Tomorrow Is Not Promised

So, I did something that I probably shouldn't have done.  It wasn't my place to do it and it certainly wasn't something I needed to do.  But I did it, anyway.   Why?   Well, that's a little complicated.

Four years ago, after essentially beating stage four renal cell cancer, a brain tumor, and ovarian cancer, someone I cared about died unexpectedly from a brain hemorrhage.  Another friend is continually battling cancer and is too weak to even appreciate life right now.  Another friend just buried her husband after succumbing to illness.  And right now, my own cat, my bud, Oscar, is suffering from a tumor in his belly.  Who knows how many good days he'll have left.

I've been struggling for the last year and a half with getting things to a manageable point.  I haven't talked about it in depth, but it's pretty obvious what has been going on and that in itself is another reason why I did what I did.  That chapter is coming to a close and unfortunately, I screwed up the ending to another one in January.

You see, I let someone get away.  Forced them actually.  I saw something that I hadn't seen in my entire life and it burned me inside and out.  It was, what I thought, was the definition of what we all hope to find in this world.  And, like an impatient fool, I couldn't wait until the timing was right.  I wasn't patient enough to make sure I had a path of no resistance to reach them.  Even though I was given clear and present authority to do so, I was... am... still in a place where it isn't the best time to pursue it.  And as the days dragged on and I felt the pressure of knowing what I could have, I pushed harder and in ever more increasing intensity until they hit against me like a tennis ball hits the wheel of a launcher and spun them right out of my life at break neck speed.

After three months of continuing to rebuild my identity, the one I really am inside, getting back out into the mix and basically healing myself, I came to a crossroads.  Did I say all that was needed to say?  Should I even bother.  It's obvious that I was too eager and they were simply not interested.  Or scared.  Or both.  But, as sure as I was about them at the time, I really am not ready to be anywhere other than in my own skin at the time being.  So, which path do I take?  Do I continue down the road of self discovery or do I take the dangerous path of reopening old wounds and making matters worse?

I went both ways.  But even as I have learned to temper my emotions and listen to that voice that tells me, "Maybe that's a bit too much", I also know that I am basically a hopeless romantic about things in this world, so I did what I did. 

I did what I did with really no chance or desire to be recognized, though I gather they probably know who sent the message because of the way it was sent.  

And I did it, even though three months ago I was given a clear and succinct response to whether or not that type of interaction was even wanted. 

And I did it, because no matter how many months or years go by while we may not continue to speak, I still cannot get out of my system that awakening I had with them.

I did it because even if I have to do things anonymously, against better judgment, and without hope of reconciliation,  tomorrow is not promised and I don't want to leave anything unsaid, even if it's just something like "Happy Birthday."

The Year Of the Magnificent Bastard

He’s suave.  He’s sneaky.  He's a cad.  He's a dick.  He’s lovable?

Yes, the magnificent bastard is a character.   He is one that has his own agenda and has every angle covered.  Just when you think you have him cornered, he slips through your grasp.  And you have to admire how he does it.  But there is more to being a Magnificent Bastard than being evil.

He’s lovable.  He’s the antihero.  He’s a swashbuckling, smuggling, whisky swilling sonofabitch that you just have to adore.   By the end of the story, you’ll be rooting for him.  He’ll probably take off with your purse, but come back to help save the hero when he’s most needed.

The Magnificent Bastard has morals and a code.  He’s not there to impress you, he’s there to get the job done.  He’ll be the one that walks into the bar and owns the place.  He’ll notice you, over there with an empty drink, trying to get service, and with a flash, he’ll have the bartender’s attention and will have your drink refilled along with his.   As much as you don’t agree with his stance or his methods, you have to respect the asshole for being true to his craft. 

He’s a lovable jerk with witty repartee that doesn’t mince words.  You better be of quick and rapier like wit if want to engage him.  And don’t think that brute force will be the best way to beat him, because the harder you come at him, the easier he has it evading attack.   And don’t worry, he’ll buy you a drink to celebrate your loss.

