I’m having a lot of anonymity moments these days, which would be depressing if they didn’t somehow benefit me.

They don’t always benefit me. A few minutes ago, I was refused entry to the congressional lunchroom ’cause they thought I was just some wandering schmoe. It took a lot of fancy document fishing to prove to them I was a duly-elected congressschmoe. But yesterday, when I sat in the crowd watching the shallow grilling of Kathleen Sebelius, I was glad no one realized I was, in some sense, an interested party. Truth is, it wasn’t that interesting and it was no party.

Inspirational to some, however, as it seems to have given the visiting schoolkids ideas for a host of keen costumes on this terrifying day. While walking down the hallways of the Capitol this morning, I encountered a multitude of bone-chilling Halloween outfits.

One very clever kid came as Marsha Blackburn, shrilly navigating the corridors of power with unsettling authenticity. Another wore a latex iteration of the inner and outer decrepitude of freshman congressman Ted Yoho, once a veterinarian, now, himself, a howling lunatic, oblivious to the tangible details of the world around him. If Yoho operated on a canine’s spleen today, he would probably replace it with an alarm clock.

And I saw a little boy wearing one of those Steny Hoyer whole-head masks they advertise in the back of comic books. He was even carrying a root beer.

Now, they all seem to be in the lunchroom. Cheezits, they let a bunch of costumed kids in but they had to be convinced to let me enter. Wow, is that a Henry Waxman costume or is it Mel Blanc?

Boy, sometimes I’m really stupid. Those aren’t costumes. Those are the real reps.

I should have known.

Costumes could never be that scary.

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