My Home Is Not a Place

I’ve been meaning to post this literally for years, but I haven’t done a good job of posting anything lately. Anyway, this is yet another post related to our wedding. Really, I think it’s the last one. Probably.

As my home continues to grow larger, I find myself thinking of it again.

At our reception, we were toasted warmly, comedically, and all-round brilliantly by the Best Man and Best Woman. Despite having such a hard act to follow, I took the mic to say the following few words.

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Those toasts are certainly a hard act to follow. So I promise not to be funny or heart-warming.

They say … you know … They … Them … the ones were always quoting when trying to spout conventional wisdom. They say that “Home is where you hang your hat.” But that’s never quite rung true for me. That’s just geography. However, in the somewhat confusing nature of conventional wisdom, They also say “Home is where the heart is.” That seems closer to the truth for me.

But I really like what the Roomie Pastor said at the end of the ceremony about finding a home wherever we’re together. That seems right on, because it seems like maybe Home is about the people who are there.

I’m fortunate to be able to think about so many people as Home:

My amazing, incomparable parents.

My big brother. My grandparents, aunts and uncles.

My friends from high school. Their parents.

My college friends, and some of their parents. Hmm. That seems like a lot of parents. I’m thinking maybe I needed a lot of guidance.

My friends from FUN and the beach. People I’ve worked with. My softball friends. The Girl’s family and friends.

And, for the past few years, more than anything, the woman I’m so fortunate tonight to be able call my beautiful bride.

I look around this room and see so many of those people here, and I can’t help but raise my glass to all of you. Because I’ve never felt quite so at home as I feel right now.

Thank you all for being here to welcome us home.

How We Did It: the Ceremony

A couple of folks had told me after the wedding that they wanted to read our vows or get a copy of a reading or whatever, and I thought, “If only I had some platform I could use to publish information to multiple people at once …”

So I’m going to post the ceremony here on the Chronicles. Besides, if that ceremony isn’t part of the Chronicles of Abs, I don’t really know what is. It’s not exactly what was said, in that I’ve changed some names, and I think the officiant made a couple of last-minute tweaks for better deliverability, but it’s pretty much what we came up with ahead of time. All the talking is from the Roomie Pastor (it’s not just a clever name – he was actually my roommate for the last three years of college) unless otherwise noted.

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[Guest Seating. Jazz playing.]

[Music switches to Forrest Gump Theme. Step-mother of the bride is seated, followed by mother of the groom , then step-father and mother of the bride.]

[Music switches to “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole. Roomie Pastor, groomsmen, and groom enter. Bridesmaids process. Music stops.]

Welcome. I am the Roomie Pastor and I have the privilege of performing this marriage ceremony today.  On behalf of Abs and the Girl and their parents welcome and thank you for being here. They are delighted that you are here today to share in their joy during this wonderful moment in their lives.

By your presence, you celebrate with them the love they have discovered in each other and you support their decision to commit themselves to one another for the rest of their lives. Abs and the Girl would like to see this day as an affirmation and celebration of their commitment and not the beginning of it.

Today their relationship changes. All of us know it will grow, and become stronger and better. Indeed this day is a day of hope. A day in which Abs and the Girl demonstrate their commitment, devotion, and mutual respect, as well as their faith and love in themselves and one another.

You who are gathered here as witnesses are called to continue your support and encouragement as they unite in marriage. You are not here to simply hear words uttered in ceremony, or just to witness the first kiss between husband and wife. Your participation in this ceremony is as important as your participation in their lives. So, we ask for your active participation in this ceremony. You should feel free to clap and cheer and laugh when it strikes you.

One more thing. It’s an unusual situation, but some of you may know Abs by the name his mother calls him or a shortened version of it. After 20 years, I can’t bring myself to call him anything else, so I’m going to be calling him Abs during the ceremony. But if you know him as something else, you should remember that I called him that.

We are about to start. Everyone, please stand.

[Pachelbel’s Canon in D plays as the bride processes, escorted by her dad. They walk to the front, dad kisses his daughter on the cheek, shakes Abs’s hand, and takes his seat.]

Please be seated. 

We all know marriage is more than two people standing up here repeating vows. There is an art to any creative activity. So too in marriage.

• Part of the art of marriage is finding room for the things of the spirit.
  So to you two I say continue in your search for the good and the beautiful in this life.
• Part of the art of marriage is being flexible.
  So in your marriage cultivate flexibility, patience, understanding, and a sense of humor.
• Part of the art of marriage is to comfort each other and strive to be each other’s best friend.
  Most important, develop the capacity to forgive and heal your differences day by day.
• Always remember that your love can prevail. It can be the miracle that invites you to learn, to blossom, to expand your horizons.

From your new marriage relationship can come the nurture and strength you two need to face the world.  Only from this moment on you will face the world together in a new way.  Today a new family is born and our world will be the better for its birth. For this we all celebrate.

Now, the Girl’s sister-in-law, will do a reading.

[The Girl’s sister-in-law]:

From The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.

"The Boy's Uncle made me Real," he said. "That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."

[Roomie Pastor]: Now the Girl’s step-sister will do a reading.

[The Girl’s step-sister]:

“I Wrote a Good Omelet” by Nikki Giovanni

I wrote a good omelet...and ate a hot poem...

after loving you

Buttoned my car...and drove my coat home...in the rain...

after loving you

I goed on red...and stopped on green...floating

somewhere in between...

being here and being there

after loving you

I rolled my bed...turned down my hair...slightly

confused but...I don't care...

Laid out my teeth...and gargled my gown...then I stood

...and laid me down...

to sleep...

after loving you

[Roomie Pastor]:

This is the part, in a traditional ceremony, where the wizened holy man offers sage words of advice distilled from the ages.  Well, I suspect I'm too young and handsome to be wizened, and I'd like to think I'm here today as your friend.

So as your friend, what I offer you is something maybe more valuable: a promise. I am here for you.

So are we all. Look around you.  Many have come from far and wide, not just for a great party, which we'll have, but to pledge their support for you, to say not only "yes, I am here for your wedding", but also "yes, I am here for your marriage".

I am your parent, your brother, your sister, your dear friend. I'm here for the both of you. If you need my advice, a different perspective, or just someone to listen. We are all here for you.

