Catch the windy spirit and they'll badger you to return
I like to start a vacation with a wedding. There's nothing like lifelong commitment to make a man appreciate a week off from work. This wasn't just any wedding either. This was one of those love stories for the ages. This was an engagement documented heavily on youtube and celebrated for all time or at least a week.
Excuse me, I'll take a break from the wedding to get the cynical fly out of my love stew.
I was in Chicago with C. We were crashing with friends S and A in their new and beautiful home on the Chicago river. The weather wasn't very cooperative and they were entertaining other friends that weekend as well. It rained. There was ping-pong, some bird-feeding, a scrumptious little brunch, and a lot of scrawled notes and missed connections. If it hadn't been a year or two since we'd seen this crowd, I could have sworn that we'd seen them last week and would see them again in a month. Time would play fast and loose like that all week. We bounced in and out of old friends lives. Heck we'd cleared three FARCers before we even got to the wedding.
Speaking of the wedding, I'm back and ready to appreciate the event fully. In case you're counting, and I was, I think this puts me at 25 weddings attended since high school. I'm a fan of weddings and as we approached the interesting venue Salvage One and saw the groomsmen in the street I got excited. (I actually got excited when I put on my tie, but come on, how vain is that?)
Not to worry, the groomsmen weren't playing in traffic. It was a photo shoot. Salvage One is an architectural salvage store. A more accomplished writer with a better memory could describe the venue better, but the foosball table with wooden players was in the back, the giant chandeliers with film strip piping were near the makeshift bar, and the pews were for sale. The wedding itself was a quick event, as my sophomore year roommate wed his high school girlfriend in this the later round of their love. They'd worked hard to get to this point and they knocked out some nice vows, kissed, and sent us upstairs to eat and party.
The reception was gorgeous. The event planner now wife and the art director now husband had their personality seeping throughout and their personalities clearly have class. At least until you view the photo booth pictures. Their DJ was dancing to her own beats. It made me consider a new career while I danced along. The bride and grooms' friends had moves. As we age, I think more people are realizing that they can dance. I went for quantity, because if you can't out-move them, out-move them, if you know what I'm saying. You don't? Well, man the groom's grandma had dance moves like you would not believe. It's a good thing somebody pulled her to the bar before she started planking.
Five FARCers down and Chicago's in the rear view mirror. Madison, WI, we're coming for you. First, we stopped for dinner in a town that seemed to be a series of streets plopped down on a field. We'd visit C's Wisconsin study abroad pals and find her sport, cornhole. And on to Madison.
Madison was so quiet because that very day the Wisconsin college Ultimate team lost in the National finals. C assured me that wasn't the case. Maybe school was out. Maybe the protesters at the state capitol were tired. Maybe no one could believe that we were staying in a hotel. Don't worry, it was only for one night. Madison was sixth street for us. We seemed lost without a tour guide. Even when we enlisted the help of another FARCer, Jenn, over drinks, we just couldn't seem to find our footing as we rambled on B-cycles not unlike the Capital Bikeshare in DC, away from the lake and onto the trail that looked not unlike MKT. Madison to us may have been a collection of places we'd already been.
It may have been the siren call of Fond du Lac that had us distracted. M, K, and their children left the DC area about a year ago and now finally we got to see them again. Their children were bundles of energy. They probably had half the energy in Fond du Lac. I believe M called it a suburb without a big city. I'm pretty sure it had a Wal-Mart. We spent two quiet, other than the sometimes screaming kids, days in Fond du Lac and it reminded me why I love those cats. Bouncing through the playgrounds and chatting at the kitchen table I could have been 18 or 80 and I think I'd still like being around M and K. Those kids are pretty awesome too. They wanted to be tossed, turned, twirled as much as energy would allow. I tried walking lunges and squats, but their turn as dumbbells only seemed to tire me out and leave them wanting more. We even got in a little disc throwing from 5 feet apart. Fond du lac should definitely be closer.
It is closer to Milwaukee and our next stop on the trip. I slept while C drove. This was a vacation pattern that seemed to work heavily in my favor. Another pattern heavily in my favor, was that C let me pick a lot of our activities. We toured the Pabst mansion (that Pabst, of Pabst brewing, did you know he had a mansion? And some seriously interesting germanic tastes? Whoa. Also, servants quarters. Get some.) We had lunch at the Milwaukee market in the historic third ward where the advertising museum has been closed for several years, but the building is for sale in case you're interested. We then made our way to N and J's home for another bout of guest rooming. N and J were excellent hosts and let us bask in the glory of Clifford the Big Red Dog and Elmo. There daughter E may have factored heavily in those television choices.
When Clifford and Elmo were off, we spent our daylight at the Milwaukee art museum, the Lakefront brewery tour, and hanging out in the yard as N checked her veggies. We spent an evening at a gallery viewing too. I can't remember what Alice Cooper said about Milwaukee in Wayne's World, but I can almost guarantee he was right. And then the vacation got real. How do I know? The hosts got a baby sitter to go out on Friday night. I don't know what the going rate for baby sitters is, but I know that N and J got their money's worth. Or I got their money's worth. Or somebody got some money's worth. Look over there- bratwurst. Yum.