Even the staunchest lady in the room can’t help but smile when the Magnificent Bastard comes around.  She thinks he’s crude and inappropriate, but deep down, she’s on his level.  The Magnificent Bastard doesn’t waste his time with those who are so quick to be offended or aren’t on his level.   If he engages you, he knows that you aren’t porcelain.  He sees in your mind that you’re just as twisted and depraved as he is and it’s about time you two get to know each other.    He’s not out to treat you like a gentle lady, but he does abide by customs.  He’s not here to rescue you, he’s here to debate you.  He’s out to get under your skin and ruffle some feathers.  You may want to throttle him, but you’ll still be smiling as he steals your heart.   Will he goad you? Yes.  Will he tease?  Yes.  But that’s because he’s interested.  Debate and argue are part of his charm.  But he never aims to maim, just have a good time.  The thin skinned lass and lad should stay clear, because the Magnificent Bastard doesn’t pull punches or go easy on you.  He’ll push you to your limits just to get a rise out of you.   He’ll steal your cookies but you won’t go hungry.  He'll be inappropriate and will make you blush, but in a good way.

Try as you might to hate him, at the end of the day, when you’re all alone, you’ll find yourself smiling.   But why?  Twenty minutes ago he had you so pissed off about his not agreeing with you on such trivial matters, and now… smiling? Yup… that’s what happens.

Let us embrace the one, the only, Magnificent Bastard.  Friend to all, enemy to those who truly deserve it.

Strictly For The Teenage Boy

OK, so recently I wrote a long, sappy letter to my daughter for when she plans on dating.  And of course, I incurred the wrath of some.  One, who, until recently, I was pretty sure was, by all accounts was one of the most amazing creatures I had ever had the pleasure of getting to know.  Regardless of outcomes, I took the experience and used it to shape me.  That's what we do.  We get close to the fire, we get burnt, we learn how to avoid the danger or at least better prepare ourselves for the danger.

So, here you young man, you are now in your teens and you have got all of these conflicting feelings and thoughts racing through your brain like 3000 open tabs on your desktop. First all, slow down and take deep breaths.  I want you to enjoy this time because this will be the easiest it ever gets.   This is the last time you will ever have a chance to not be completely befuddled and bewildered by whoever it is you are attracted to.  In this case, because it's where I have experience... albeit not much... we are going to focus on women.

After the initial shock sets in and you finally realize they drive you insane, you can start to fully appreciate this gender and all it holds.  I cannot claim that I have any expertise anywhere.  It's obvious I am complete schmuck when it comes to what it is you're supposed to do or how you are supposed to act when it comes to women.  The best I can tell you is, put yourself in there shoes.

I don't mean literally like some Mel Gibson movie.  I mean, consider yourself the other side of this equation.  How do you feel?  How do you want to be treated?  Do you want someone looking at you like you're not as intelligent as them?  Do you want special treatment because you are supposed to be weaker?  Do you want to be feel as if there should be a ladies tee box in life because you just happen to be a woman?   So, why would you treat a woman any different?

If you're going to insist on picking up the check at dinner, regardless of how she feels, then you should pick up the tab for you and your guy friends when you go out?  I mean why not?  They are your equal.  Why would you treat them any different?

Now, I am not saying that you shouldn't be prepared or expected to be that way, because not everyone has this outlook, but just don't discount that the girl in this equation may be a little less willing to be subjected to an outdated practice.

Start to realize that if you want to be taken seriously and seen as someone a girl would want to be with, then you need to be the kind of guy that she would want.  Not the kind of guy you think she needs.  Here's the thing.  Any man can be needed.  So can any woman.  But, if you are unique and treat a person the way they should be treated.  Then you may be the person they WANT.  Now, granted it may not be in the cards.  Sometimes chemistry is harder to figure out than anything else.  Just because you think you've put in the required amount of effort, doesn't mean you are the right man.  It just means you did what was expected.

Stay loose, too.  Don't get too uptight.  I learned this hard way. Luckily, you can take every failure and use it to become better.  And you should.  Don't think for a minute that the next time will be any different if you make the same mistakes.   Make all new ones.   Sooner or later you're going to start doing things right.  It will suck that those you consider to have been worth the extraordinary effort are not looking for that kind of relationship and you can get discouraged fairly easy.  

