Locke

My beloved apartment doorman Jessie, the guy who's seen it all, the guy who didn't blink the night I walked in wearing my Burger King costume, the guy who played along that one time I high-fived him while wearing my Kanye West shutter shades, this time he managed a double-take as I trotted down the lobby hallway. And then, like always, he shook his head and crossed his arms and gave me one of those looks, those "Jessie" looks, and he went, "What you s'pposed to be?"

"John Locke. From LOST. You know, bald guy. Wise. Hunts boar. Previously wheelchair-bound, but regains his ability to walk when he crash lands on the island. You know. I'm throwing a LOST party tonight, for the season premiere."

"Uh huh, well you done look more like a monster to me. Like Freddy Krueger."

These kind of things happen when you're in a hurry to dress up for your LOST party, and you throw on a latex bald cap and sloppily apply the adhesives and makeup all by yourself, in not even thirty minutes. You look hideous. You weird out your roommate. You scare off your pizza delivery guy. You make your impassive doorman do a double-take.

Jessie was right about me, but not completely. I didn't look like Freddy Krueger. I looked like the unholy combination of Freddy Krueger and John McCain.