And, let me speak for everyone here today, when I say, I love you both.

And now that we have pledged our support to you, it is time for you each to declare your love and promise to each other.

 

As you share daily life,

do you promise to love, honor, respect, and cherish each other,

to celebrate life's joys together and comfort each other through life's sorrows?

Do you promise to help each other discover and follow your own true path in life,

to try to appreciate your differences as a source of richness,

and above all to do everything within your power to permit each of you to become the people you are yet to be? 

[Abs and the Girl]: I do

[Roomie Pastor, repeated by Abs]: I, Abs, choose you, the Girl, to be my wife.

I promise to be a partner to you,

to lean on you when I need strength,

and to hold you when I am strong.

I promise to create with you

a home filled with love and peace,

balance and freedom,

healing tears and laughter,

friendship and compassion.

I will strive to be slow to anger

and quick to forgive.

I will respect you as an equal,

knowing that we do not complete,

but complement each other.

I will love you deeply and truly

for all the days of my life.

[Roomie Pastor, repeated by the Girl]: I, the Girl, choose you, Abs,

to be my husband.

I promise to be a partner to you,

to lean on you when I need strength,

and to hold you when I am strong.

I promise to create with you

a home filled with love and peace,

balance and freedom,

healing tears and laughter,

friendship and compassion.

I will strive to be slow to anger

and quick to forgive.

I will respect you as an equal,

knowing that we do not complete,

but complement each other.

I will love you deeply and truly

for all the days of my life.

Exchange of Rings

  May I have the rings please.

Abs, place the ring on her finger and repeat after me:

This ring I give you
as a symbol and pledge
of constant faith
and abiding love.

Do you, the Girl, receive this ring as a token of your pledge to keep and perform these vows?

[The Girl]: I do.

The Girl, place the ring on his finger and repeat after me:

This ring I give you
as a symbol and pledge
of constant faith
and abiding love.

Do you, Abs, receive this ring as a token of your renewed pledge to keep and perform these vows?

[Abs]: I do.

 

By virtue of the authority committed to me by the law of the state, I now declare that you, Abs and the Girl, are husband and wife.

Abs, you may kiss your bride!

[Smooches. Then faces crowd]

Ladies and gentlemen, it is my privilege to present to you for the first time, Mr. & Mrs. Abs.

[Crowd: goes wild]

May your hearts be united in love, and your lives intertwined forever in tenderness and devotion and may you find a home everywhere on earth where you are together.

[Newlyweds literally skip down aisle to “All I Want Is You” by Barry Louis Polisar]

A New Perspective

I know I've mentioned before that I've been to a number of weddings. Amazingly enough, people keep getting married, they keep inviting me, and I keep going. A lot of people have suggested that everyone I know ought to have been married by now. I would have thought that, too, but it is apparently not the case. I've been to weddings in places ranging from DC to San Pancho, Santa Barbara to Louisville, Chicago to St. Lucia, and several places in between. Ridiculously, I've been to 5 weddings in Roanoke, VA.

After all of that, I often find myself looking for what's new about each wedding I attend. A couple of months ago, I attended an outdoor wedding where the bride and her father rode up to the event in a horse-drawn carriage. Someone suggested that I hadn't seen that before. But I had. That wedding was an easy one to stand out, though. During the whole cake cutting/feeding thing, the bride dropped some of the cake she was supposed to feed the groom (or maybe it was the groom who dropped it -- I'm not sure) right into her cleavage. The groom went right in after it. I definitely hadn't seen that before.

But I digress. The point is that some new wedding things are easy to find while some are harder. This past weekend was incredibly easy. In my time, I've been a groomsman, an usher, a reader, an invited attendee, a Guest (my name wasn't on the invitation), a named guest (my name was on the invitation but I wasn't the primary invitee), a rehearsal dinner emcee, and even a reception crasher. But this past weekend, I served a completely new role. I was the officiant. That's right. I married them. The Girl's brother got married, and he and his fiancee wanted a friend to perform the ceremony. For some reason they asked me. Before you ask, no, I didn't go get ordained on the Internet. I'm not Reverend Abs, as several people kept wanting to call me. I am still just Abs. The Commonwealth of Virginia has a state law that allows pretty much anyone to become a "One Time Civil Celebrant" upon successfully petitioning the court to do so. There are some paperwork hoops to jump through, and you have to post a $500 bond to do it, but it's not all that difficult. I can't quite figure out the $500 bond, other than to think that it's there because we can't have poor people marrying each other willy-nilly. Then where would we be?!

Luckily for me, the bride and groom wrote the ceremony, and all I had to do was read it. Granted, I have to admit that I was disappointed to discover that it didn't start out with "Mawage..." a la the Princess Bride. Aside from that, it was quite nice. I managed to bumble my way through it, and I was lucky enough that most of my bumbling was invisible to the audience. I did screw it up on the very first sentence, and I thought that was an entirely inauspicious beginning. I managed to right the ship after that, and it suffices to say that the bride and groom are officially married and even still speaking to me.

All in all, it was a pretty cool experience, and I'm glad I had the opportunity to do it. There's another wedding coming up later this month. Who knows what will be new about it? Hopefully, I won't have to resort to making it the first "no pants" wedding I've attended.

I'll Snarf to That!

The Girl and I spent some time this past weekend working on a toast she's going to give at a wedding in the near future. The Girl finds just the thought of doing this terrifying. If she could go her whole life without ever having to speak in front of more than about 2 people, she would consider it a life lived smartly and correctly. Alas, there's this toast. So we spent some time talking about ideas of what to say and what not to say (although I think I mostly kept coming up with oh-so-helpful examples of things not to say, but that's not the pint right now). While we were discussing it, I couldn't help but recall the single best line I have ever heard in a wedding toast.

One friend of mine married a girl whose maiden surname was Otis. They actually met in the elevator heading into a charity black tie function. I think we can all agree that this is an excellent way to meet people. It has a sort of James Bond feeling to it, given the black tie thing, and a bit of sweetness, given the charity part. I suppose it's topped by the couple who met when they jointly did an emergency field surgery to save the life of a cancerous orphan who had been injured while rescuing baby harp seals from an oil spill, miraculously putting the orphan into complete remission while making a point to buy carbon credits to offset what they used during the surgery. But I don't reckon there are too, too many of those couples out there. Anyhoo ... where was I?

