A Boston Wedding
This weekend, I journeyed up to Boston for a wedding. I'm not going to bore you with all the gory details.
So a quick summary:
*The ceremony was pleasant, consisting of some original writing by bride and groom, a justice of the piece, absent of both religious blather and ring children (or animals). The only thing I found lacking was an aisle. An aisle lets you know who's batting for which team--bride or groom. And since I really knew neither bride nor groom, I thought maybe the aisle would help me get my bearings just a bit. But alas, no aisle.
*The cocktail hour was enough to get folks sufficiently lubricated but not overly intoxicated. Then again, I stuck to the wine and stayed away from the spiked hot chocolate and the pumpkin martini. At one point, the cocktail waiters started circulating with glasses of what looked like real drinks so I made a polite inquiry. I'd assumed that--this being a snazzy wedding in a fancy penthouse with some classy people--it would be scotch, which I don't like. "Red Bull and Vodka," I was told. I like Red Bull and Vodka even less than scotch and I figured the drink was the stamp of the bride and groom who seemed to delight in adding oddities to an otherwise straight-laced occasion. The Red Bull and Vodka may also explain why one of the DJ's did a face-plant into a coffee table and cut open his cheek. Light-headed, indeed (okay, I'm going to feel really bad if I find out he has a brain tumor or something).
*The reception? Awesome, awesome food. I had the duck. GF had the salmon. No one at my table had the lamb--which looked really good. Dessert? We each received a plate on which sat: creme brulee, chocolate moose (hey, I prefer that spelling), berries with cream and a wedding cupcake. To hell with sharing is what I say.
I will take a moment to remark about the groom, who completely and totally ruined it for every guy in that room who hasn't gotten married yet. Sure, you've been to weddings and perhaps been moved by the vows or by the speech or by entirely too much booze, but this groom went above and beyond the call of duty. Indeed, he set the bar too high and if this were an Ann Raynd world I'd outlaw gestures like his.
What did he do? I'll tell you what he did. The guy works in film. So, instead of a speech, he made a documentary. A GOOD documentary. This movie tracked not just the boy-meets-girl story of he and the bride, but also the boy-meets-girl stories of the parents of both the bride and groom. Archival film footage, old photos, narration from the key players--big hair and bad outfits from the 60s straight through to the 2000s detailing how an Italian family from Jersey and a Jewish family from Boston came to unite on this particular night.
It wasn't just touching, it was moving, it was poignant. He even included the divorce of his parents, pulling in tight on a photo of his family together (perhaps for the last time?), the young boy crying in his father's arms.
I tell you, I got up to go to the bathroom after it was over and there was an inch and half of mascara-tinged water on the floor. There were napkins everywhere, sniffles galore. And at the men's room, I found a line for the bathroom where I assume some of those tough guys from Jersey were ducking in to wipe their noses and dry their eyes. I actually kept my composure--surprising for a guy who used to spend my hangovers watching Party of Five DVDs and getting all weepy.
I consider myself a romantic sort (or used to be before it was all kicked out me by uncaring women) and appreciate the dramatic gesture, but this was a bit much. What's left for the rest of us? What, I ask you? What?
And why am I passing this along, when a true stand-up guy would have contained the situation, kept my mouth shut so that fewer women would hear about this, so that other guys wouldn't have to be measured by this gesture?
Because I'm just like that, that's why.
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So a quick summary:
*The ceremony was pleasant, consisting of some original writing by bride and groom, a justice of the piece, absent of both religious blather and ring children (or animals). The only thing I found lacking was an aisle. An aisle lets you know who's batting for which team--bride or groom. And since I really knew neither bride nor groom, I thought maybe the aisle would help me get my bearings just a bit. But alas, no aisle.
*The cocktail hour was enough to get folks sufficiently lubricated but not overly intoxicated. Then again, I stuck to the wine and stayed away from the spiked hot chocolate and the pumpkin martini. At one point, the cocktail waiters started circulating with glasses of what looked like real drinks so I made a polite inquiry. I'd assumed that--this being a snazzy wedding in a fancy penthouse with some classy people--it would be scotch, which I don't like. "Red Bull and Vodka," I was told. I like Red Bull and Vodka even less than scotch and I figured the drink was the stamp of the bride and groom who seemed to delight in adding oddities to an otherwise straight-laced occasion. The Red Bull and Vodka may also explain why one of the DJ's did a face-plant into a coffee table and cut open his cheek. Light-headed, indeed (okay, I'm going to feel really bad if I find out he has a brain tumor or something).
*The reception? Awesome, awesome food. I had the duck. GF had the salmon. No one at my table had the lamb--which looked really good. Dessert? We each received a plate on which sat: creme brulee, chocolate moose (hey, I prefer that spelling), berries with cream and a wedding cupcake. To hell with sharing is what I say.
I will take a moment to remark about the groom, who completely and totally ruined it for every guy in that room who hasn't gotten married yet. Sure, you've been to weddings and perhaps been moved by the vows or by the speech or by entirely too much booze, but this groom went above and beyond the call of duty. Indeed, he set the bar too high and if this were an Ann Raynd world I'd outlaw gestures like his.
What did he do? I'll tell you what he did. The guy works in film. So, instead of a speech, he made a documentary. A GOOD documentary. This movie tracked not just the boy-meets-girl story of he and the bride, but also the boy-meets-girl stories of the parents of both the bride and groom. Archival film footage, old photos, narration from the key players--big hair and bad outfits from the 60s straight through to the 2000s detailing how an Italian family from Jersey and a Jewish family from Boston came to unite on this particular night.
It wasn't just touching, it was moving, it was poignant. He even included the divorce of his parents, pulling in tight on a photo of his family together (perhaps for the last time?), the young boy crying in his father's arms.
I tell you, I got up to go to the bathroom after it was over and there was an inch and half of mascara-tinged water on the floor. There were napkins everywhere, sniffles galore. And at the men's room, I found a line for the bathroom where I assume some of those tough guys from Jersey were ducking in to wipe their noses and dry their eyes. I actually kept my composure--surprising for a guy who used to spend my hangovers watching Party of Five DVDs and getting all weepy.
I consider myself a romantic sort (or used to be before it was all kicked out me by uncaring women) and appreciate the dramatic gesture, but this was a bit much. What's left for the rest of us? What, I ask you? What?
And why am I passing this along, when a true stand-up guy would have contained the situation, kept my mouth shut so that fewer women would hear about this, so that other guys wouldn't have to be measured by this gesture?
Because I'm just like that, that's why.
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posted by Ken Wheaton at
12:09 PM
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