10 FARCers in all. Only 217 Facebook friends to go.
Showing posts with label wedding. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wedding. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Friday, July 09, 2010
Vacation as a series of opportunities to eat and other adventures in four or so parts
It wasn't the defining moment of the trip or even really the defining moment of the first of four parts, but it seems telling. Margo and Tom had already been married for some twelve hours. I found myself in the mother of the bride's kitchen the day after the wedding. I wasn't in the wedding party. The bride and groom had already left for a pre-honeymoon nap. We'd said our goodbyes. I was waiting around to catch a plane of my own. Attendants came and went. One had just left for the train station. One was upstairs packing. Fine china and good silver from brunch were stacked in and around the sink.
On the corner of the counter, under a dessert plate and a long knife, in a box opened just slightly, rested a quarter of the wedding cake. The wedding cake was really really tasty. As I removed the plate and the knife from the box top, I momentarily worried that I might be scooping up what should be saved for anniversary one. Preposterous, I soothed myself, that piece is long ago wrapped and protected elsewhere.
I cut myself a slice of deliciousness. Rather than dirty more plates and utensils, I decided to stuff cake directly into my mouth while standing over the sink. Yes, Margo's mom could appear in the kitchen at any moment. Yes, my mom is cringing as she reads this, but sometimes the right thing to do gets overtaken by really good cake and efficiency.
Part 1: Midwest Wedding
There was a time when I could count the number of plane trips I'd taken in my life. These days I have trouble counting the number of plane trips I've taken in a year. Much of the airplane travel ritual has become standard, but the flight to St. Louis was special. It wasn't Southwest airlines with their new found touchy-feeliness, although the lack of a checked bag fee never hurts, that made this leg of the trip a winner. No, the winningness was all due to Kim. It had been a long time since we'd been on a trip. Motherhood has kept her busy. We talked the whole flight, only pausing to consider that our life vests were under our seats and to take thoughtful conversational pauses.
Monika and J picked us up at the airport and our triumphant return (for 75% of us) to the Midwest was fully under way. The eating highlight, other than the previously mentioned cake, would prove to be the City Coffee House & Creperie in Clayton, Missouri. The menu had more delectable-sounding crepes than most teams had goals in the World Cup. It was so good that we ate there twice. If I lived near the place, I'm not sure I'd go anywhere else. I'd probably end up working there and swiping table scrap crepes from the tables I bussed. That dream was put on the back burner though, because I had a wedding to attend.
Margo and Tom were getting married. Up to that point I had three distinct memories of M & T as a couple. The first was when M and I were talking and she told me she was dating Tom. "Hmm," I thought. "I remember him from FARC." FARC, my college dorm, holds a vast power over its past residents. Few can even speak the name without a twinkle in their eye. The second memory came in a blink some months later when M was asking me what I thought of Tom. After fumbling about for a while, I finally settled on, "It's been more than 8 years since I saw him. If he makes you happy, I'm happy." The third memory was of an M & T visit to DC. Tom had Margo in stitches. It's true that she laughs a fair amount, but she certainly seemed happy.
Now, I have more memories to fondly add to the catalog. Their smiles as they surveyed the church at their wedding were enormous and wide. Tom has a naturally big smile, but neither of their faces seemed able to contain the joy they felt. It was contagious. By the time it caught up with me, I was ready to dance. My table of many former FARCers joined forces with some of the attendants to carve up a little corner of the dance floor. With flashes of college mixed in with a more grown up confidence, we danced. Sometimes it was a reckless tango with Hava, other times it was a slow motion tennis match with Kim. We interpreted individually or as a group, sang along, and let the joy spill from our dancing shoes. Jen and Dan cut the rug gracefully while Monika and J started out reluctantly before catching fire. We missed some of those FARCers who weren't able to dance with us. I sometimes found myself looking around for Matt as he's always been an inspiration to this particular breed of dancing, especially in that company. Our energy was easily matched by the bride's family. It was party and I was digging it.
Before the party could wrap up, a few of us slipped away to a fading beach party in the middle of a street, a limbo contest that didn't end, and a short visit to the bride and groom's house. They were absent, but we ate Doritos in their living room in their honor. It was a joyful start to an excellent vacation.
Part II: Independent Seattle- coming soon
It wasn't the defining moment of the trip or even really the defining moment of the first of four parts, but it seems telling. Margo and Tom had already been married for some twelve hours. I found myself in the mother of the bride's kitchen the day after the wedding. I wasn't in the wedding party. The bride and groom had already left for a pre-honeymoon nap. We'd said our goodbyes. I was waiting around to catch a plane of my own. Attendants came and went. One had just left for the train station. One was upstairs packing. Fine china and good silver from brunch were stacked in and around the sink.
On the corner of the counter, under a dessert plate and a long knife, in a box opened just slightly, rested a quarter of the wedding cake. The wedding cake was really really tasty. As I removed the plate and the knife from the box top, I momentarily worried that I might be scooping up what should be saved for anniversary one. Preposterous, I soothed myself, that piece is long ago wrapped and protected elsewhere.
I cut myself a slice of deliciousness. Rather than dirty more plates and utensils, I decided to stuff cake directly into my mouth while standing over the sink. Yes, Margo's mom could appear in the kitchen at any moment. Yes, my mom is cringing as she reads this, but sometimes the right thing to do gets overtaken by really good cake and efficiency.
Part 1: Midwest Wedding
There was a time when I could count the number of plane trips I'd taken in my life. These days I have trouble counting the number of plane trips I've taken in a year. Much of the airplane travel ritual has become standard, but the flight to St. Louis was special. It wasn't Southwest airlines with their new found touchy-feeliness, although the lack of a checked bag fee never hurts, that made this leg of the trip a winner. No, the winningness was all due to Kim. It had been a long time since we'd been on a trip. Motherhood has kept her busy. We talked the whole flight, only pausing to consider that our life vests were under our seats and to take thoughtful conversational pauses.