Oh, yes. The toast. At the wedding of the elevator-to-the-charity-black-tie-event-meeting couple, the best man made a shift in the middle to address the bride (née Otis) and said, "you were the girl in the elevator with the elevator name." There was a bit of laughter. Then there was a huge roar of laughter a few seconds later. The delayed roar could have been a second wave, but it's more likely that it took a lot of people a while to get it, as evidenced by the one girl at our table who asked what was so funny. I loved it. Still do. I think the reason you don't drink until the toaster is done talking is for safety purposes. Had I been drinking at the time, the champagne definitely would have come out of my nose. But it would have been worth it.

Not Just Me

In some sort of strange me-too-ism, Fj told me last weekend that he saw the same sign as I did (he was in Mexico for the same wedding I attended), and he also thought it said "No Tire Trash." I'm not quite sure what that says about either of us, but there you have it.

No Tire Trash

As I alluded to briefly not long ago, the Girl and I recently traveled to Mexico for a wedding. I know you're wondering where we went and thinking about places like Cancun, Cabo, or ... other places in Mexico that are kind of tropical and/or resort-y. However, we went to San Pancho. Never heard of it? I hadn't either. Upon hearing that we were going there, a friend pointed out to me that San Francisco, Mexico is quite the up-and-comer as far as Mexican destinations go. I had no idea why she was telling me that when we were going to San Pancho, but I didn't correct her, since none of it particularly mattered to me. I have since learned that it's the same place. Apparently, Pancho is a nickname for Francisco, I assume in much the same way that Peggy is a nickname for Margaret, by which I mean "in a stupid way." Apparently, that is just one of many things that I didn't understand about names and words down there. That said, we had quite the good time, the wedding went off without real issues (even though it was really a poser wedding, as the couple had already been married by a JOP in the states a week or so prior), and none of the scorpions or lizards in our villa attacked us.

It was quite the whirlwind tour, though. We left our home at butt-early on a Thursday, making use of three flights and four airports (cursing the chaos and uncertainty in the Mexico City airport along the way) to get to Puerto Vallarta. Those of you who are very observant will have noted by now that Puerto Vallarta was not our final destination. From there, after just barely surviving the onslaught of questions from people about whether we needed a taxi or had some sort of voucher, we took an hour-long cab ride to San Pancho (confusingly -- at the time --following the signs to San Francisco to get there) and exhaustedly trekked down the mountain from our villa to a cocktail party. [Aside: if you can glean from the website for the villa that we rented that it's on the side of a mountain, please explain how. Otherwise, my tip is that you specifically ask that question of the rental agent, lest you be doomed to walking down and, much, much worse, up the side of a mountain to get from and to your temporary domicile. Looking at it again makes me think one should be very wary of the word "hillside," which I didn't see until just now.] Sleeping quickly if not thoroughly, I got up at 5:45 the next morning to take the trip back to Puerto Vallarta for a golf outing. On the way, I noticed a road sign through my morning brain fog that told people not to throw tires out. And then the morning brain was off, lumbering along on that train of thought. Is that how they do it in Mexico? Do they just chuck old tires out on the side of the road? And is the problem so rampant that they have to post signs up along the highway saying "no tire trash?" Or is it just that somehow some damned kids made it into a tradition to throw tires out in that particular place? (Having not been on any other roads, I couldn't really know whether this particular sign was on any others.) Either way, it's definitely not a very eco-friendly practice, and it seems like a very odd sign to have on the side of the highway.

A couple of days later, I saw the same sign while in a cab on the way to the airport to head home. And I couldn't help but marvel at it again. But my morning brain wasn't in full effect at the time, and I had no choice to laugh at my idiocy. See, for some reason I know that the Spanish word for trash is basura. And I know that the Spanish word for no is no. So what I read on that sign through my groggy and confused view of the world was "NO TIRE BASURA," which obviously translated into "NO TIRE TRASH." However, the second time around, I realized that road signs in Mexico are probably written entirely in Spanish, rather than in Spanglish, and certainly not in Spanglish wherein the Spanish part is limited to the 4 Spanish words I know. So what the sign actually said was "NO TIRE BASURA." A little Googling leads me to believe that tire is a form of the verb tirar, which, in the context of basura, means "to throw away." So the sign wasn't telling people "no tire trash;" it was telling people "no littering." Remember that next time you're in Mexico and exceedingly tired while traveling on the highway. It will save you a lot of unnecessary thinking.

Hasta Pasta.

Bottom Up!

I was recently relaxing next to the pool, listening to the pleasant crashing of the Pacific on the beach nearby, and chatting with a couple of friends when -- what? You want to know when the hell I got a pool, how the hell the Pacific can be considered "nearby", and what idiot would allow himself to be counted among my friends? I'll go ahead and ingnore that last slight and say that the pool and Pacific were the result of a trip to Mexico for a wedding last weekend (a topic on which I feel sure I'll have more to write later).

Now, back to what what I was saying. Those of us doing our lounging got around to discussing the ins and outs of co-habitating, and the Girl and I were willing to say that we liked it pretty well. I told everyone I thought the biggest reason that we liked it is that we were enacting advice from a Dave Barry book (I believe it was from Dave Barry's Guide to Marriage and/or Sex) that I read when I was in middle school. Yes, yes. It sounds scandalous, but the advice was that males and females living in the same house should have separate bathrooms. And that's what we do. It's not so much that I'm concerned about the awkwardness I would endure from being in close proximity (not that one ever hears about being in far proximity) to ... girl things. It's not that we would be subjected to dealing with foreign hairs that would end up littering the bathroom. It's not that we would have to constantly fight for all-important real estate in which to store our varied number of items in the shower. And it's not that I'm concerned one of us would endlessly be living out the title seen from that elementary school/ early teen classic, Who Put That Hair in My Toothbrush? Sure, those are all valid and serious concerns, but the biggest issue is toothpaste. As far as my friends and I could work out, there are two types of people in this world: those who squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom of the tube up, and those who squeeze the tube somewhere right in the middle of the tube. As it turns out, those two types of people can't stand to deal with each other's method. The Bottom Ups think their way is efficient and neat, if perhaps a tad anal, in that their toothpaste is all at the top of the tube when they're trying to get the last vestiges of paste out, and it makes for a more pleasant squeezing experience. The Middle Squeezers like the feel of finger indentations in their tubes, and they think there's really no difference in how the toothpaste is squeezed.

