I now have my laptop back which roxors for a number of reasons. To begin with it means that I will be able to sit on the couch and type on my blog and babble and google random pieces of information as TV makes them "relevant" to my life and existence. It also means that Katie and I can start some sort of laptop war, a game I have not yet involved rules for, but which I feel simply must be played when two people sitting on the same couch are each hacking away on their personal computadora. Regardless, things are back on track. So some brief props to CompUSA for fixing my laptop in reasonably efficient fashion and returning it to me without wiping the harddrive, even though you tried to get me to back it up for like 70 dollars, which is I believe the computer equivalent of a transmission flush, which my mechanic assures me is the automotive equivalent of your doctor telling you it wouldn't hurt to take a quick enema at a charge of 200 bucks, not covered by your insurance, when you came in to get your cast removed. Irregardless.
I believe our story left off in Rosemount. My brother came in Friday night, I saw him only very briefly, but we had scheduled to have lunch that Saturday with all the ninos, the relevant significant autres, and mi padre. My dad had been playing golf, but my sister stopped by around 12:00, and the lot of us went to McDivot's. I like McDivot's, though I don't have quite the attachment to it my dad has always seemed to harbor. I guess it is pretty much the closest thing possible to his house and if one did not have to drive directly past the fucking popo to get back home, it would be kinda sweet. Not that my dad is going to do anything besides a little speeding that would make him weery of the policiaca, but its still a little disheartening. We ate and hung out, caught up with my dad. He has some interesting plans and ideas, stuff I think is not a surprising reaction to the divorce situation. For the most part it is work things, including applying for a job with the UN prosecuting war crimes in the former Yugoslavia, which is one of the few times my dad and I end up even remotely near each other in questions of international relations. I guess its not surprising that my dad, who loved his job in the first place and went back to school in an enormously difficult environment just to get it, would put even more energy into his practice with alll his kids late in college and living on his own. We talked Pack football and are trying to work out a situation whereby I could make it to a Monday night game, but we shall have to see.
Then we had to rush around and do a couple errands, picking up cigarettes for my bro, wrapping paper and a hairbrush for Katie. We made it back to the house 2:30 ish and needed to leave sometime around 4:00 to get to the wedding on time. My brother was actually the only person who wasn't on top of the timing of the situation, since Katie, Melia, and I were in the car at 5 minutes till 4. We had to pick up Wilking and Jen, since we were trying to minimize the cars going into St. Paul and hence minimize the drivers. That meant my brother and Melia got to share the backseat with the stead-bomb and Jen-ification. It was the latter of these two individuals who was forced to sit aboard the lap of the former, and let me tell you the intense amusement it provided for all of us except the woman whose butt was positioned in exactly the relation to Wilking you do not want your butt positioned. That is true even in the situation which someone may not always mind some Wilk-related butt attention, (Jen, Nikki, Andy, I'm looking at you), you just don't want that going on in front of a crowd while your head is smashed against the ceiling so profusely burned by one APK on your way to a wedding.
The wedding itself was to be held at Macalester's Weyerhouser Memorial Chapel, a place I believe I have entered more times since graduating from Macalester then I ever did while attending. I guess that is not surprsing given that the chapel is primarily an experimental theater facility with an altar, but thats neither here nor anywhere fucking else. It was neat to see the different possibilities for using what is really a fantastic space, much warmer and much more intimate than a traditional forward facing facility like St. Joes. Even modifications of what I conceive as traditional church design really can't capture the near circularity that is in question here. Anyway, there were some ceremony notes worth mentioning, including but certainly not limited to: Moody was a groomsperson and not only has that motherfucker started to look way and way better with every passing week, but he had it going on in the tux-sweet-o as well. Lives up to its name in his case. The other surprising attendant related question was the existence of Ms. Nga Chiem, which was throroughly surprising to me. I guess I can't or shouldn't say that its surprising in any way that Nga was either there or involved in the whole dilly, but to be honest I just haven't given Nga a second of thought since high school. Thinking back on it I am pretty sure that I was a dick to her in high school, but since I was fundamentally just a dick for alot of high school, its not a surprise.
