; our translators are working on it.) In any case, I recall way back in March, that it was Purim, the Jewish holiday of gift-giving, sillines, and, depending on who you ask, either drunken revelry, or sober reflection on how you don’t really have to get drunk and how we’re missing the point anyway. I was on Spring Break and I went up to the Penn to visit some friends for an extended weekend, and…well, the details are a bit hazy, but everyone assures me that I had a great time and that the nuns aren’t pressing charges. So all in all, it was good times. Shortly after that, I returned to chilly Ithaca, and Hillel had a masquerade party. The party was to take place after Shabbat, and while I’d decided earlier that I would attend, I still had no costume that morning. Yes, I suppose I could go without a costume, but I would hate to break a habit of simply being in fine form. Then it hit me. (Don’t worry; I recovered.) Why not just go without any clothes on? I mean, dressing up is mostly just about dressing as someone else. In this case I’d be dressing up like a nudist, (or a newborn baby – take your pick.) Or…maybe not a nudist, but a flasher!
Yes! My costume could involve not only nudity, but action as well! After Shabbat, I set to work. I had a trenchcoat already, and I realized that wearing my dress shoes with no socks on accentuated my beautiful unclad legs. So I was done from the neck down. Then, to round it out, I borrowed a sketchy hat from one friend, and some apt sunglasses from another. I was set. I had only to go out to the party and expose myself. I know what a lot of you are thinking. “Ilan? You did WHAT?! You’ve GOTTA be kidding me.” (Except for you, Charlie. You’re probably thinking “Cheese. What if I was made of cheese?” But you’re special, Charlie.) Your incredulity is justified, I must admit, but sometimes, a man has to do what a man has to do, and sometimes those two men are really one and the same. I went to the masquerade, and I gloriously threw open my coat in front of crowds, and while I did not win the costume contest due to blatant favoritism and/or disgust, man, was it liberating.
For the benefit of our younger viewers, and in case I ever want to run for a public office higher than Assistant Dogcatcher, I have only included the “before” picture here in plain view. But for those few voyeuristic readers who just need to see it, look here for what’s behind the trenchcoat. Don’t forget to zoom in!