Good Night Mr. Lewis: Meeting Your Halloween Eggspectations
At midnight or so tonight, I will waddle out onto the great stage of Webster Hall, where legends have performed, dressed as fat, old Elvis, and co-judge the annual 5000 costume contest with their favorite virgin-to-be-sacrificed, Shane. Last year they had Ron Jeremy but it went too long, the contest length I mean. Where Sinatra or Johnny Cash or U2 rank among the greatest acts who have hit that stage over the last 140 years, I’m sure my performance will rank amongst the worst.
I’ve been asked by many to provide a list of options for my favorite night out, Halloween, and first of all I must recommend the parade. I try to walk it every year but then again, I spend my New Year’s in Times Square. Ha, you say, ha! Well I’m not the only one who chooses this option. I am always among like a million people and I always have a blast. There are a couple of other events I’ve been endorsing. I like the idea of Lucky Strike Lanes, where Danny A, Noah Tepperberg and Jason Strauss will host. The vision of peeps bowling with Sarah Palin masks or pirate costumes puts a smile on my face. For cool, cool, cool fun, I’ll recommend Lesly Bernard’s (of Tillman’s and Mr. Jones fame) soiree at 640 W. 28th street. It may be the only time of the year where the beautiful and fast set over at 1Oak, will be accessible via a great effort with a costume. Most club people loathe Halloween. Costumes hide the faces of people that have been 86’d. Security guards have to be careful of swords or clubs and such, that are a little too real. Doormen have a hard time judging who they are letting in, and checking an ID is sometimes problematic. It’s generally considered to be an amateur night by all.
I remember standing in front of my club, The World, one Halloween night dressed in a black tuxedo with a bat bow tie–my pre-old Elvis staple –when a group of kids started tossing eggs at the front door from the 6th floor roof of the building across the street. While security scrambled upstairs to…alter their chosen costume and facial expressions, I watched the eggs raining towards us from above. The crowd and door staff all scrambled as the eggs hit and splattered them in rapid succession. I figured all I had to do was stand in place real suave like, a la James Bond, and track each egg as it came. I would, I figured, just take a few calm steps left or right and I’d be safe and ultra cool too. Well then came “the egg.” As it cleared the rooftop I could see that it was going to come close to me. “Wow, what a great shot,” I thought. Then, “Wow, it’s coming right at my nose.” “Wow, I’m going to stay cool…I mean what are the odds?” Then, “Wow, it’s coming right at my nose.” Finally, “Wow, I’m not going to panic!” But then I panicked and moved at the last second. The egg nipped my ear and splattered on the wall behind me. My security then arrived on the roof, and explained to the young perps, in the language of the day, that what they had done was a bad thing—a very bad thing. They were persuaded never to do such a bad thing again, and something tells me they never did. Meanwhile, I had a very sore ear and the back of my tux was a yoke. It took a very good dry cleaner a very long time to save that suit. My cool recovered around the same time.