Saturday August 6, 2005

i predict a riot.

there is something inherently funny about weddings. i can’t put my finger on it exactly. maybe its the odd mix of strange people forced to sit in uncomfortable benches while someone they don’t know talks for twenty-plus minutes and amazingly joins another person they don’t know in holy matrimony to one person they do know. then everyone drives about thirty-five minutes away to a building they will never go to again, where they eat free food and talk about drivel while waiting for roughly 4 to 14 people wearing identical clothing to arrive so that the horde can watch the identicals eat dinner at table on a raised platform. once sated, everyone dances overly aggressive on a fake wood plastic floor, listening to a crammed assortment of music played by a man who has a face for radio and a voice for commercials. then, at the end, we get to throw stuff at two people as they leave. how do we explain to a three year old that it is okay to throw small things at these two people, but never at anyone else? obviously, i only covered the over-arching and general wedding weirdness. there is, of course, at each wedding an even odder assortment of characters and people who would never ever hangout together, except a family reunions, which are similiar to weddings, except that a wedding is the union that the reunions re to. standard guests include, but are not limited to, the woman whose hair catches on fire, the drunk loud guy who starts conversations with you in the restroom regarding topless haircuts (whether you should be topless or the person cutting your hair is never expounded upon), the dee-jay who misprounces someone’s name in the bridal party, the 50 year old woman who forces herself on a 20-something male (typically a groomsman) on the dance floor and gyrates awkwardly to music she has never heard before, the groom who remembers that a crucial football game is on espn and requests 7 minute updates on the score and field position, the bartender who doesn’t card a 12 year old getting a glass of wine for his mom but cards a groomsman who desperately needs his 5th beer, the one awkwardly tall groomsman who cannot stand on the steps, the flower girl who turns and runs out of the church three steps into her processional, the bride’s and groom’s fathers who high five during the ceremony, and last but not least the overly controlling wedding coordinator who either has early 1980s southern belle hair or decides to wear reebok running shoes to the ceremony and freaks out at the rehersal when she has this conversation with a groomsman:

coordinator: “remember to be at the church tommorrow at 1:30.”
groomsman: “3 o’clock, check.”
coordinator: “no no no, you have to be there at 1:30.”
groomsman: “1:45, no problem.”

et cetera.