Naturally, the Middle Squeezers are wrong.

I happen to be a Bottom Up, and it drives me batty when a Middle Squeezer (like the Girl) gets his or her hands on my tube of toothpaste. In fact, when my mom rented out my big brother's room to two girls after he went off to college (true story, but one of them was my cousin, and they paid $0 in rent), I was able to handle the choking fog of hairspray they left in our bathroom after spending hours building up their towers of state fair hair, and I could deal with the fact that I often had to use another bathroom because they spent at least 93% of their waking hours in there (together), and I could handle the fact that when their mountains of state fair hair were subjected to water they deposited remnants all over the bathtub like all the needles from Charlie Brown's Christmas tree (albeit disturbingly long, clingy needles). BUT, I couldn't handle the fact that they squeezed that toothpaste in the middle. I even thought of teaching them a lesson by sliding a lit match under the door to ignite all the hairspray in that enclosed space, thus teaching them a lesson, but that response seemed a bit disproportionate. Instead, I used to fart in their room a lot when they weren't home.

It's not just me, though. One of my friends felt exactly the same way I did, and his wife happened to be a Middle Squeezer. That made me think that maybe this is a gender-based preference, until I remembered telling my mom and Granny about the issues I had with the afore-mentioned girls living in my brother's room. They listened as I ticked off the list of things I didn't like, repeatedly telling me to get over it. But when Granny heard about the Middle Squeezing, she expectorated, "Well, that's just rude! That's ridiculous!" The intensity of her response was something I would normally think should be reserved for Nazis, or at least for people who club baby harp seals.

I don't have the heart to tell the Girl that scientific studies have proven that Bottom Ups are smarter, stronger, and generally better people than Middle Squeezers. So don't you tell her, either.

And if you're a Middle Squeezer, stay the hell away from my toothpaste.

... And Carry a Big Shtick

For some reason or another this tale has been rattling around my brain lately. So I thought I would share it with you. Aren't you lucky?

When the Girl and I went on our first date, we hardly knew each other at all. We had just met randomly and had about 1.3 phone conversations. Such strangers were we that I didn't even know her last name. So I suppose that meant that we shouldn't struggle for things to talk about. We met at a decent-but-not-overly-nice resaurant and sat down to have some dinner. We were both clearly pretty nervous in that "I don't know this person" sort of way. So we concentrated on the menus and exchanged some chitchat about food and such. Once that was out of the way, I thought we were in desperate need of an ice breaker. So I said, "Look, I know I don't know you all that well, but I feel like I really need to ask you a very personal question. I hope it doesn't make you uncomfortable, and you don't have to answer if you don't want, but I just have to ask."

"Umm. OK, I guess. That sounds scary. Should I be scared?" she asked.

"I'll leave that up to you to decide, but I feel like I really need to ask," I replied.

"OK."

"What's your last name?"

Now, you may be absolutely rolling your eyes into the middle of next week and groaning. Or you may be smiling and thinking about how disarming and charming that would be. That second reaction is more of what I was shooting for, but I would have taken the first one. I just wanted to calm some nerves. Luckily for me, the Girl leaned more toward the charming response, laughed, and told me the answer. It seemed to work, too, because we seemed to have a much easier time of it after that. That particular exchange might not really have been the key, but this is my story, and that's how I'm calling it.

Recently, the Girl and I attended a vow renewal ceremony for the main particpants of the first post-college wedding I attended, in celebration of their first 10 years of marriage. (That may deserve a story of its own at some point, but not right now. Suffice it to say that you know a relationship has strong underpinnings when, upon receiving a single red rose from the guy in question after one of their first outings together -- not a date, though -- the girl in question said, "You are nauseatingly sweet.") My college roomie, who knows me as well as perhaps anyone on the planet, was also at this ceremony, and it was the first time he and the Girl met each other. While he was chatting her up and getting to know her, it somehow came out that I didn't know her last name when we went on our first date. Upon hearing that, he looked at me and immediately said, "You asked her a very personal question." It was half statement, half question. He was pretty sure of the answer, but he needed to verify it.

So apparently I have a shtick. Are you really surprised?

The Friday Five: PSA

I felt the need to write something, but I couldn't decide what. So I'm blatantly stealing a meme from Jen, who's back with a vengeance after her wedding (for which we all heartily congratulate her, I feel sure.

1. What’s your biggest pet peeve?
   
   Wow. I'm starting off in trouble already. It might be when people ask me to come up with superlatives. I'm no good at it. I still haven't come up with a list of things to choose the happiest moment of my life from, and the prospects don't look good. Question involving my favorite or the best don't sit well with me. You could argue that I put it to myself, since I'm the one who, just two paragraphs ago, decided to steal this meme, but ... I don't want to hear it. This question is making me less than comfortable. So let's just move along.
   


2. What fashion faux-pas do you see frequently that makes you want to sign the victims/perpetrators up for “What Not To Wear”?
   
   First of all, let me just say that I'm embarrassed that I know what "What Not To Wear" means. For those of you who don't know, it's a show on TLC wherein two somewhat snarky but fashion-savvy hosts throw poorly dressed people's clothes away and make them shop for shiny new clothes. Or something. It hurts my brain to think about how it works. Those of you who are already primed to tell me that I should begin looking for my pride or possibly my testicles or maybe even both because they're likely in the same place should know that it's not my fault. I'm sure some of you hang out with women sometimes, and I'm just as sure that you are occasionally subjected to TV you would never choose as a result. Such is the case here. Sometimes, I visit the Girl, and, while I think the remote control is a device that is happiest in a man's hand, I think it's rude to commandeer the TV when I'm visiting. So I have seen this show before.
   
