What if They Threw a Wedding and Nobody Came?

Anyone who knows me realizes I'm not big on formality (an understatement of epic proportions). Nevertheless, my bride to be wanted a traditional wedding so we had one-- for the most part. Money was tight so there were some oddities on the way, but it was traditional enough.

One thing, however, horrified my mother. We didn't send out invitations. We didn't see the point in spending that money (this was before the internet; you couldn't simply invite everyone via a Facebook page or email). It was all in person or over the phone.

Mom did her best. Her final argument, her trump card, should (in her mind) have forced my hand.

"You realize your grandmother will never come without a formal invitation."

"She loves me. She'll come." (She came and never said a word about an invitation.)

Her frustration now at critical mass, a second motivation beyond Mom's simple love of all things formal slipped out. "All these years, I've sent hundreds of gifts to all our relatives and friends when their kids got married. It's time we got some back." This was so foreign to who I am that to this day I'm still not sure how I kept a straight face or what I said.

(In Mom's defense, she grew up dirt poor on the wrong side of the tracks in Selma, Alabama during the depression so propriety and formality went hand in hand with respect. I understood her viewpoint; Sharon and I simply saw things differently.)

But I digress (surprise!). Suffice it to say that though we kept it simple and inexpensive it was traditional, and we planned it. Nothing was left to chance.

Most people plan weddings. It may be traditional or non-traditional, but weddings tend to be planned. Nobody simply throws a wedding.

Nobody except Stefanie McLin and Matthew Monk. They threw a wedding.

There was a modicum of planning. I think the groom's mens' shirts matched. Their pants were all somewhere vaguely in the neighborhood of brown. The bridesmaids wore purplish dresses, varying from shiny, purple party dresses to a white sun dress with little purple flowers. Matt and Stef worked out with the pastor what the service and vows would be. They picked out flowers. Other than that they simply threw a wedding.

The facebook invite included the following items over the course of a few weeks (from memory, not verbatim, but all true):

• Invite anyone you like, whether we know them or not. Everyone is welcome.
• Who can help set up? There should be some sort of an aisle to walk down, and some chairs would be nice.
• Pot luck reception; it would be great if everyone posted here what you're bringing (very few did)

Questions the invitees asked included:

• Exactly where (in this 351 acre park) is it?
• How should we dress? (answer I found out Stefanie had given at her shower: "Wear whatever you want. You might want to play in the creek or go kayaking afterward.")

Someone sat up on the rocks above where chairs and blankets were set up (with two, 15 foot ribbons marking the aisle) and played guitar and sang until the wedding started. The parties walked in more or less like in any wedding, but a lot more relaxed, pretty much at their own paces.

Dogs wandered through. Nobody cared.

It was Will Bibee's first wedding. You have to know Will; this is a pastor who's been known to bring a rubber chicken to church to make sure people don't get too religious. The dude is chill. But he was just nervous enough to ask. "Who gives this man to this woman?" (I went with it. "I do!" but I don't think anyone heard over the laughter.) Will stopped in the middle to tell some funny stories about Matt and Stef. He referenced the whole thing as a hippie wedding (it was, but the drug of choice was the love of God).

Everyone then carried their chairs and blankets a good hundred and fifty yards to where the tables were set up for the reception.

Nobody really knew what would be there. Nobody cared.

As we set the food out Sharon realized there were no cups. A total pot luck, and the only thing missing was cups? Awesome! I drove to the store and bought cups. When I returned, I found someone had showed up with cups right after I left (we brought lots of cups home; if you throw a wedding soon I can bring cups!) We ran out of meat just before the last half dozen people got their plates; more meat showed up two minutes later. We had plenty of everything.

Even cake... and they had not planned a wedding cake. There was cake left over.

Several people showed up late, missing the ceremony entirely (most because they were part of a conference this morning). Nobody cared.

If you like gala performances and spending what could have been a down payment on your house for a big party, a dress you'll wear once, and rented tuxedos, that's fine. Go with what works for you. But I highly recommend throwing a wedding. If you can go with no expectations, just being with friends and family and having a good time, it will be a blast.

God doesn't care. The state doesn't care. You don't have to care.

I've known JP weddings that resulted in wonderful lifetime marriages. Then there's all the money and media attention Charles and Diana had, and we know how well that worked out. Our culture has bought into this lie we have to spend a ton of money and have a fancy ceremony to have a wedding. All you really need is two people committing to one another, and hopefully some form of family and community to celebrate with you and support you. Everything else is optional.

"But what if I threw a wedding and nobody came through?"

Ah, but what if they did? That would be something, wouldn't it?

It was.

And When I Die... When I'm Dead, Dead and Gone

I've meant to write this up for a while. Thanks to Caryn Werner for inspiring me to just do it!

Most funerals annoy me. Funerals are supposed to be for the living, but so many are depressing. I'm not saying everyone needs to have a funeral like I want mine to be... well, maybe I am!