But above all, don't let stupidity be an influence.  Some friends may tell you that you should treat a woman poorly in order to get her on your side.  Well, that's plain dumb.  First of all, let's say it works.  Then what?  Are you going to continue acting like a douchebag?  Why?  What do you stand to gain?  And even if they are continually in bad relationships, why would you want to be the guy?  Be better.  Be so damn good you can't be ignored.   And if that's the kind of thing they are destined to attracted to, why would you want to be there?  Remember, would you want to be on that side of the equation?    How would you want to be treated?

Learn and apply.  Be better.  Be a real man.  Let your actions be what defines you and remember that it's not just about you.  But be true to yourself or suffer the continual compromise of that which makes you special.  Be extraordinary.  And if that's not what they want, walk away.  You'll never convince them and why would you bother?  If it's a test, don't take it.  If it's some kind of hoop that will prove your intentions.  Make them known and walk away.  Don't be where you're not wanted because all you will do is make matters worse.   It's OK to wanna fight for something you think is worth it, but you can't make fetch happen.   Don't chase.  Walk away.  You're better off. 

Click Click, Boom

You. 

Yes, you. 

I know you’re there. 

Of course you would come back, one last time.  You’re there, just at the foot of the shadows, close enough to see, but not be heard.   You couldn’t resist it.  You had to make sure there was no chance of survival, but I am still here.  And though I cannot see you out there, watching; your presence is felt, but don't feel sorry for me.

You fumed.  You boiled.  You raged against the restraints of your own design, because you thought you knew better.  You warned me and I didn’t listen.  I got in the path and paid the price.  But I survived the blast and you slunk off into the darkness.  But that wasn’t good enough.  You escaped only to come back and deal the final blow.   And as I knelt, gushing from my chest, you took one last swing just to make sure.  But don't feel sorry for me.

You built that cage, but who was it for?  Was it constructed to keep us out; the ones who sought to embrace the raw and awesome power of such a beautiful thing?  Or was it to keep you in, safe from your own monster.   I think that, locked away from your own existence after countless years of struggling to keep that beast in check, the hinges bent just enough to let something out.  You didn’t intend for it and it was the last thing you wanted, but it was almost inevitable.  It scared you enough to try and reinforce the door, but it was too late to stop it.  But don't feel sorry for me.

It’s much easier to keep something you think is so terrible locked away because you don’t have to witness the destruction and you don’t have to pick up the pieces when it goes ballistic and destroys everything in its path.   As long as it is under wraps nothing will go wrong.   We go about our business, blind to the power that bubbles just below the surface, because you know that time after time, there has been nothing but disaster left in its wake when it gets out.  It’s a wonder why it was ever created in the first place?

But what you don’t understand is that it didn’t have to be that way.   For every single ounce of rage, kept in that prison, there were twice as many in beauty and warmth.   And some may not know what it means to be in its presence.  It scares them.  But, I’ve seen it.  I felt it.  I know it was real, not just rumors told to me.  I hadn’t seen anything like it in so long that I went right towards it like a mosquito on the back porch heads towards a zapper.   And we all know how that ends for the bug.  But I didn’t care, because I thought I could control it.  I wanted to embrace it and see if I could harness it, because the same destructive force struggling to stay in your cage was slowly creeping out of mine.   

But you warned me.  Our mutually assured destruction was inevitable and I didn’t want to listen.  But you know what good lays inside those four walls and you can wield it like a master samurai.  I've seen it in practice. You choose not to.  Perhaps you’re scared to.  Perhaps you think that this will be the one time it turns on you and consumes you completely.   So, instead of it getting free, you chose the rage.  You chose to destroy, because it’s easier to just engulf those around you, leaving no traces, no chance for rebuttal.  But don't feel sorry for me.

I am destroyed.  I am here with a broken body, because I was wrong.   But while you will find some other prison to wall yourself up in, comfortable in the knowing that it’s safely away from those that wish to be in awe of what is truly there, behind the beast, I embrace mine.  I know its power and I know it’s meant to be free to influence and shape those around it.  It’s not a curse to have, it’s a gift.   It won’t be easy.  There will be times that I may not be able to control it and perhaps there will be the same destruction you left.  But you know as well as I do that there was a chance you were wrong;  that mutually assured destruction was not the outcome.  I showed you that.  In your life, you’ve seen how much others have taken advantage of that power and so maybe you think that it’s better to not ever go there, again.  Maybe someone out there has a better cage for it.   Maybe they’re better equipped.   Maybe they will just ignore it and you can go on about your business, silent and content in knowing that the monster is locked away from someone who could never fully appreciate it, but just wishes to keep it at bay.   

