My Uncle’s wedding was no different, though as always it was lovely to spend time with the “kids” in my generation. Spookily (that fucker tempus fugits) there is a new generation of kids below us who will no doubt some day come to our late-life events and sit at a table far in the back, drink our champagne, and honor and mock us at once. It is a ritual of premature burial that all generations are subjected to. It is just a shock that it might come to mine. ;-)
I woke up without the hangover I had hoped for. This was disappointing, as I had put the work in the night before. I was amused to see, as I searched for the coffee-maker, which was inexplicably hidden under the sink, that the tea-maker was on the counter, as was the automatic rice-cooker. I'm just guessing the hotel gets a lot of Asian Trade. The ride up to the church was brief and easy, and I arrived to quite a lot of people I didn’t know, milling about outside a church I was even less familiar with. The service was nearly endless and replete with the idiocies of two religions, Catholicism and Urantia. It is a point against the orthodoxic stupidity of Catholicism that the quotes from the Urantia Bible (Instruction Manual?) seemed the height of rationality compared to the “we betrayed God so in time he betrayed his son” babble of the priest.
As I thought this sort of thing throughout the entire ceremony, and since I did not have the cheat-sheet in the program (lyrics to songs, prayers, call and response shiat, and the like) I couldn’t play along, I suppose it is only due to Gawd’s mercy that I wasn’t smoten by a plague of some sort.
Still, the venue was nice, and whatever else you can say about my uncle, he is a creative mofo. In the last month before the ceremony he decided (perhaps his bride had a hand, or clenched fist, in the decision – there were various tales floating about the reception) to create some artwork for the wedding. He made 7 incredible fabric/painting pieces which you have seen strewn throughout this little post. Two are recreations of actual weddings, and the others are multicultural type representations of idealized weddings (though I can't say why he made the Thai wedding picture with George Bush's face?)
The pictures don’t do justice as the textural differences between the paint and fabric, and the richness the fabric brings the pieces, was quite amazing up close.
As mentioned above, the ceremony not only mentioned eternity, but also approached it. The head.. uh.. Catholic, did quote his “favorite theologian, Elton John” which gave me quite a start as I thought the Churches’ formal stance on the ghey was that it was only appropriate for priests and the like.
The words I have to say
May well be simple but theyre true
Until you give your love
Theres nothing more that we can do
Love is the opening door
Love is what we came here for
No one could offer you more
Do you know what I mean
Have your eyes really seen
You say its very hard
To leave behind the life we knew
But theres no other way
And now its really up to you
Love is the key we must turn
Truth is the flame we must burn
Freedom the lesson we must learn
Do you know what I mean
Have your eyes really seen
Just when I thought the long nightmare was over, the head dude called us back together for the “first eucharist” of the married couple. My uncle informed me this was not an event that should be photographed. This made me the only photographer at the event who wasn’t flashing away with abandon through the entire
No matter, I was beyond bored at that point. I like me a little ritual, but for chrissakes.. the champagne out there at the reception might be getting warm, and the icing on the wedding cake running like it was abandoned in MacArthur Park. Think of my gross physical desires you great drunken pederasts, and get this wedding over with!
OK.. that sounded a little weird.
Anyway, we sat around for about 4 hours drinking champagne, red wine and coffee. The last two hours of this binge were spent discussing what our plans after the wedding should be. I made any such plans moot by choosing the wrong direction on the 110 when I tried to head back to the hotel. I was past downtown when it occurred to me that I was going the wrong direction, and at that point I just decided to keep heading down to the airport. It was a beautiful day in LA, the traffic was reasonable except around USC (Hah! USC went on to lose to lowly Stanford!) and I got to the airport, then home, with little difficulty besides the truly enormous woman who was in the seat beside me on the plane.
And since I may get home and never post to this topic again, I give you a sprinkling of photos from the blessed event:
The Headerast (of course that’s a totally unfair characterization. Duh!)
Holy Crap.. As I sit here “Running on Empty” comes on yet again… it’s like a message from Jackson Browne, or something.
That message is.. ‘get drunk ya fat fuck!’
And so, with an hour to go until boarding, it is time for this little patriot to go salute his fine country the only way he knows…
Some Sam Adams Lagers, and then a wide stance in the airport restroom.