Tuesday, July 04, 2006

Chapter CLXXI: In Which Our Hero's Orderly Life is Disrupted

This weekend, for once, I did not have to go to my friends. They came to me.

A friend of ours from college, hailing from the tiny picturesque hamlet of Lake Mills, WI, was getting married. As this village (Pop. around 4500) is only about 30 minutes from Madison (20 the way I drive, as I found out when we rushed to the wedding), my friends Bluesman and Memi were both staying with me rather than pay for hotels. I eagerly anticipated this, as I have a long history of crashing with friends, and felt delighted that I could reciprocate for some of my oldest NU gang.

Memi was coming in Saturday night for the bachelorette party, and the wedding was on Monday afternoon. This was all the information I had at the start of Friday morning, though I knew Bluesman was coming to the wedding itself, and I offered him my place to crash, which he accepted. I had been cleaning my apartment periodically throughout the week, whenever I took a break from reading, and planned to do glorious battle with the months of dust and debris in my living room on Saturday morning. I did not expect to survive, but the apartment would be clean for those who came after me, at least. I anticipated finishing Paterson on Friday eve, and getting a small amount of reading done on Saturday, then writing off Sunday and Monday. Seeing as how these are my "Old People Friends" from Northwestern, however, it couldn't be quite that simple.

On Friday afternoon, shortly before my eye appointment, Bluesman calls and lets me know he's on his way up, and would like to pass the night in my home. This provoked a frantic burst of cleaning, the total abandonment of Paterson, and the fortuitous cancellation of my study session with Nittany Lion, which all culminated in a clean living room, kitchen, and bathroom, an epic feat that shall be sung for ages to come, given the state of disarray I started with.

Saturday we two spent the morning downtown breaking our fast, and killing time until Memi's plane arrived (delayed, of course, courtesy of the good people at Northwest Airlines). We deposited her at the bachelorette party, and dined with Nittany and Red Headed Stepchild at a local beer-dispensary establishment named after a grandiose canine. (Side note: the bachelorette party spent the evening at Brocach [sp?], then returned to Lake Mills to celebrate further. I must wonder about the sanity of women who find the Faux-Irish Pub on the square to be the height of Madisonian Haute Culture.) We tried, later, to watch fireworks, which were thwarted by rain.

Sunday came and went, and for some reason still beyond me I drove 45 minutes to go to a drive-in movie showing of Superman Returns. The experience itself is worthwhile, but it isn't quite how I anticipated viewing the Man of Steel's return to the silver screen. And, because of these plans, I missed the rescheduled fireworks. Sadness. But it was fun nonetheless.

Monday, the wedding itself. Made the drive to Lake Mills in about 19 minutes, because my houseguests are chronically slow (sorry guys, but it's true). And Memi, if you're reading this, no noise about me being the last one ready. You'd be the last one ready as well if your houseguests were in your bathroom for an hour and a half, leaving you roughly seven minutes before your scheduled departure time. And it's my blog. So nyah nyah nyah.

The wedding was quite nice, if a tad short for my Catholic standards (25 minutes altogether). Readings from Whitman and e.e. cummings, showing the excellent taste of our friend the bride, who teaches high school English in Minnesota. Though I did have trouble keeping a straight face throughout, as during the vows I kept hearing Homer Simpson's wedding vows. In Rev. Lovejoy's monotone, "Do you take this man, in richness or in poorness, (poorness is underlined), in impotence and potence, in calm tranquility or blasting along the alkali flats in a jet-propelled, rocket powered... and it goes on like this!" Between that and flashbacks to various scenes from Wedding Crashers, I nearly lost it several times throughout. I tried to turn my stifled guffaws into some kind of faux manly sensitivity at the beauty of marriage, but I don't think anyone noticed.

Reception: Open bar + Ketel One = Happy Brian. Plus, the bride and groom are avid swing dancers, so the music was an eclectic mix of pop favorites and swing tunes. Though no power ballads. Seriously, what kind of wedding is it if there's no Journey or Bryan Adams? But the dancing overall was fun, as I like to dance quite a bit at these things, particularly after a few vodka tonics. And we did prove that "I Want it That Way" can unite a reception into a display of buffoonery unparalleled. Also, the Chicken Dance is apparently on the cusp of fame in India. Who knew?

As of today, my houseguests are gone, and my life is once again back on its orderly track. Read me some Sun Also Rises and Rez Sisters this eve, and looking to get back into the swing of things. Hemingway in particular is good after weddings, largely because his hatred of women really fights those sappy romance feelings one tends to get in the wake of events such as this. Papa H., combined with a strict moratorium on romantic comedies and love songs for at least a week, helps deny those destructive musings that make me feel actual feelings, instead of the cool self-deprecating comedic irony I coast through life on.

To close, three great moments of the long weekend:
1. Methodists as pixies, complete with pixie dust, or in street parlance, "meth." How we got there is unimportant. The point is we got there, and Memi was laughing for at least four straight minutes.

2. Mashed Potato Martini Bar. Quite exciting.

3. My in-depth analysis of Beowulf for the other guests at our table, in which I used my Master's Degree to prove that the poem is actually about the mutually destructive combat between Beowulf and a Zamboni Machine. Article forthcoming.

2 comments:

memi said...

It was the image of "meth pixies" dancing about the sanctuary that prevented my reverent appreciation of the marriage ceremony...still hilarious. in fact, I'm still laughing.

and since you brought it up, you WERE the last one ready, and you were WAY forewarned about the hour and a half. so there.

Thanks for hosting =)

Anonymous said...

Pardon me, Dubs, but it's "jet-powered, monkey-navigated..." I hate to nitpick (LIE), but it's so much funnier.

If you ever have a few minutes, care to share your thoughts on Pale Fire? I finished it last night.