It’s the easy way out.  It’s lazy and you are so much stronger than that if only you’d look it right in its eyes.   There was another force willing to share in that burden.  It was there to temper yours, but you were too scared, or too far gone, and for that I feel sorry for you. 

Stealing Inspiration From a Dead Man

While I was in college, I spent a summer working at an amusement park in Ohio.   During that summer, I dated a few girls and left miserable.

I dated the first girl during the first couple weeks of the summer and it was a complete disaster because, well, it just was.  I mean how else do you explain someone who goes out to the bar with you, gets shit faced drunk, grinds all over another guy, then comes home with you to her room only to leave and go hot tubbing with guys in another building for the rest of the evening and into the morning?  

The second was at the end of the summer and I spent the bulk of the gap between those two swearing I would never ever date another girl from that particular room.  I even made a rule about it.   So, we spent the better part of that summer just being lunch buddies and friends and it never amounted to anything else until I was set to leave due to being sick with severe bronchitis.    As the news hit that I was leaving, I realized that she was interested and I asked, "Are you kidding me?  Why am I just finding this out now?"  She said, "Well, you were the one who made the stupid rule."

So, we went out once and it was the date I had been hoping for all summer long.   You see most people at the park called a good date getting completely drunk and hooking up with someone cute.   There was no sense of romantic ideals because you're only there for three months.  Why bother with romance or ideals?   And that led another girl to tell me that I would make a great husband one day.   No 21 year old male wants to hear that come from a woman of the same age, especially one they find attractive. 

When I got back to school, I felt that it would be appropriate, if not romantic, to write her and being the theater major I was, I sent her one of Shakespeare's sonnets in the letter.  Why?  Bitches love sonnets. 

What I didn't realize was that it was completely stupid to do this because for one, she had no clue about Shakespeare as far as I knew and two, I was basically going out to a book and looking for whatever applied to the situation or my feelings and copied it down.   I was leveraging the words of someone else to further my own intentions.   I was stealing inspiration.

If I truly, truly had a sense of romance, I would have come up with my own, but at 21, I was not that clever.  I was half the writer I am half of now and I lobbed a softball of sentiment towards the unsuspecting head of the intended recipient.

But as time has gone by, I've decided to lean on the poets and bards of history as a source of inspiration and citation and not as a spokesperson for my thoughts.   I am fully capable of saying the words that need to be said in the time that they should be spoken.   And one day I will. 

For I am the greater fool who is tired of making stupid rules and I am willing to bend the heavens to prove that ruination is not a permanent state.  I will get the paint to stick if I have to strip the surface of every layer of hate and loathing that has been applied by other tenants.

It's a work in progress... as am I.

Newton's 3rd Law of Conflicting Advice

Random people will dispense with advice about life, but for every nugget of wisdom there is an equal yet opposite saying.

So, which do you listen to?  Do you follow your heart, your gut, or your brain?

Well, never give up, but know when to quit, because absence makes the heart grow fonder when it’s out of sight and out of mind.     

Fools rush in where angels fear to tread, hastily making waste but throwing caution to the wind.  So, dive right in to the deep end early to get the worm.    

If you really love something, set it free.   If it comes back, it’s meant to be, but hold on tight with both hands because opportunity knocks but once.  Even if birds of a feather flock together, opposites do attract.  So, go out and get that stitch in time because all good things come to those who wait.

While too many cooks spoil the soup, many hands make light work for fools that seldom differ when great minds think alike.

Truth is, no one knows what the hell they’re doing.   They only know their own experiences and even then they could all be bad.  So, go out and take the bull by the horns but if you’re going to live by the sword, be prepared to die by it.   And don’t complain about walking in another man’s shoes because you were told not to judge a book by its cover even if it looks, walks, and quacks like a duck.

Live.  Laugh.  Love.  But if you have nothing nice to say, shut it.

Don’t let someone else dictate your path.  They don’t have to travel it.   Just don’t do it blindly…. Even if love and justice are.

I am a jack of all trades yet master of none and just remember, I told you so.

Rewind Replay Remember

You kids don’t know how easy you have it.  In my day, if we wanted to hear a song we loved, we had two choices: buy the album or record the song off the radio.

