Proof positive that I was born on the wrong planet

I attended a close friend's wedding this weekend. I was involved in the capacity of a groomsman, which was a new experience for me. Being a groomsman means standing around looking pretty while stuff happens to other people. It also means having an ostensible position of importance in the matrimonial proceedings but without having to actually do anything. All the hard work and very little of the glory falls upon the bridesmaids. I found it expedient to privately mock them for this.

A couple things that I think rank as highlights for the weekend include, but aren't restricted to: Driving (not merely riding in) a convertible with the top down at midnight trying to find a suitably grimy bar for the groom and the other groomsman (I was obviously DD for the wedding's eve). Not finding one, they bought a case of beer and drank it next to a river. We discussed chopping my own car to make a convertible. Driving a convertible is quite an interesting experience if you've never had it.

I also formed an olympic platform diving team with the other groomsman and the groom's father, but our competitive career came to a halt when some kid did a gainer off the third platform and made us look like legless idiots.

I got to dance with Kari Sauve (she was a bridesmaid) which was kind of cool. Seeing as I haven't touched a woman in two years this was the most action I've had in a long time. Someone asked if she was my girlfriend, which made me laugh. I had to shake my head and reply in the negative. However, even though we barely spoke during the course of the weekend (and I imagine she probably didn't personally rank me among members of the human species), if she had in fact been my girlfriend, our relationship, such as it was, would still have been slightly less frigid than my last real relationship (at least toward its closing).

The hotel was extremely nice. In the bathrooms, the shower was not partitioned from the rest of the facilities, instead, the tile floor merely sloped uninterrupted to a drain in one corner of the room where the shower head was also located. You could pull a plastic curtain around that area if you so chose, but the prospect of showering while watching myself in the mirror was exceedingly tempting. All told I showered five times in about two days, which is also precisely the number of times I took a shit. As you can see, once I was in the bathroom, no matter my intended duties, I found myself deciding to shower as well since it seemed so casual a setup.

I saw a lot of people that I haven't seen in a long time. There was a lot of meaningless catching-up type conversation and some even more meaningless serious conversation, none of which I remember and none of which will I attempt to reproduce here, although the first words from Sikander Kahn's mouth to me were, in sum, "There's a Big Ten Burrito around here. I still owe you a burrito," which debt I had coincidentally mentioned on several occasions to various persons prior to this little reunion once I found out that the aforementioned would be attending. In addition, there was quite a bit of ribbing about a THREATENER reunion from various family members, and also some quality jests about our musical talents and proficiency with our instruments, all of which were sadly accurate.

Also the bride and groom, not being religious, had a published atheist officiate the ceremony in place of a man of the cloth, which was a nice touch, but slightly chagrined some of the above's more traditionalist family members. But, what would a wedding be without some wringing of hands and snarling of mouths? I was resplendent in my rented tux. The ushers had trouble unrolling the carpeting thing. The officiate made a crack about being a professor, but in spite of this, he would try to be brief and succinct. The groom became too choked up to complete his vows coherently after this.

Lastly, the bride and groom did indeed walk out at the reception to a looped section of SLAYER's 'Raining Blood', and later the bride requested 'Ace of Spades' be played, which number cleared the dance floor abruptly (though I'm not sure why. MOTORHEAD is really a music group to kick your heels to on any occasion).

All told the experience was quite surreal for me, and it was a view to the inside which has determined me never to be in the groom's position myself. Because in spite of the awkwardness, discomfiture, high social expectations, heavy responsibilities it is necessary to bear, money spent, time wasted, sleep lost, and relatives to placate; at the end of the day, the only thing one has gained from the entire ritual is the promise of a thoroughly domestic existence. While I applaud Mike and Abby for making it, and I congratulate them for discovering a very true love, I think such a fate is not mine.

Adjust laces on Converse All-Stars, grip filthy drum sticks appreciatively, and lie back, drumming the beat to a Pig Destroyer tune on my mattress, to watch Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith for the umpteenth time.