Monika and J picked us up at the airport and our triumphant return (for 75% of us) to the Midwest was fully under way. The eating highlight, other than the previously mentioned cake, would prove to be the City Coffee House & Creperie in Clayton, Missouri. The menu had more delectable-sounding crepes than most teams had goals in the World Cup. It was so good that we ate there twice. If I lived near the place, I'm not sure I'd go anywhere else. I'd probably end up working there and swiping table scrap crepes from the tables I bussed. That dream was put on the back burner though, because I had a wedding to attend.
Margo and Tom were getting married. Up to that point I had three distinct memories of M & T as a couple. The first was when M and I were talking and she told me she was dating Tom. "Hmm," I thought. "I remember him from FARC." FARC, my college dorm, holds a vast power over its past residents. Few can even speak the name without a twinkle in their eye. The second memory came in a blink some months later when M was asking me what I thought of Tom. After fumbling about for a while, I finally settled on, "It's been more than 8 years since I saw him. If he makes you happy, I'm happy." The third memory was of an M & T visit to DC. Tom had Margo in stitches. It's true that she laughs a fair amount, but she certainly seemed happy.
Now, I have more memories to fondly add to the catalog. Their smiles as they surveyed the church at their wedding were enormous and wide. Tom has a naturally big smile, but neither of their faces seemed able to contain the joy they felt. It was contagious. By the time it caught up with me, I was ready to dance. My table of many former FARCers joined forces with some of the attendants to carve up a little corner of the dance floor. With flashes of college mixed in with a more grown up confidence, we danced. Sometimes it was a reckless tango with Hava, other times it was a slow motion tennis match with Kim. We interpreted individually or as a group, sang along, and let the joy spill from our dancing shoes. Jen and Dan cut the rug gracefully while Monika and J started out reluctantly before catching fire. We missed some of those FARCers who weren't able to dance with us. I sometimes found myself looking around for Matt as he's always been an inspiration to this particular breed of dancing, especially in that company. Our energy was easily matched by the bride's family. It was party and I was digging it.
Before the party could wrap up, a few of us slipped away to a fading beach party in the middle of a street, a limbo contest that didn't end, and a short visit to the bride and groom's house. They were absent, but we ate Doritos in their living room in their honor. It was a joyful start to an excellent vacation.
Part II: Independent Seattle- coming soon
Monday, March 16, 2009
Wedding receptions are fun
I thought it was just the dancing that made me enjoy wedding receptions so much, but after this weekend I'd like to revise my theory. I like wedding dancing because it takes place in this bubble of love, conversation, and reminiscing. English teachers and grandmothers and nieces, nephews, and best friends all get together and celebrate with some food or drink. This combination of people with past seems to put the crowd in a pretty good mood. I want to figure out how to throw dance parties with that same vibe. Inviting English teachers and digging out some old photo albums might be good first steps.
One part of the experience that I will leave out of my dance party is the garter toss. When it came time at this wedding, I must have been the last single guy still around. The groom held the garter up in the air and looked around. Reluctantly, I raised my hand and he tossed it in my general direction. There wasn't much I could do. This couple had eschewed many of the traditional reception festivities and yet the bouquet and garter still came out. And so, I snagged another this weekend. I think that puts me up to three. I apologize to anyone whom I'm holding back. I can toss the garter in your direction if you are worried about the order of these things. I don't want to slow anyone down, especially not if I get invited to the reception for dancing.
I thought it was just the dancing that made me enjoy wedding receptions so much, but after this weekend I'd like to revise my theory. I like wedding dancing because it takes place in this bubble of love, conversation, and reminiscing. English teachers and grandmothers and nieces, nephews, and best friends all get together and celebrate with some food or drink. This combination of people with past seems to put the crowd in a pretty good mood. I want to figure out how to throw dance parties with that same vibe. Inviting English teachers and digging out some old photo albums might be good first steps.
One part of the experience that I will leave out of my dance party is the garter toss. When it came time at this wedding, I must have been the last single guy still around. The groom held the garter up in the air and looked around. Reluctantly, I raised my hand and he tossed it in my general direction. There wasn't much I could do. This couple had eschewed many of the traditional reception festivities and yet the bouquet and garter still came out. And so, I snagged another this weekend. I think that puts me up to three. I apologize to anyone whom I'm holding back. I can toss the garter in your direction if you are worried about the order of these things. I don't want to slow anyone down, especially not if I get invited to the reception for dancing.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Bits and pieces
*What's the point of getting married if you're not going to dance about it afterwards?
*My return to tournament level Ultimate was hesitant. Then, I dislocated a finger. A man in a beer garden pulled on it (twice) really hard. After a few minutes of wanting to faint and/or vomit, I returned with a lot more vigor, a lot less hesitancy, and a swollen finger.
*During one series of about three points, I played dominant Ultimate. I got a help D, I was wide open on a couple of in cuts. I came in on an underthrown disc and ripped it away from a defender and then threw a score. I slid in to catch a low disc, my skirt rose up around my hips exposing less than I could but more than I should which elicited a curious sideline noise, that wasn't really a cheer; I adjusted myself instead of throwing to an open cutter, dumped it off and went on to score. I left the game with our team leading by two points believing the tide had turned.
*We lost the game. I was shaken. I didn't really recover that well, although thankfully the team did. I played with very little confidence in the next game including one horrible offensive series in which I didn't make a dump cut at all. I just stood there dancing. I hadn't gotten married, just skyed repeatedly. Ouch.