Buying the album was the easy way out, but we didn’t have the disposable income to go buy every album under the sun just because we liked one song.    Of course, that changed towards the end of the 80s when the “Cassingle” was introduced.  But had to be the song you wanted.  If it was buried towards the end of the album the chances were you would never get it in that format.  So, that leaves you with option two; record it.

Recording was a bitch, even with one touch recording.  If you had the time and tape, you could set up the radio to just record an hour’s worth of music and then just hope to find the song you liked.  Again, it had to have been released on the radio, but it was doable.  Problem was, most songs had incessant DJ chatter over the beginning or end of songs which usually took up the instrumental opening of most songs.  OR… they’d lower the volume of the song at the end and cut it short.  

Then, came mp3s and iPods and iTunes and YouTube.   Now, you can get to any song, any version, live or acoustic recordings, and even mash-ups all at the click of a mouse.  The precision timing of a record/stop movement on a boom box equipped with a TDK DNR 90 minute cassette is a lost art form.  Go ask your mom and dad and get off my lawn.

But to that point, did you ever have a song that you wore out with repeated replays?  Was there one song that forced you to break out the No. 2 pencil and do reconstructive surgery on the wheels of a Maxell or Memorex, because of continual rewind and replays, over an evening of dark sunglass brooding due to a case of heartbreak or unrequited love?

I remember setting up one tape to record every time I heard Bryan Adams’ “Everything I do”.  That way, I could just run through 30-45 minutes worth of Michael Kamen/Canadian Pop Rock God influenced cheese to fulfill my inner dork.  Eventually, I had one or two versions intact among all the DJ chatter and overlapping of other songs.    After a marathon session of gaming on my Apple IIC on a lonely Friday night, I’d set the boom box to just play that one tape and I’d slowly doze off into dreamland.   Of course, the harsh reality of the world would snap itself with the end of the tape and that distinctive “CLICK” of the end of the tape.

Other times, I’d just turn on the tapes and just relax, trying to focus on the music.   In a teenage state of constantly over analyzing the universe, I’d want to focus on every note and every word of a song.  Ultimately, my mind would drift off and I wouldn’t realize that the song was over and I missed it.  So, I’d reach up from my horizontal state, and with one finger, REWIND, REPLAY, and REMEMBER.

When I graduated high school, I found another song to replace Bryan Adams…  I already had the Robin Hood soundtrack on CD by then and could simply just choose “Repeat One” on my boom box.   So, the need to focus on capturing that one song was no longer an issue.   So, I obsessed on one song that sort of became my anthem of change.  It was an anthem of letting go.  It was the song I used in order to deal with life’s changes.  I was a freshman heading 600 miles to school, trying to find my way to an "Ordinary World".

Yes, roll your eyes, Internet.  Roll your eyes at the concept of an 18 year old male, stuck in love, and 600 miles away from his high school girlfriend, listening to an early 90s Duran Duran song on Cassingle.  The other songs were an acoustic version and Save a Prayer, by the way.  I wore that tape out so much that the cardboard sleeve disintegrated before Sophomore year.  My Walkman hated me for always piping that song through my foam covered earphones again and again as I rode my bike through the quiet campus in Myrtle Beach.   And when we broke up in 1995 and I would find myself wrapped like a cocoon in my dorm at Pitt, single and lonely, I’d reach up and click, with that one finger, rewind, and then replay.  It was so I could remember.

I heard it today on the Lite FM station, coming into work.   I wish I had a rewind button on the radio, but I didn’t.  I just tried to sit there and be absorbed in the,  now, 38 year old’s anthem for coming to grips with the world of change.  Slowly trying to get his life in order and learning to survive with all that has gone down.  I know I haven’t REALLY talked about it and it’s just not time yet.   There are things to consider.   People.   Privacy. 

But for now, I do what I can.   

Rewind.

Replay.

Remember.

And remind.

Comet

I give about as much credence to organized spirituality as I give to something like serendipity or fate.  It’s just how I am.   That being said, I have a hard time not seeing meaning in certain things.  For instance, the frequency with which a bright and shining object comes back into view, repeatedly, after the same period of years, has to be more than just a coincidence.  There has to be a reason why it happens.