I can only think of one Nga story off hand, it didn't really involve me, I'm pretty sure that it borderd on offensive and the person in question receives enough abuse by me in this here blog. Anyway, lets just say we weren't the best of friends. I'm pretty sure Nga hasn't given any consideration to the existene of any of us since the day we graduated. Anyway I was surprised to see her. No one from our table talked to her, I don't know if she had any convos with Cort, Joe, etc. from the debate community. I barely saw her at the reception, but to be honest there were some mitigating factors. I should also note that I have no idea what kind of person Nga is, if she parties, if she spent more of the evening in the bathroom doing blow, or maybe she is secretly involved with the Dobs. We were near or on the dancefloor at pretty much all points when we were not at the bar so not seeing her there suggests no on the party front, but since the women's bathroom was way down on the first floor and the Dobs was no where in sight, I can't rule out any of those possibilities.
The reception was over at the University Club downtown, a beautiful classic St. Paul joint. Katie and I had looked at the website and I think most people who focus on St. Paul extravaganzas do, but I had never actually been there. The floor they were working on had a bar-loungey place and the ballroom. The bar was classic Dillenger area St Pizzle, with dark wood everywhere and, most importantly, free Summit baby. We pounded a couple back in the bar before dinner and moved in there before anything started. I doubt most of the people there were tetotaling, but it seemed that Table 7 was representing in the alchohol zone like no one else. We grabbed a set of drinks and sat down, munched our salad and bread and shit, ate dinner, which was very tasty, drank some wine, and ate some cake, which roxored. At some point Andy said we should slam a glass of wine, I had already decided to get as hammered as reasoably possible without destroying anything around me, so I agreed. Andy went electro-weak style on the bit and did not slam his glass of wine unless I put another one down. Katie then recruited me to pound something else down in order to get Andy to eat some flowers or something stupid along those lines, which we probably could have just watied for his intoxication later and gotten for free, but whatev. By the time we reached the cake I was fairly far along in the world of non-sobriety. We had to pull some techniques to make sure both Katie and I got the cake variety which was necssary, but the choco-sweets came strong.
There were some neat things that James and Cassie did at the reception. There was a little digital slide show with pictures of Jimmy and the Cassinator as children. I could have told you, from my experiences with James since my first year in highschool, that he hasn't changed much, facially, follically (relating to hair, which may not be a word, but is cool), but it was funny to see exactly how long that had been in existence. Katie's estimate was that James became James around age 3, but my guess is that he had the same part before he even heard the first verse of Baby Beluga. Cassie surprisingly did not look that much like she does now and I probably couldn't tell you which of the Doll-sisters was which, if I didn't know their respective ages. James said some nice words on behalf of the couple. There was a Macalester picture taken, I believe I knew James, Katie, and Joel, out of the whole bunch and at least one person insinuated that I did not go to Mac. Not unreasonable I suppose.
You will notice that my level of detail drops dramatically as the evening progresses. I think this can be pretty safely linked to the fact that I somehow spent about 15 dollars at an open bar. Since I know for a fact that I got more than one Summit on several of those trips I will avoid estimating how many drinks were involved. We talked with Cort and Carol and Joe and Lynn and Pete and Meg for a good long while, making fun of old debate weirdos who are no longer involved with the activity, good times style. Joe and Lynn left somewhat early, but I suppose that having a kid sort of makes that understandable. Cort and Carol partied hardy however as they have done at each of the three weddings I have attended with them. We did some dancing, we did some sitting. Katie managed to dance with almost everyone she wanted to dance with, including a very memorable one with my brother which involved country line dance style galloping to "Boot-Scootin Boogie", a talent I was not aware that he possessed. Anyway, it was good good times the whole night long.
I missed having the Sanj there and Pete and I were discussing that the last several weddings have made us strongly associate a wedding reception with an opportunity to hang out with TLT (she's dynomite). Overall, out of 5 stars, I give James and Cassie's wedding a "supergreat." Good times, St. Paul beer, and good peeps. Congratulations to the newlyweds (who probably are not reading this because they are still in fucking Paris those lucky ass fuckwhores), a long and happy life to you both. James and Cassie Hart. I'll get that down, I swear, even though I think they should have gone with Doll-Hart just for the kitsch baby. Since I have no obligations external to the home manana, I hope to update again. We've got my mom's house, Karly's concert, and the phat Thai restaurant coming up next time on "Shitty I Babble About."
Peace,
MB-K
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