*My psoas has bothered me all week.
*I saw a movie called I'm a cyborg, but that's ok. It was a love story, Korean, and odd. My favorite bit was a metaphor for life. It was an elastic band tied around the waist. At the end of life, the band became so taut and then finally snapped back, pulling the person away and out of the picture.
*I had a hunch John would be back. I just didn't think it would be so soon.
*I'm going to dance right now in honor of some happy couple.
*What's the point of getting married if you're not going to dance about it afterwards?
*My return to tournament level Ultimate was hesitant. Then, I dislocated a finger. A man in a beer garden pulled on it (twice) really hard. After a few minutes of wanting to faint and/or vomit, I returned with a lot more vigor, a lot less hesitancy, and a swollen finger.
*During one series of about three points, I played dominant Ultimate. I got a help D, I was wide open on a couple of in cuts. I came in on an underthrown disc and ripped it away from a defender and then threw a score. I slid in to catch a low disc, my skirt rose up around my hips exposing less than I could but more than I should which elicited a curious sideline noise, that wasn't really a cheer; I adjusted myself instead of throwing to an open cutter, dumped it off and went on to score. I left the game with our team leading by two points believing the tide had turned.
*We lost the game. I was shaken. I didn't really recover that well, although thankfully the team did. I played with very little confidence in the next game including one horrible offensive series in which I didn't make a dump cut at all. I just stood there dancing. I hadn't gotten married, just skyed repeatedly. Ouch.
*My psoas has bothered me all week.
*I saw a movie called I'm a cyborg, but that's ok. It was a love story, Korean, and odd. My favorite bit was a metaphor for life. It was an elastic band tied around the waist. At the end of life, the band became so taut and then finally snapped back, pulling the person away and out of the picture.
*I had a hunch John would be back. I just didn't think it would be so soon.
*I'm going to dance right now in honor of some happy couple.
Monday, October 16, 2006
The Garter family
It never feels right trying to catch a garter from a barely-known groom. It always feels like there should be some bond between this groom and the "next one." At least that's my excuse for only coming up with one garter in seven tries this year. Those in attendance might call in to question the word "tries" for several reasons. At least two of the weddings decided to forgo the dive beneath the bride's dress, so they were out. I caught the one. I don't remember how two others went down, which leaves us with just two.
In the first, my young cousin took one for the team with a stunning diving grab. I was quite proud of him for his catching ability as well as his generosity in taking the heat off those of us that have actually reached marrying age. Good man. Good show.
The second of the uncaught garters came much much closer. The garter whizzed out to my left and above my shoulder. It was catchable; I should know, I like to catch whizzing things for fun, however, it didn't seem right to steal the moment from the gentleman to my left who was not only in the direct line of flight, but was also about a head taller than me. Quickly considering these factors, it only seemed fair to let him have the prize. He must have been considering a different set of factors because he politely stepped out of the way to allow the garter to fall to the floor. Like befuddled baseball players, we looked at each other disappointedly before recovering our dignity. "Dear sir. I believe that was yours. Please do pick it up now," we both said. This back and forth went on for an awkward stretch before a young lad saved us from further discussion and plucked the garter from the ground. This seemed like an excellent compromise to all parties involved.
It never feels right trying to catch a garter from a barely-known groom. It always feels like there should be some bond between this groom and the "next one." At least that's my excuse for only coming up with one garter in seven tries this year. Those in attendance might call in to question the word "tries" for several reasons. At least two of the weddings decided to forgo the dive beneath the bride's dress, so they were out. I caught the one. I don't remember how two others went down, which leaves us with just two.
In the first, my young cousin took one for the team with a stunning diving grab. I was quite proud of him for his catching ability as well as his generosity in taking the heat off those of us that have actually reached marrying age. Good man. Good show.
The second of the uncaught garters came much much closer. The garter whizzed out to my left and above my shoulder. It was catchable; I should know, I like to catch whizzing things for fun, however, it didn't seem right to steal the moment from the gentleman to my left who was not only in the direct line of flight, but was also about a head taller than me. Quickly considering these factors, it only seemed fair to let him have the prize. He must have been considering a different set of factors because he politely stepped out of the way to allow the garter to fall to the floor. Like befuddled baseball players, we looked at each other disappointedly before recovering our dignity. "Dear sir. I believe that was yours. Please do pick it up now," we both said. This back and forth went on for an awkward stretch before a young lad saved us from further discussion and plucked the garter from the ground. This seemed like an excellent compromise to all parties involved.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
The wedding wave crashes
I thought that I'd feel a bit more jubilant now that I have my weekends wrestled back from the marriage monster. I closed out Wedding Wave 2006 with my seventh and final wedding over the weekend. My suit will head to the dry cleaners. My tuxedo will head to the tailor. (There was a crotch-ripping incident. It was a good year....) It's odd, not knowing what's next. I can only wonder when I'll be able to vogue again. I don't know whose Mom will be the next Mom I get to hug or whose Dad I'll get to struggle through a conversation with. It could be six or eight months before I see another bridesmaid. I may be calling my friends to give toasts during my meals, just to ease me back into the weddingless existence. I thought I'd be happy right now, but I'm a little lonely. It seems that... uh... there ain't no party like a 19,000 dollar party, 'cause a 19,000 dollar party don't stop. Say what? er. They do stop. And people sort of stumble off the dance floor, hug, kiss, and wish the sharp dressed man and that happy woman an enjoyable visit to somewhere romantic. The rest of us return to our lives already in progress. Maybe we caught up with some old friends, but by Tuesday four days will be just like four years. Maybe we made some new friends, but by Wednesday who knows when we'll see them again. At least we've got pictures, and also CDs, coasters, coffee, small bags of edible goodies, and our memories. Someone will drink to that. They always do.