   That said, I don't really have much to say here. I expect I see a lot of fashion faux pas on a somewhat regular basis, and I expect that most of the ones I see are in the mirror. My belt typically matches my shoes, but that's about all I know. Still, there is one thing that makes me groan, and, having been an engineer and worked with other engineers for years, I've seen it more times than I would have otherwise thought possible: the short sleeve dress shirt with a tie. Add a blazer or a suit to make it even worse. (As Dave Barry would say, I am not making this up. People do it.) I don't know who thinks this look is a good idea, and I'm not confident that it's legal to claim that there is such a thing as a "short sleeve dress shirt." I think "short sleeve" tends to trump "dress." Really, is there someone who thinks this combination looks good? I can't imagine it.
   


3. What hideously inappropriate act or comment have you recently witnessed?
   
   You mean other than half of the things Michael Scott says on The Office? These aren't easy questions here. I'll come back to this. Oh, who am I kidding? No I won't. Move along. There's nothing to see here.
   


4. What’s more important - table manners or driving etiquette? (Not driving safety, just etiquette - like waving when someone lets you merge in front of them or not honking at 5:00 AM when driving through a neighborhood.)
   
   Table manners seems like the obvious choice here. I mean, it can be very gross (as Jen pointed out in her answer to this one) when people don't have table manners, and it drives me crazy when people chew with their mouths open. I just don't get how those people can stand to hear themselves chew like that. Maybe they grew up eating in very loud places. Considering that aversion, table manners seems like the better answer here.
   
   However, not to go all John Stuart Mill on you, I think that driving etiquette would provide more overall happiness (or utility, if you like Mr. Mill) by affecting more people. One doesn't typically eat with a lot of people every day, but he likely shares the road with lots of them. Living in an area with a shitpot (it's a technical term) of traffic, I really think we could use some of that driving etiquette. And it really burns my bacon when I let someone in in front of me and that person doesn't wave. It almost always elicits a, "That's it! Don't even wave, asshole!!" Road rage isn't good, and waving goes a long way toward calming the people who would definitely shoot you if they only had guns. If that's the case, then you should always remember to wave when you cut off an NBA player.
   
   I don't know if this really fits under driving etiquette, but I'm wondering whether exotic sports cars should be legal in areas with heavy traffic. On one hand, it's kind of sad to see one of those cars unable to fulfill it's purpose in the world, crawling along in a bad case of bumper-to-bumper, reminding those driving normal cars how much more money some people have. But there's another hand to that coin. On the days when I commute way out to my customer's site, I have to fight Beltway traffic on the way home. For some reason I can't explain (possibly involving fluid dynamics and fashion faux pas and other things I don't understand), the next-to-leftmost lane typically is the best lane to be in for stretches, and I find myself passing cars that sit in the leftmost lane expecting to go faster than everyone else because it is, after all, the "fast lane." Not long ago I took a picture of a car I passed, which I have posted below for your enjoyment. It gave me no small amount of traffic-time pleasure to take that picture with my phone as I passed. I did resist hanging out the window and yelling, "WHAT GEAR ARE YOU IN?" as I passed. I would have definitely waved afterward, though.
   
   
   
   


5. If you were producing a PSA for a local TV station, what would the topic be and which celebrity would fulfill their community service sentence by starring in it?
   
   There's no question about it that I would have Steven Jackson of the Indiana Pacers singing and dancing, Chicago-style, warning kids of the dangers of jazz, liquor, strippers, and guns. Or at least the last 3.

Meme

So Jen tagged me with this one, and since it's pretty tame, I thought I'd go ahead and do it.

Four jobs I've had:

1. Grocery store meat department clerk.
   Per the customers' (usually annoying and snotty women in furs) instructions, I pulled specifically requested cuts of meat out of the display case, weighed them, wrapped them, and handed them over. It was a very demanding job, and I'm sure there are no better ways to spend your nights and/or weekends during high school.
2. Glorified gopher.
   I'm not making this up. My boss said that was my title when I signed on. No one else ever heard it, but that was it. It was in an office where they did mortgage refinancing. I did ... office type stuff. A good summer job during college if for no other reason than it was full time.
3. Sci/Tech library clerk.
   I checked out files that teacher had put on reserve to students. That, and I shelved books down in the stacks. Not fun, but it made me some ducats during college. Some American money, too.
4. Systems Engineer/IT Guy/Techno Weenie
   Umm, it's, like, my career and stuff.

Four movies I can watch over and over:

1. The Princess Bride
   We watched this so much in college that we turned it into a drinking game, which was kind of odd, since I didn't drink. One could argue that it wasn't a good drinking game, since there were so many rules that someone had to be sober to keep track of them. But that's where I came in. It's a classic tale of true love and high adventure. What's not to like? Besides, it's soooo quotable.
2. Tombstone
   Clearly the high point of Val Kilmer's career, as evidenced by the fact that I saw him play a bit part as a sherpa pot dealer type of guy on Entourage this summer. He made that movie worth a damn, and I love it. Huge on the quotable list.
   
3. Ferris Bueller's Day Off
   "When Cameron was in E-gypt land/ Let my Cameron gooooo."
   
4. A Christmas Story
   I only watch this at Christmas, but I'll watch it at least 4 times during the marathon every year. No other movie has summed up kiddom so beautifully as this movie with the "You'll shoot your eye out" conspiracy.

Four places I've lived:

1. Elwood, IN
   Small. Backwards. Racist.
2. Indianapolis, IN
   Republican. Flat. Home.
3. Charlottesville, VA
   Gorgeous. Smart. Snobby. Fun.
4. The Greater Washington, DC metro area (Northern VA)
   Crowded. Traffic. Very Fun.

Four TV shows I love:

1. 24
   So, so good.
2. Lost
   One of the few good things out there.
   
3. Entourage
   I don't even know why.
   
4. The Simpsons
   I don't even watch it very often, but Homer is the best character on TV. My Tivo watches it, though, so I don't have to. (Props to my bro's unremembered friend for that line.)
   

Four places I've vacationed:

1. Disney World
   Who hasn't? I don't remember it very well. This was before Epcot even existed.
2. St. Lucia
   Went for a wedding. Spent a lot of money. Drank a lot. Fell in a ditch.
3. Cancun
   A free trip! In my mid-to-late-twenties, Senior Week had less appeal. However, I did witness the following exchange:
   "You have spectacular breasts."
   "Thanks. They're fake. I had them done two years ago."
   Good times.
4. Grand Cayman
   Hands down the best trip ever. This was also free, and I didn't expect to like it. Simply marvelous!
   

