I might have a problem with weddings though I haven't had one myself so this is all anger on the periphery. But now with a new angle from which I can approach this, I feel it necessary now to comment upon it.
The first wedding I willfully attended spoiled me. Almost everything went as I'd want mine to go. That wedding actually leveraged a shift for me as I attended it previously dead-set against weddings and marriages (in the legal sense, long story). Ever since, I've been a proponent though I've found fewer reasons to believe.
It was some time ago now. It was the ceremonial blissful union of two great people: Rod and Rachel K, who will be my host when I move to Dearborn, MI.
Instead of attending something that would be boring for me and unnecessary in most senses (as they were going to be together forever regardless of a piece of paper), I fell into a celebration. That's an aspect I hadn't expected but in which, I certainly now find significant value. Because Rod and Rachel were so happy together and their family and friends were happy for them, this mighty rush of love was rushing through every room the entire time. It was communal and joyous. It was great. The rehearsal dinner was a blast, the ceremony was touching, the reception was the most rocking of them all and featured "the Safety Dance" at the groom's request.
At the time, I was madly in love and this only furthered romantic aspirations for me, which may have accelerated the downfall of that relationship. No sour grapes, though. None. In hindsight, I can still point to this wedding as the pinnacle of all I've seen.
That isn't to poo-poo on the other joyous occasions I've been blessed to see. Most of them were my friends and I've been more than happy to witness to their vows, but something is always off. Then again, there's always been something great about them, too.
The best night before was definitely getting drunk in downtown Athens, GA with Gallwitz and the boys. Man, that was a lot of alcohol but not so many that I can't recall the stories with ease.
The most educational wedding was for a young man named Truefoot and his bride. It was a Greek Orthodox ceremony that shared itself with Korean flavors. An experience only tampered with by the illnesses of my date.
So, anyway. There's this new perspective. I was a servant for a crazed and yelling caterer. It was simple labor for simple pay. It was probably a bad idea.
Broken toe and limping aside, there were elements that made this more complex than I'd anticipated and they collectively should have warned me not to do it. If only I knew then...
It was a reception for 600 people, outside and on a difficult incline. This was the biggest catering job she's ever done and it was so ill-planned that nothing seemed to go right. As soon as we arrived on site and were unloading the food, I experienced a sign. I should have gotten in my car and left. Someone put a long pan of food on a table and it collapsed taking all the other food that'd been put on the table down with it.
I stayed. My friends asked me to help and I agreed. So that's why I stayed.
I should illustrate the difficult incline comment. Setting the table meant watching glasses, plates and silverware slide. It was so bad that I regretted not having a camera on me because with that hill, the two stocked bars and a slick dancefloor, I knew people would be taking tumbles all night. You know what? No one did.
Go figure.
All the same, I was marching -- maybe not marching so much as stomping like a pirate with a peg leg -- up and down the hill all night.
Something else that was stupid: there weren't enough forks or knives, big plates or chaffing dishes.
Something else: the two buffet tables were set up opposite of each other just to be joined at the end by the salad bar, which means that the two lines were colliding with each other at the end. Six hundred people. Bad.
And I couldn't stop sweating. I've always been a sweaty guy. It's just me. Add that I'm out of shape and I'm in tremendous pain. I was a sweating machine. I lost seventy three pounds last night.
At one point, a young man tried setting my arm on fire when he thought the best way to extinguish a flaming sterno can would be to blow on it as I'm trying to put the lid on it.
But I digress. I think this is the first time I've knowingly noted a digression in any of the sixty something blogs I've posted here. That does nothing to change me digressing.
So I know what hell a wedding can put regular people through at the princely sum of $8 an hour. What do I hear all the time? Oh, if you work hard in America you can be rich too. Ha, not if you're catering or washing dishes or picking up trash. All terribly laborious occupations, none of them really leading to wealth.
Speaking of, the wedding party was 99% black -- only six of the six hundred were white. It was nice and ironic -- that I enjoyed. Though the caterers were mixed, there were quite a few honkies taking care of things and I thought it was great. It's the little things.
Another point is that it's a reminder that wealth is not the exclusive province of whitey. It may be disproportionate but it isn't exclusive. There were several black people there with more money than I'll ever know.
All of this to say that if I get married, there will not be six hundred people, neither it nor the reception will be outside, it will be somewhere among the Oklahoma plains if I need to just to avoid hills and I'm thinking the guests will have to bus their own tables. I'm thinking the reception will be finger foods like at some post-church function. Unlike church there will be copious amounts of alcohol -- all sorts. More than likely, I'll need a flask in my tux, too.
It occurs to me now that what kind of wedding one should have is a subject like kids and where to live that a couple needs to have. Or maybe it's just me. I know the stereotype is that guys don't care but for some reason I do.
My fiancé wanted to elope to Vegas and I wanted to have something like Rod and Rachel had. I wanted to go out with my pals before hand and get trashed – like with Andy. I wanted to get all dolled up and say "I do" with a serious hangover just to dance and party a couple hours later.
It was actually a great source of derision for us.
These were just thoughts I had. I'm sorry nothing I've written lately has been all that entertaining. I keep promising myself to essay on issues political, but I am lazy. Maybe if the public clamors for my opinion, I shall. Until then, I'm taking a nap. It's Sunday, you know.... and there's football to be watched.
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