I thought that I'd feel a bit more jubilant now that I have my weekends wrestled back from the marriage monster. I closed out Wedding Wave 2006 with my seventh and final wedding over the weekend. My suit will head to the dry cleaners. My tuxedo will head to the tailor. (There was a crotch-ripping incident. It was a good year....) It's odd, not knowing what's next. I can only wonder when I'll be able to vogue again. I don't know whose Mom will be the next Mom I get to hug or whose Dad I'll get to struggle through a conversation with. It could be six or eight months before I see another bridesmaid. I may be calling my friends to give toasts during my meals, just to ease me back into the weddingless existence. I thought I'd be happy right now, but I'm a little lonely. It seems that... uh... there ain't no party like a 19,000 dollar party, 'cause a 19,000 dollar party don't stop. Say what? er. They do stop. And people sort of stumble off the dance floor, hug, kiss, and wish the sharp dressed man and that happy woman an enjoyable visit to somewhere romantic. The rest of us return to our lives already in progress. Maybe we caught up with some old friends, but by Tuesday four days will be just like four years. Maybe we made some new friends, but by Wednesday who knows when we'll see them again. At least we've got pictures, and also CDs, coasters, coffee, small bags of edible goodies, and our memories. Someone will drink to that. They always do.
Monday, October 02, 2006
I think I was blind before I went to your wedding*
The Internets are already burning up with tales of the Voltron-like union of Kristin and Justin, but in an attempt to make up for my dismal blogging September I thought I would add my own account.
I admit to wondering how a wedding in a high school auditorium was not going to feel a bit too much like "awards night." I stopped wondering when I heard the rumor that Chuck had designed a set. I've seen the man's entertainment center, I knew he was capable of class. So I took to wondering what sort of song and dance number we'd get to see. Kristin and Justin did not can-can, but they put on quite a show. The stage was set simply and beautifully. The programs on notepaper were perfect. Every detail from the hot pink ties to the music had Kristin and Justin's personality in it. Lucky for all of us, they each have fantastic personalities. My favorite ceremony moment was hearing excerpts from their personal letters. Both are such wonderful writers with such distinct voices, to hear those voices wrapped up in a growing love was a special treat. Arguably a better treat than the the 1 million different varieties of cake offered at the reception. Although, in fairness, the Butter Pecan did rock my world. Do you know what else rocked my world? Paul. He was a beautiful dance partner. The most beautiful dance partner I had all night besides Julie, Anne, Kristin, that one girl, J-dub, and of course, Clare. Beautiful in his own way. And, a genius. Paul came up with the routine that would carry us to third place in the dance contest. Jumping jacks are sweeping the countryside like giant electric brooms. You'll see.
The thing about this wedding and the thing that I'm not sure I can really put into words is the love. There is joy in seeing two great people come together and it helps so much when you know each one is great. What makes it even better is getting to witness such an event surrounded by bunches of other great people. It doesn't hurt at all when those bunches can cut a freakin' rug.
I'm glad I didn't die before I got to party.
*With all due respect to Bright Eyes and the song that I've listened to 8 times today and sung constantly since leaving the Midwest.
The Internets are already burning up with tales of the Voltron-like union of Kristin and Justin, but in an attempt to make up for my dismal blogging September I thought I would add my own account.
I admit to wondering how a wedding in a high school auditorium was not going to feel a bit too much like "awards night." I stopped wondering when I heard the rumor that Chuck had designed a set. I've seen the man's entertainment center, I knew he was capable of class. So I took to wondering what sort of song and dance number we'd get to see. Kristin and Justin did not can-can, but they put on quite a show. The stage was set simply and beautifully. The programs on notepaper were perfect. Every detail from the hot pink ties to the music had Kristin and Justin's personality in it. Lucky for all of us, they each have fantastic personalities. My favorite ceremony moment was hearing excerpts from their personal letters. Both are such wonderful writers with such distinct voices, to hear those voices wrapped up in a growing love was a special treat. Arguably a better treat than the the 1 million different varieties of cake offered at the reception. Although, in fairness, the Butter Pecan did rock my world. Do you know what else rocked my world? Paul. He was a beautiful dance partner. The most beautiful dance partner I had all night besides Julie, Anne, Kristin, that one girl, J-dub, and of course, Clare. Beautiful in his own way. And, a genius. Paul came up with the routine that would carry us to third place in the dance contest. Jumping jacks are sweeping the countryside like giant electric brooms. You'll see.
The thing about this wedding and the thing that I'm not sure I can really put into words is the love. There is joy in seeing two great people come together and it helps so much when you know each one is great. What makes it even better is getting to witness such an event surrounded by bunches of other great people. It doesn't hurt at all when those bunches can cut a freakin' rug.
I'm glad I didn't die before I got to party.
*With all due respect to Bright Eyes and the song that I've listened to 8 times today and sung constantly since leaving the Midwest.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Catching flying objects and the overuse of the adjective awesome
June is a blur. It's hurtling by in a blaze of awesomeness and it's taking a good bit of my energy and a freaking huge pile of laundry to get me to sit down and reflect on that for a moment. It's summer today. Officially. 100% Grade A scientist approved summer. Today. But summer never started June 21. Summer started when school ended. When school stopped ending, summer started when there was more sweating than not. That might explain why it feels like summer so often in my arm pits and between my toes. Vacation destinations one and all...