Four of my favorite dishes:

1. Pizza
   Simply the best food in the world.
   
2. Chips and Queso
   It might not be a dish, but it's like crack to me.
3. Apple PIE!
   Again, maybe not what they were looking for, but this is my meme. Best dessert there is, especially with some ice cream. Mmmmmmmm. Piiiiiiiiiiieeee.
   
4. Pizza
   Yes, I like it that much.

Four sites I visit daily:

1. Gmail
   Gotta get the email.
2. indiana.rivals.com
   One-stop shopping for all of my Hoosier news needs.
3. The Sabre
   I don't read their original stuff, but I have to read about my Hoos, too.
4. ESPN.com
   Is it sad that my news is mostly sports-related? Probably.
   

Four places I would rather be right now:

1. Soft Couch
   Nothing says happiness like time with Soft Couch.
   
2. On a golf course
   I'm totally jonesing to get out and play. To make things worse, today is a totally golfable day, and I'm wasting it!
   
3. Assembly Hall (the one in Bloomington, IN)
   Something magical has to be going on there. If not, I'll wait until it does.
   
4. Chllin' with my peeps
   On a golf course would be nice, but the location or activity doesn't matter all that much. Love my peeps.
   

Four bloggers I am tagging:
Not gonna happen. I don't know enough bloggers who haven't already been tagged.

That wasn't so hard, was it?

2005 by the Numbers

Back at the beginning of the year, I threatened to write a post looking back at 2005. Well, now I'm delivering on that threat. I don't make a lot of new year's resolutions that I'm not going to keep. And I'm not big into setting a lot of goals. However, I did have two very specific goals for 2005: to break 90 on the golf course and to go on two dates with the same person. Some of you might think those are ridiculous goals, that I shouldn't be focused on golf, that there is NO WAY that any self-respecting girl would go out with me two times. And I thought of those things, too. But I set those as goals anyway. Besides, my goals didn't require that the girl have any self-respect.

With that rambling preamble out of the way, let's go to the numbers. First, the numbers related to

Golf
18-Hole Rounds (without losing my scorecard): 29
Lost Scorecards: 2
Scrambles: 3
9-Hole Rounds: More than 0, less than 15
[The following numbers are from my 29 18-Hole Rounds whose scorecards I didn't lose.]
Scores At or Over 100: 12
Scores Below 100: 17
Scores Below 95: 6
Scores Below 90: 1
Rounds That Would Have Been Below 90 if I Hadn't Inexplicably Carded an 8 on a Par 3: 1
Total Holes: 522
Bogeys: 165
Pars: 94
Birdies: 12
Eagles: 1
Greens in Regulation: 104
Putts: 1046

So I clearly met my first goal. In fact, I did it on July 28th. Sadly, I haven't done it since, but that doesn't in any way diminish the glory of having achieved that milestone. I know some of you don't give a rip about those numbers, but I have called golf my girlfriend before. So you'll just have to deal.

Knowing who often reads this blog, I'm sure that more of you will be interested in the numbers related to

Weddings
Weddings Attended: 2
Weddings in which I Was Part of the Wedding Party: 0
Wedding Gifts Bought: 1 [I'm still on the hook for the other]
Single Women Danced With: ~7
Married Women Danced With: ~15
People Impressed With My Dancing: ~50
People Disturbed By the Amount of Sweat Produced by Said Dancing: ~200
Hook-Ups Resulting from Impressive Dancing, Alcohol, and Alleged General Aphrodisiac Nature of Weddings: 0

Finally, what you've all been waiting for ... the numbers related to

Women/Dating
Phone Numbers Requested: 2
Phone Numbers Received: 3
Phone Numbers Forced Upon Me Even Though I Didn't Want Them: 1
Phone Numbers Called: 2
Girls Who Impressed Me With Their Smoothness: 1
Girls Asked Out: 4
Girls Who Laughed Upon Being Asked Out: 1
Girls Who Said "Maybe" in Response to Being Asked Out When They Really Meant "No:" 1
Girls Who Asked Me Out: 1
First Dates: 2.5 [It's arguable whether one was a date.]
Second Dates: 2.5 [Same business.]
Second Dates That Probably Shouldn't Have Happened, But I Did After All Have a Goal to Meet: 1
Third Dates: 1

There you have it. Those are the major numbers from 2005 for The Kid. For you scoffers out there, how ya like me now? I met both goals for 2005. In fact, I had them in the bag by July 28th. I considered just taking the rest of the year off, but I couldn't manage it. Besides, I wasn't quite sure how to make that happen. The suspended animation thing doesn't really seem to have gotten off the ground yet. And with all of those accomplishments, I still found time to shave my goatee (I still haven't grown it back), write my blog (really, a result of shaving the goat), win an NCAA tourney pool, and buy new golf clubs. I can only hope 2006 will be as successful. I'm still working on my goals for the year. If you have any ideas, I'd love to hear them. In the meantime, I'll be practicing my putting.

The Wedding Dilemma

In case you didn't know it, I'm something of an expert on attending weddings. It's not because I've been married or because I'm a closet wedding planner or even because I secretly think about what it would be like to get married all the time. It's because I have attended a lot of them. I've lost the exact count, and it hurts my weak, little brain to try to recount, but I've been to somewhere between 25 and 30 weddings since college. I've been a participant in about 20% of those weddings, whether doing a reading, being the best man, or just standing dapperly in the homey line. Either way, that's a lot of weddings to go to. I suppose I could be considered a good luck charm, too, as none of the couples whose weddings I've attended have gotten divorced. [Knocks loudly on wooden desk.]

The truth is that weddings are kind of old hat at this point, but I still enjoy them quite a bit. Part of it is that I enjoy being around people so filled with promise about their new lives together. Part of it is that everyone at a wedding is just so doggone happy. It's such a nice change of pace. Part of it, though, is the dancing.

It sounds very funny, and I don't really like to toot my own horn very much, but I'm going to do it anyway. As Jeremy Grey (played by Vince Vaughn) of Wedding Crashers so aptly put it, "You and I both know I'm a phenomenal dancer." It's true. I don't mean that I'm a world class rump-shaker (although I might have done a mean Humpty Dance at one point in my life). It's the swing dancing. I'm not world class at it, either, but you'd be hard-pressed to find someone who does it better at any given wedding I'm attending.