At the age of 21, I didn't understand a lot of things.  I was a little over a year away from a disastrous relationship that challenged what I thought was real about the nature of the universe.  I was complaining that most interactions were flippant and lacked the stimulating nature I was seeking out.  I was not built for that kind of reckless abandon that was customary in that setting.   I wanted something deeper and meaningful.  I wanted something luminescent.  I wanted something not found in everyday life.

So, as I lamented my lack of luck, my coworker told me this story about a comet.   Now, I didn't give much credence to this story because after all, it's a comet.  It's like all the other comets in the universe, but he insisted this one was special.  He said it was probably the brightest, most beautiful, and coolest object that I would ever see my lifetime and that it was making its way back into view.   "Trust me, you'll love it."  Was what he said.  

Eventually, I forgot all about the story, and went on with my life.  I had found, what I thought was, a bright object of my own, but I didn't know it was false light.  As I was once again, in a state of despair, I was sitting in the darkness and something came out of nowhere.   It was the comet.  It was everything my friend said and much, much more.  I wanted to reach out grab a hold of that comet, but, it was an impossible feat, given my place in the universe at that particular time.   But, can you really catch a comet?
 
Unlikely.  It moves too fast.  It slips away too easily.  And you can't tell a comet to wait until you catch up, because even if you could speak in the awesomeness of the space that it occupies, your words would make no sound.  It doesn’t matter, anyways.  It’s a comet and doesn’t know what it is.  It has no concept of your admiration for it.  It wouldn't understand the words you would use to describe it.  It just tears up the skyline, blinding you from afar, giving you glimpses of what could be.  Even if you could reason with a comet, you're stuck where you're at and it's on its way through the universe.   And try as you might, to slip the surly bonds of Earth, you'd be lucky to see the comet still in view once you finally reach escape velocity.


Every so many years, that comet comes back.  You either spy it, or somehow it just shows up looking to be found.  For a brief moment, you can appreciate it from afar.  You may even think you can get close enough to finally catch it, but again, you're waiting for that rocket to break free and the comet is moving faster than you.   Always moving. 

Is it coincidence, or predestined path that will continually intersect with you?  How much time do you have before the comet disappears forever?  And does the comet care?  After all, it's a comet.  It's not made for this world.

Weddings and Toasts

Weddings are a polarizing subject, depending on who you speak to.   To the involved, it’s a lot of stress and work over a year or more boiled down to one day of joy or frustration.   The problem is you’ll only remember it if it goes wrong.  

To the bridal party, it’s an opportunity to really define the bonds of friendship.  How much of the bride can you take before you are no longer BFFs?   Let’s face it, grooms are easy.  If they’re awake, they’re fine.   

To the families, it becomes a testament to micromanagement and tolerance of one another.   The majority of the costs usually fall to the bride's family, while the groom's parents usually pick up the rehearsal dinner and bar tab at the reception.  Then there's little sniping back and forth about the seating arrangements.  Who is closest to the bar?  Who gets to the buffet first?  Can we put Uncle Wears-bib-overalls-to-a-funeral next to the snobs from their side of the family?  If you're lucky, the fathers won't be involved in fisticuffs before the cake gets cut.

And to the guests, it’s an excuse to get sloppy drunk at an open bar, to ridicule the people at the party to their date, and to possibly do stupid things all for the price of a gift no one will ever use and an afternoon dressed up in uncomfortable clothes which will undoubtedly be disheveled by the bridal dance.

But, you have to look beyond all these things, though, and find the magic.   You have to see the subtext.  You have to see the inner-workings of the process to understand how much hell you have to go through, just to make it to the point where you can give advice to future couples and not be full of shit.

That’s what I did over the weekend. 

It started out innocent enough.  My family travelled towards the middle of Pennsyltuckey for one of my best friend’s wedding.    We arrived on a Thursday night and stayed until Saturday.  We planned for minimal impact as I brought along a suit, a change of clothes and another backup shirt.   I was way ill prepared for the event.