So. Summer. Hotness. My first big adventure was to Honfest. Honfest had more Beehive hair-dos and bouffants than I ever knew I wanted to see. "Welcome to Balmer, hon" said through the gum-chomping jaws of women of all ages will stick with me long after my new cat's eye sunglasses break. Thanks, hon.
From there I wound up at this shindig that never ended. It might still be going on right now. I've never been to a party where I wanted to talk to more people. Usually I want to talk to less. And when the talking got old, out came the singing. You may think you've heard "Crazy in love," but honey, you ain't heard nothing until you've heard me cruise through "oh no, oh no ohnono" and then proceed to screech out ear-piercing verses of numerous other popular songs in duet with other *ahem* awesome singers. Eleven years I've been practicing my falsetto at high volumes in the car. Karaoke revolution allows me to unleash it on the world.
I'm sorry, world, but awesome gifts need to be shared.
Summer also means the draft league for the local Ultimate league. It's meeting new people and remembering how much teammates help in the quest to be good at Ultimate. I've been touting the advantage of the expectation-less Ultimate game in this space, but there's a flip-side to that. It's being flat out ignored by people that don't think I'm open, don't know where I'm headed, and don't know that I can catch. The early summer breeds a hesitant brand of Ultimate. It also breeds over throws, and I'm looking to pick up as many of those as possible until we can find balance.
For lack of a better transition, balance not unlike the balance of man and wife. Or so I've heard.
Summer weddings are popular sport. There's something about mosquitoes that make people want to spend forever together. I hit up my first summer wedding last weekend. It required a bit of travel, but it was all kinds of fun. I like my trips like I like my rooms- multi-purpose. This trip was part road trip , part reunion, and part gooey wedding goodness. The road trip worked out well. It helped that I wasn't driving. In case I haven't said it before, if you can get your best friends to marry each other, you should go ahead and do that. If that means supporting same sex marriage, do it. If it means more drunken trips to Reno, get thee to Reno. Whatever it takes. Marry those two kids and make like a fairy tale.
The reunion portion of the weekend was no slouch either. Had you been theorizing that your awesome friends from college would grow up to be awesome people, you'd be right if your friends were my friends. If they happened to go out and get awesome boyfriends, well sit down at a table, watch your buddy get married to a very sweet woman and raise those empty glasses to the sky. Lest you think my only talents are frisbee and bad singing, let me quickly tell you about my dancing. That's right. It's awesome. I couldn't pull out the traditional moves (John Travolta's from "Saturday Night Fever"), but I took to partner dancing like a fish takes to a bicycle. Grab on because you're gonna follow!
I'm getting ahead of myself. I nearly forgot to tell you that while seven groomsmen primped and preened, ushers seated 220 guests. We're talking guests down the block. We, two ushers, that's right 2, seated guests, made announcements and still didn't get a seat at the head table. Ushers are second class citizens, only with better dance moves. At least in this case. They also apparently have better hands or at least that was the theory of the other Ultimate players in the room after I snatched (another) garter out of the air. I can't help it. It was flying. It was right there. I couldn't let it hit the ground. I took a step forward reached out at waist level and pocketed another promise about the future. The girl that snagged the bouquet was 4 foot 10. I let my 6 foot friend hear an earful on that one. Where's the fire? Maybe I'm using too much of it. In my four remaining weddings this year I'm looking to come away with at least one more garter, two if I get feisty. It's not like the last one worked anyway, that's why I was in this wedding. After that I'll be taking bids or at least suggestions for alternative garter uses.
Alternative garter uses. Band name or closing to this post? A little of neither. Awesome.
June is a blur. It's hurtling by in a blaze of awesomeness and it's taking a good bit of my energy and a freaking huge pile of laundry to get me to sit down and reflect on that for a moment. It's summer today. Officially. 100% Grade A scientist approved summer. Today. But summer never started June 21. Summer started when school ended. When school stopped ending, summer started when there was more sweating than not. That might explain why it feels like summer so often in my arm pits and between my toes. Vacation destinations one and all...
So. Summer. Hotness. My first big adventure was to Honfest. Honfest had more Beehive hair-dos and bouffants than I ever knew I wanted to see. "Welcome to Balmer, hon" said through the gum-chomping jaws of women of all ages will stick with me long after my new cat's eye sunglasses break. Thanks, hon.
From there I wound up at this shindig that never ended. It might still be going on right now. I've never been to a party where I wanted to talk to more people. Usually I want to talk to less. And when the talking got old, out came the singing. You may think you've heard "Crazy in love," but honey, you ain't heard nothing until you've heard me cruise through "oh no, oh no ohnono" and then proceed to screech out ear-piercing verses of numerous other popular songs in duet with other *ahem* awesome singers. Eleven years I've been practicing my falsetto at high volumes in the car. Karaoke revolution allows me to unleash it on the world.
I'm sorry, world, but awesome gifts need to be shared.
Summer also means the draft league for the local Ultimate league. It's meeting new people and remembering how much teammates help in the quest to be good at Ultimate. I've been touting the advantage of the expectation-less Ultimate game in this space, but there's a flip-side to that. It's being flat out ignored by people that don't think I'm open, don't know where I'm headed, and don't know that I can catch. The early summer breeds a hesitant brand of Ultimate. It also breeds over throws, and I'm looking to pick up as many of those as possible until we can find balance.