One would think that the dancing really has the potential to make me look good. And one would probably be right. If it can be unleashed as a surprise, it's especially powerful. At the wedding I went to last weekend, I agreed to accompany a girl sitting next to me out onto the dance floor. The scenario that unfolded from that point onward is a fairly standard one for me. Because it’s early in the reception, most people aren’t yet drunk enough to venture out on the dance floor. So it’s me and my partner alongside maybe a couple from the bridal party and two or three elderly couples (who always still have the moves). It’s usually the second spin or the first dip that gets my partner’s attention (think of a facial expression equivalent of Susan Sarandon’s “Oh, my,” in Bull Durham), and the move after that that really draws in the spectators. Because they aren’t yet drunk enough to venture onto the floor themselves, and because my partner and I look a tad incongruous next to the sober, old folk, the guests are watching us, and they are more than a little surprised at the smoothness on display. The photographer will make his way over before long to snap some shots that no one wants in the wedding album. If there’s a video guy, he’s definitely filming us, and that will make the final cut.. Heading off the floor at the end of the song, my partner is a bit flushed and beaming in her pleasant surprise, while I try to diminish my somewhat self-satisfied grin that results both from the fact that my partner had no idea that she would enjoy the dance that much and from the fact that the people who turned to watch at my table, along with a few random others, are applauding. It’s a Good Thing.

Considering that this particular wedding was attended by more young, attractive, single women than any other one I've been to, I thought I was off to a pretty good start. Dinner hadn't even been served yet.

However, the whole dancing thing is really a double-edged sword. First, all the married women I know put themselves on the card pretty early. Plus, it's just not a wedding to me until I dance with the bride. Then, I usually dance with a few other girls. And those are just the partner-up dances. Usually someone convinces me to join them for just some random twitching around the dance floor.

I'm sure some of you are thinking that sounds like a lot of fun, and those of you with a Y-chromosome are seriously questioning my sexual orientation. Be that as it may, it can cause me troubles because I have a serious problem: I sweat like a thoroughbred. Seriously, I don't know why or how, but it doesn't take much to get me to start schvitzing. One song is usually enough to give me a bright patina of perspiration on my brow. Two songs and it's starting to flow. After that it's big trouble.

By the end of the night, I am invariably a soggy, sodden, dripping mess, and the very act that literally inspired applause at the beginning of the night leads to restrained grimaces of revulsion by the end of the reception. It’s not just my prospective partners. I think it’s gross, too.

This wedding was no different. I worked at breaking up my trips to the dance floor. I tried to sit outside and talk to people. But I didn’t know that many people there, and eventually all the people I wanted to talk to were on the dance floor anyway, leaving me no enjoyable choice but to join them.

So I find myself in the position of a wedding-ized Hamlet, holding up my drenched dress shirt and suit the next day thinking: “Alas, Wedding Abs, I know him well. To dance, or not to dance? That is the question.”

Maybe it’s sort of like drinking. I dance too much early, and by the end of the night, I’m just a puddle. I need to manage it better. Maybe I need someone to cut me off and make me switch to water for a while. I suppose if some fine young lass would drag me off to the bar to actually get me to drink more (ideally with an eye toward taking advantage of me) rather than dragging me onto the dance floor, this wouldn’t be an issue. But that’s not the way things tend to work out. Maybe I just need to wait to start the dancing about 30 minutes before the reception is over, but bring it quick and strong, like throwing down a couple of shots before last call. Maybe I just need to quit the dancing entirely and immediately. At least it couldn't drag me down if I did that.

I clearly don’t know what the best approach is. So for now I deal with both sides of the coin: built up by the schwerve, torn down by the schvitz.

Wedding Weekend

My last weekend was an excellent one. The fact that it was 4 days long helped, of course. But it also involved a trip to Greenwich, CT, for a wedding, and the whole stretch was quite nice. Even the 10 hours of driving didn't really take away from it.

It started out with a dinner party in honor of the bride and groom at a family friend's house in Greenwich on Thursday. I knew about 4 people there, including the bride and groom, but it was fun anyway. The bartender kept bringing me a new beer every time mine was empty, so it was hard to go wrong. Plus, the catering staff were walking around the patio with lobster nachos, coconut shrimp, and mini cheeseburgers for hors d'oeuvres. Mini cheeseburgers! At dinner, I sat next to a woman who might have been the wedding coordinator. Or she may not have been. I do know that, when I claimed to be a freeloader (which she believed since I wasn't part of the wedding party), she told me she wouldn't let me into the reception if I wasn't at the church. There's nothing quite like being threatened by an eccentric, older woman you don't know.

Friday, I drove out to Pomptom Plains, NJ, to play golf with my friend, Big Daddy. It was great and awful. Great to see Big Daddy and to hit the links. Awful to shoot a 108. Big Daddy shot a 76 and was irked. Sometimes, I hate that guy.

Saturday morning, we got to play 9 holes at Round Hill, where golf is really just strolling and swinging, since you have caddies to carry your bag. It was fun, and I even played better. However, the lesson I took away is that you should ask the caddy for a club and have him give it to you. That way, you can avoid accidentally pulling the wrong club for your approach to the 9th green and nearly killing the father of the groom as your ball arcs gracefully over the flagstick, flies the green, and hits the road 3 feet from the groom's dad before bouncing onto the roof of this very nice clubhouse. (Yes, I know there are numbers and letters on the soles of the clubhead. I have no idea how or why I pulled the wrong one.)

The wedding was gorgeous. Everything about it was elegant and classy. Well, maybe not the part where the church had no air conditioning, but some would argue that's a touch of old-school class. The reception was at a yacht club, the weather was nice, and the band was excellent. This wedding was classy enough that the band mercifully avoided playing all of the Big Four wedding dance songs (Electric Slide, Hokey Pokey, Macarena, and YMCA; if you're from northern OH or PA, substitute the Chicken Dance for the Macarena.) Plus, I've never been to a wedding so completely chock-full of good looking women. And the bride and groom were the picture of beauty.

A nice brunch on Sunday, during which I chased Scotty's little dude all around the yard, was a nice lead-in for the drive home that showed me two things I hadn't seen before.

