Because my French maid vampire costume doesn’t fit anymore, I had to throw something together pretty darn quick for last night’s Halloween shindig. So I figured, I have a better-than-average grounding in theology and philosophy, a red shirt, and a crabby big sister. Throw in a blue security blanket, make a sign, and voilà…

…Linus van Pelt. My striped red shirt was in the laundry, but he’d respect and appreciate the minimalism either way.

Creative? No. Well-executed? Not really. But with so little time to plan, it was either this or go as a “control group” again (i.e., wear regular clothes). The costume got a few chuckles, was called appropriate for the occasion, and cost less than ten bucks. And they had pulled-pork sandwiches, deviled eggs and enough milk-and-cookies at the party. Mission accomplished.

…

I always wondered why Linus–well-enough-versed in the Gospels that he could recite from Luke at Christmastime–had no clue about the religious background of Halloween. True, we abandoned the deeper meaning of the holiday ages ago, but you’d think he’d know something about All Hallow’s Eve or Samhain instead of waiting for the Great Pumpkin.

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Broken-ankled Brett Favre getting carted off for a lacerated chinny chin chin? Excellent. That man cannot suffer enough indignity for my tastes.