For lack of a better transition, balance not unlike the balance of man and wife. Or so I've heard.
Summer weddings are popular sport. There's something about mosquitoes that make people want to spend forever together. I hit up my first summer wedding last weekend. It required a bit of travel, but it was all kinds of fun. I like my trips like I like my rooms- multi-purpose. This trip was part road trip , part reunion, and part gooey wedding goodness. The road trip worked out well. It helped that I wasn't driving. In case I haven't said it before, if you can get your best friends to marry each other, you should go ahead and do that. If that means supporting same sex marriage, do it. If it means more drunken trips to Reno, get thee to Reno. Whatever it takes. Marry those two kids and make like a fairy tale.
The reunion portion of the weekend was no slouch either. Had you been theorizing that your awesome friends from college would grow up to be awesome people, you'd be right if your friends were my friends. If they happened to go out and get awesome boyfriends, well sit down at a table, watch your buddy get married to a very sweet woman and raise those empty glasses to the sky. Lest you think my only talents are frisbee and bad singing, let me quickly tell you about my dancing. That's right. It's awesome. I couldn't pull out the traditional moves (John Travolta's from "Saturday Night Fever"), but I took to partner dancing like a fish takes to a bicycle. Grab on because you're gonna follow!
I'm getting ahead of myself. I nearly forgot to tell you that while seven groomsmen primped and preened, ushers seated 220 guests. We're talking guests down the block. We, two ushers, that's right 2, seated guests, made announcements and still didn't get a seat at the head table. Ushers are second class citizens, only with better dance moves. At least in this case. They also apparently have better hands or at least that was the theory of the other Ultimate players in the room after I snatched (another) garter out of the air. I can't help it. It was flying. It was right there. I couldn't let it hit the ground. I took a step forward reached out at waist level and pocketed another promise about the future. The girl that snagged the bouquet was 4 foot 10. I let my 6 foot friend hear an earful on that one. Where's the fire? Maybe I'm using too much of it. In my four remaining weddings this year I'm looking to come away with at least one more garter, two if I get feisty. It's not like the last one worked anyway, that's why I was in this wedding. After that I'll be taking bids or at least suggestions for alternative garter uses.
Alternative garter uses. Band name or closing to this post? A little of neither. Awesome.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
It's all about the music
The wedding music
I've been reading entirely too much about weddings, lately. (I'm blaming you, Sweeney. Since I started reading your blog, at least three other blogs I read have gone wedding-y.) How do I know that weddings have entered my consciousness just a wee bit much? Let me tell you. I was listening to Tennessee Waltz on Hem's latest, No Word from Tom, and I thought, "Hmm. Might be a good dance for my daughter and me at her wedding." WHAT!?!
There's no daughter. There's no wedding. There's no!!!! AH!
Here are the lyrics (credit Redd Stewart and Pee Wee King),
I was dancing with my darling to the Tennessee waltz
When an old friend I happened to see
I introduced her to my loved one
And while they were dancing
My friend stole my sweetheart from me
I remember the night and the Tennessee waltz
Now I know just how much I have lost
When I lost my little darling the night they were playing
The beautiful Tennessee waltz
I remember the night and the Tennessee waltz
Now I know just how much I have lost
Yes I lost my little darling the night they were playing
The beautiful Tennessee waltz
The beautiful Tennessee waltz
The crazy guy music
There is something about fingerless gloves that makes me think of crazy homeless people. I don't know what it is. Bikers wear fingerless gloves. Hunters wear fingerless gloves, but when folks aren't biking or hunting I assume crazy.
Now, I've taken to wearing my bike gloves as crutch gloves. They have good palm padding. It just made sense. Still I can't help feeling a little crazy with my gloves and my crutches. Today, I was sitting on the Metro in my fingerless gloves. My crutches were propped up next to me. Just a little crazy maybe, until, I reached into my bag and started fiddling with my new CD. So I added crinkling of cellophane to this whole picture. Fingerless gloves, crutches, fiddling with items in a bag- CRAY-z guy. Crazy bearded guy, no less. Oh my. This inspired me to sing a song as I crutched it home. That's right, crazy guy singing to himself. You've got to love it. Here are parts of my song. We don't make excuses for crazy here.
Fingerless Gloves
Wearing fingerless gloves
searching for bittersweet loves
My palms are covered
My fingers are not
Don't you wonder
What I've got
Fingerless glove
searching for love
My fingers are free
my heart at cost
Fingerless gloves
what have you lost?
My fingers can feel.
the sweat of my brow.
My hands are covered.
My fingers are not.
Don't you wonder
What I've got?
I forgot the rest, but it went on for at least 10 minutes.
The wedding music
I've been reading entirely too much about weddings, lately. (I'm blaming you, Sweeney. Since I started reading your blog, at least three other blogs I read have gone wedding-y.) How do I know that weddings have entered my consciousness just a wee bit much? Let me tell you. I was listening to Tennessee Waltz on Hem's latest, No Word from Tom, and I thought, "Hmm. Might be a good dance for my daughter and me at her wedding." WHAT!?!
There's no daughter. There's no wedding. There's no!!!! AH!