Thursday night, my buddy stayed at the hotel, while his wife to be stayed at the house.  I decided to help him relax by taking him out for a few drinks with my Father-in-law.  We went to a little bar in Lewisburg called The Bull Run.  The night started out rather innocent.  We talked over beers and then it got interesting.   After a Blue Moon and two Smithwicks I decided to take up the karaoke microphone and serenade my brother in harms with Georgia Satellites’  “Keep Your Hands To Yourself”.  Not too bad.  Then a bunch of girls from Bucknell came in and it got even more interesting.   By the end of the night, I was completely trashed and singing, badly, “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy” to the coeds who turned out to be all together… like romantically.   It also didn’t help I was wearing a shirt that said, “Let’s get drunk and make some bad decisions.”

Let's Get Drunk and Make Bad Decisions

Friday, feeling not too bad, we went to the wedding in full suits.  It was outdoors and just hot and humid enough to melt.  My daughter was dying of thirst and proclaimed that “I am so thirsty that I hope it rains so I can drink it and cool off.”

It poured from the beginning of the four minute ceremony until the end.  Well played, universe.

Now, the typical person would look at this event and see an unmitigated disaster.  All the planning, all the stress, all the work, all gone in an instant with a deluge of water.  The superstitious person would take this as a good sign.  I took it as a chance for this couple to remember their wedding day forever.  And I told the bride, “You know that thing you worry about happening on your wedding day?  That thing that could ruin it all.   Well, that was it.  That is the worst thing that will happen today, I guarantee it.  And you know what?  It wasn’t that bad.   We got through the wedding in four minutes, you’re married, and no one is hot anymore.”  

I forgot about the fact that none of us were going to be able to wear these clothes to the reception, unfortunately.  There was one guest laundry facility in the hotel and it was being used.  So, I ended up wearing the shirt from the night before and jeans, because it was the cleanest change of clothes I had to wear.

So, there I am in jeans and a t-shirt, seated at a wedding alongside people in suits.  Worse yet,  I was the best man and had to give a toast.  A toast I worked very hard on writing and was typed up,  printed out, folded in quarters, and nestled snuggly in my suit coat pocket.   It was a horrible mess and disintegrated in my hands.   But I used that.  I used that and the fact that I was now dressed in street clothes to get my point across.  I love these people, dearly, and it was probably the easiest speech I ever gave from memory.  

I stood up and immediately acknowledged what happened to my clothes and pulled out the sopping mess of a speech to great laughs.   The audience was mine.   I spoke about how I had known the groom for 17 years and how he never took my advice about anything.  His past relationships came up, playfully mind you, and without malice.  Then I mentioned how the first meeting with his bride, during a vacation, immediately resulted in acceptance and love from complete strangers.  She was, in fact, the perfect person for him.  He had finally taken my advice.  Then, a cell phone went off, saving me at a transitional dead end.  It was the familiar ringtone of the Theme From The Godfather, emanating from a friend who everyone knew and I used that to my advantage to bring back the crowd.   I then proceeded to give the following advice to the couple.

1. Communicate.  I don't mean talk to each other.  I mean listen.  Tell each other what you want.  Share your hopes, thoughts, fears, everything.  Don't expect each other to guess or automatically know.  That's years down the road.  You guys are still only three years into your relationship.  You have a lot to learn about each other.
   
   
2. Fight.  I don't mean physically, mind you.  There is nothing that could be more detrimental to your longevity than giving up on something just because you don't care.  Whether it's an argument over paint colors or money or the future of your marriage. If you are passionate about it, you need to defend that.  Exhaust all possibilities or you will set up a pattern of abuse that will erode your individuality and integrity and resentment will creep in quickly.
   
   
3. Don't Get Comfortable.  Marriage is not about reinventing the wheel.   After a year or two, you'll get into a rhythm and things will become automatic.  You may not even notice it.  It's gets boring and stagnated and eventually you start to just ignore each other because you think that being married means never being alone.  Always stay on edge and on top of things.
   
   
4. Have Fun.  Don't be afraid to do stupid things every once in awhile.  Get out of your comfort zone and fail.  Be spontaneous. I just had my 20 year reunion last weekend and this couple who graduated in 1951, crashed it.  This 87 year old guy was out dancing with a bunch of 38 year old women and he basically owned the joint.  His date , who he had reconnected with after 60 years, told me "He loves to just have fun.  That's what you gotta do.  You gotta have fun."  They had separate rooms that night, but I think only one got used.

Every word was true.   I spoke from experience.  I spoke from failure.  I spoke from the heart.  I can only hope they remember it as much as they do their wedding.