First, traffic slowed way down on 95 South (that I had seen plenty). It was to rubberneck the goings-on on the other side of 95 (also a common sight). What was unusual to me was that, amidst a noticeably large cloud of dust and dirt in the air, I saw a woman rubbing a man's arm on the side of the interstate near some cars pulled to the side of the road, obviously saying comforting things to him. He was clearly freaked out by something. (That's a bit unusual, but not something I hadn't seen before.) As I wondered what was freaking him out, I saw a car (a Cadillac STS, I think) resting askew across the two right lanes. The thing I hadn't seen before was that it was resting on its roof and hood, all four wheels pointed at the sky and spinning, like a cockroach that had been flipped on its back and couldn't move.

That sight made me think it was about time to stop for a soda. As I did, I saw the second new-to-me sight: not one, but two people, asked me for gas money as I walked in and out of the service area building. I guess gas prices really are high. Flustered by these developments, I spied a sign that said "MEN" and headed in to relieve myself. I stopped short and flushed (no pun intended) pretty quickly, though, because the view from the doorway indicated that the part of the sign I had read was just the second part of "WOMEN." I am clearly an idiot.

Despite the strange and idiotic, finish, I hope all your wedding weekends can be as good. May the location be picturesque, may the food be tasty, may the dancing be smooth, may the eye candy be plentiful, and may you never see or hear the Macarena again.

Cell phones can do anything these days

I was thoroughly cussing my inept cell phone the other day because of how temperamental it has become. At this point, I'm pretty much paying Verizon Wireless for the ability to regularly drop calls and recharge my cell phone battery twice a day. It's not really Verizon's fault. I don't think their service has degraded over time. It's just that my phone is two years old, and the abuse it has taken in those two years has rendered it less useful. Something's wrong with the radio in it, and it just can't hold a signal, even when I'm sitting perfectly still. If I don't have a full-strength signal, the call WILL be dropped. Plus, the fact that it can't hold a signal means that it frequently has to go searching for one. That wears out the battery big time. So it's recharge, talk, drop call, curse. Rinse and repeat. Blah.

Obviously, I could (and should) get a new phone. However, my company is allegedly going to take over paying for my service and provide me with a new phone. It's pretty hard for me to pass that up, but I'm stuck waiting for the paperwork to go through whomever it has to go through to get a new phone. But I'm still thinking eliminating the cell phone bill is worth enduring this frustrating period of quasi-functionality. Besides, the text messaging still works pretty well. Once this goes through, I'll get to work on trying to get the company to pay my cable bill. That would be a major victory.

Anyway, that's not even the point. All of this frustration got me thinking about all the features that cell phones have these days. My first cell phone was an analog Motorola StarTac. It was a sweet little phone. Actually, I reckon it's anything but little by today's standards. And I only had 90 minutes of month on my plan. And no voice mail. So it was pretty much for emergency use only. And it's bland feature set makes it seem not so sweet in retrospect. At the time, though, my inner gadget geek reveled in its cachet.

Since then, my phones have gotten more and more useful. First, there was the jump to 300 minutes per month. Then 400. Then 400 plus free nights and weekends. Then, they added IN-network minutes for free. Somewhere in there, I got the text messaging action. (I don't know how I ever met up with people in a bar before I had the text action.) Also, my phone had things like distinctive rings and voice dialing and voice notes and a calendar and a calculator and a seemingly tautological tip calculator. That little gadget has lots of things going on these days.

But my favorite cell phone feature by far is one that I've only seen in action one time. Actually, I just heard it in action. I was at a wedding in the DC area when I witnessed it. Toward the end of the dinner at the reception, I excused myself to go to the restroom. As I was washing my hands, a guy came in with a cell phone pressed to his ear. I thought that was a bit odd. I mean, I can't imagine needing to talk on the phone in the restroom. I suppose it's not a particularly loud place, and that might be a good thing when talking on the phone or, more to the point, listening on one. However, it just seems like something one doesn't do in there. That's just me, though. We all have our ideas about what one does and doesn't do. To each his own, I suppose.

This guy wasn't saying anything as he came into the restroom, though. So I thought maybe he was checking his messages. Maybe it was for an important call. Maybe he needed to know whether his pet crocodile had survived the emergency surgery attempting to extricate his girlfriend's cat from the croc's stomach. That would be an important message. Maybe he was checking to see if he got that callback for some infomercial role. I don't really know, and I stopped thinking about it as I saw his mirror image close the door to a stall. I'm sure I could have continued to come up with ideas as to the uses of the phone at that point (for instance, maybe he's a toilet reader and opted to surf the wireless web in the absence of a newspaper or magazine), but I let it go.

All of that happened very quickly, of course, and I moved over to grab a paper towel to dry my hands. And that's when it happened. I heard beeping noises, surprisingly clearly, coming from the cell phone guy's stall: "Beep boop bop." I was taken aback for a second, but then I realized he was just probably doing the voicemail thing. But I was very wrong.

It happened again: "Bop beep boop." But this time it was followed by another sound, this one not likely coming from the phone: "Thbbppt."

I was taken a bit aback. My eyes sprang wide open and my eyebrows attempted to merge with my hairline. Sure that's a standard, if potentially embarrassing, bathroom noise, but I had never heard it on the heels of phone digit beeps. "Just a coincidence," I thought. "I should head back to my table."

As I reached for the door handle, "Bop boop bap beep ... thbbbppppttttt."

That's right. It happened again. I started to grin and suppressed an admittedly sophomoric giggle. "What's going on in there?" I wondered. It was too weird to describe.

I reached out again and started to pull the door open. "Bap bop beep boop beep bap ... thhhhhhbbbbbppppbpbpttttttt."

Hand clenched over my mouth, I darted out of the restroom. Once I was out of earshot, I sat down on a bench in the hallway, laughing hysterically. A couple of people asked what was so funny, but I couldn't begin to explain it to them.

If anyone else has encountered this cell phone service, please let me know. It's so advanced, and I want to know how it works. I can only assume that it's very useful for those who are trapped in public places without the benefit of a laxative or at least some good roughage. Next time it happens to you, check with your wireless provider. Maybe they have the rare Dial-a-Turd feature.