Here are the lyrics (credit Redd Stewart and Pee Wee King),
I was dancing with my darling to the Tennessee waltz
When an old friend I happened to see
I introduced her to my loved one
And while they were dancing
My friend stole my sweetheart from me
I remember the night and the Tennessee waltz
Now I know just how much I have lost
When I lost my little darling the night they were playing
The beautiful Tennessee waltz
I remember the night and the Tennessee waltz
Now I know just how much I have lost
Yes I lost my little darling the night they were playing
The beautiful Tennessee waltz
The beautiful Tennessee waltz
The crazy guy music
There is something about fingerless gloves that makes me think of crazy homeless people. I don't know what it is. Bikers wear fingerless gloves. Hunters wear fingerless gloves, but when folks aren't biking or hunting I assume crazy.
Now, I've taken to wearing my bike gloves as crutch gloves. They have good palm padding. It just made sense. Still I can't help feeling a little crazy with my gloves and my crutches. Today, I was sitting on the Metro in my fingerless gloves. My crutches were propped up next to me. Just a little crazy maybe, until, I reached into my bag and started fiddling with my new CD. So I added crinkling of cellophane to this whole picture. Fingerless gloves, crutches, fiddling with items in a bag- CRAY-z guy. Crazy bearded guy, no less. Oh my. This inspired me to sing a song as I crutched it home. That's right, crazy guy singing to himself. You've got to love it. Here are parts of my song. We don't make excuses for crazy here.
Fingerless Gloves
Wearing fingerless gloves
searching for bittersweet loves
My palms are covered
My fingers are not
Don't you wonder
What I've got
Fingerless glove
searching for love
My fingers are free
my heart at cost
Fingerless gloves
what have you lost?
My fingers can feel.
the sweat of my brow.
My hands are covered.
My fingers are not.
Don't you wonder
What I've got?
I forgot the rest, but it went on for at least 10 minutes.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Love is in the mail
The first wedding invitation of 2006 arrived today. (Probably not the first in the world, just the first in my little niche.) I've heard a lot of I'm getting married chatter, but this is the first indication that I'm actually allowed to watch. Not just watch, actually the honour of my presence has been requested. Honor is serious when it includes the "u."
I'm thinking that I should try to come up with some sort of wedding announcement, invitation, wedding paraphernalia art project that represents what it is to be 20-something and making the rounds on this carousel of commitment ceremonies. The idea needs some refinement, but I can see it will need a catchy title like- Weddings 2006: Wave 2. However, that might make me wish that I'd followed through with a similar project during Wave 1. How about "pieces of weddings" or "An invitation origami diorama." I like that, but that might require me to acquire some additional skills. If I want I'm sure I could pull off something a little darker, juxtaposing singles and couples, maybe I could call it "And Guest" or "A tribute to Ted." Maybe I could do a bride and groom cake topper kind of thing, only full size. That might be cool.
There's potential with this art project. I might have to crash a few weddings just to get some extra goodies.
Uh. No. I am not just here to make a spectacle of myself. I was actually hoping I could snag some of the centerpieces. Do you mind? It's for an art project. The wedding was lovely. The bride looked hot, didn't she?
Oh.
Yea.
Sorry.
Well, I can see the resemblance. About those centerpieces, then?
The first wedding invitation of 2006 arrived today. (Probably not the first in the world, just the first in my little niche.) I've heard a lot of I'm getting married chatter, but this is the first indication that I'm actually allowed to watch. Not just watch, actually the honour of my presence has been requested. Honor is serious when it includes the "u."
I'm thinking that I should try to come up with some sort of wedding announcement, invitation, wedding paraphernalia art project that represents what it is to be 20-something and making the rounds on this carousel of commitment ceremonies. The idea needs some refinement, but I can see it will need a catchy title like- Weddings 2006: Wave 2. However, that might make me wish that I'd followed through with a similar project during Wave 1. How about "pieces of weddings" or "An invitation origami diorama." I like that, but that might require me to acquire some additional skills. If I want I'm sure I could pull off something a little darker, juxtaposing singles and couples, maybe I could call it "And Guest" or "A tribute to Ted." Maybe I could do a bride and groom cake topper kind of thing, only full size. That might be cool.
There's potential with this art project. I might have to crash a few weddings just to get some extra goodies.
Uh. No. I am not just here to make a spectacle of myself. I was actually hoping I could snag some of the centerpieces. Do you mind? It's for an art project. The wedding was lovely. The bride looked hot, didn't she?
Oh.
Yea.
Sorry.
Well, I can see the resemblance. About those centerpieces, then?
Saturday, January 21, 2006
HOO HOO
Bring on the weddings. Or at least the receptions. I'm ready to dance! I couldn't keep my bowling-shod feet from tap-tap-tapping tonight. Admittedly, the bowling alley played its best music ever. It was a fantastic playlist. It was all I could do to stop dancing and bowl. If you dare call what I did "bowling." I need to get out and 2006 looks to be an excellent year for wedding receptions. I haven't received an invitation for any yet, but there are five weddings tentatively on my schedule and one other one that I'm hoping for.
If everybody is going to act like grown-ups and get married, at least I get to dance. Let's get it started, Ya.
Bring on the weddings. Or at least the receptions. I'm ready to dance! I couldn't keep my bowling-shod feet from tap-tap-tapping tonight. Admittedly, the bowling alley played its best music ever. It was a fantastic playlist. It was all I could do to stop dancing and bowl. If you dare call what I did "bowling." I need to get out and 2006 looks to be an excellent year for wedding receptions. I haven't received an invitation for any yet, but there are five weddings tentatively on my schedule and one other one that I'm hoping for.
If everybody is going to act like grown-ups and get married, at least I get to dance. Let's get it started, Ya.
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