I think the Irish (among others) were on the right track with a wake, a party. Not getting drunk, per se, but just having a party, celebrating the good times, the memories, the things that mattered about a person. Laughing at their foibles. Stuff like that.

Rather than focusing on the fact they're physically gone, focus on who they were and what they meant-- and mean to you. Let them live in, with, and through you!

I need to update the list of what I want at my funeral. Sharon knows some things, but the details change.

1. No black, unless you're really old or a goth or something. Everyone else wearing dark or boring clothes gets handed a bright tee shirt at the door they have to wear over their other clothes. Best to wear tie dye, Hawaiian shirts, etc. Bathing suits are fine. For all I care, show up in your birthday suit, but that might be more hassle than it's worth; this is an all ages event.
2. If you walk around with a sad face, prepare to get hugged, tickled, pranked, or told funny stuff.
3. Everyone should leave with something of mine that means something to them. There is to be no actual fighting over things like the Darth Vader Mr Potato Head, but if multiple people want something contests are encouraged. This can be anything from a game of cards to a backward skipping race to a duel with fun noodles (impartial judges shall decide the victor, or an objective rule such as whoever's noodle is biggest after a one minute match shall apply). All parties must agree to the terms beforehand.
4. Everyone has to play spoons, the Mad Magazine board game, or something else fun and rowdy, for at least 15 minutes. Farting contests count.
5. There will be music, and it will be neither solemn nor sad. Sharon has input on the music, but I don't want more than two classic hymns. Petra's _Graverobber_ must be played. There should be at least one live band or singer/guitarist, etc... the more the merrier.
6. Unless forbidden by law (and maybe even then) there must be fireworks.
7. Food! Including Chuys. And good coffee. And desserts.
8. Side parties at a shooting range are encouraged.
9. A bonfire really wants to participate.
10. Hugs. Everyone gets lots and lots of hugs.
11. Crying and laughing are both encouraged.
12. Share your stories!

Ideally, there would be a life size cutout of me somewhere, thumbing my nose at Microsoft, big government, and bad food.

I would prefer to be cremated since the state frowns on using human remains to fertilize the flowers. Preferably in a cheap pine box. Spare no expense-- but not for my dead flesh. Go as cheaply as possible there, and spend the money on those who need it. Some of it should go to Albania.

Afterward, everyone should go hug 6th Street, Albania, Muslims, someone who needs it.

If you must have a memorial, it should have a roadkill symbol.

God willing, this is a long ways off (I fully expect to see you all at my 111th birthday party under the Party Tree!), but I think you ought to know what to expect.

That Door Swings Both Ways

Whichever side you are on, remember when you are arguing for additional powers for the government that those same powers will be available to the other side when they come back into office. Think about the worst abuses they could commit. Is that what you want?

The dangers you can unleash this way may be a hundred times worse than the danger you think these are the answer for. There are good reasons the founding fathers limited the power of the federal government, and instituted checks and balances. The more we do away with those limitations and checks and balances the more we will regret it.

What If They Held a Kangaroo Court and Nobody Cared?

This morning the fact that Lance Armstrong had quit fighting the USADA inquisition and been stripped of his titles was all over the news. Someone being interviewed opined that clearly he was guilty or he would never have backed down.

"Clearly," I thought. Clearly the interviewee has never been subjected to the level of absurdity, harassment and manipulation Lance and his family have been facing. Lance has always had a good reputation here in Austin, and I've never heard anything that sounded like a valid reason to go after him.

Just another media circus and attack by those who feel victimized by circumstances. Unless proven otherwise. That's been my take on it all along. Sadly, our country has taken the basis for our justice system-- innocent until proven guilty-- and stood it on its head. "Guilty until proven innocent, and maybe even then."

So I wasn't the least bit surprised to find that Lance has released a statement explaining that, indeed, the whole thing is a kangaroo court (and not even a legitimate one), and that he doesn't care what the people running it think.

Good for you, Lance. I'm gonna go buy some Live Strong bracelets and give them away.

Read Lance's statement here.

Gabby Douglas, You Rock

Gabby, you rock. You're awesome. Whether you get gold or not.

However you want to do your hair is perfect. Whatever you choose to wear is great (and you have totally rocked those outfits). Anyone who thinks the Olympics is about the color of an outfit is loco.

Ignore the people who criticize such things. Their words say a lot about them... and nothing about you.

I have heard a lot of people, both with my own ears and via social media, talk about you. Everyone loves you, respects you, is awed by your accomplishments, and thinks you are doing a great job both as yourself, and representing the USA.

As far as I'm concerned, you could wear a Chinese outfit, You'd still rock, and I'd still be both grateful and proud you are representing me.

Thanks to you, and to everyone competing on behalf of the USA.

Poo on No Poo?

Over the course of a few months, three bloggers I follow all discussed using baking soda instead of shampoo and vinegar instead of conditioner. As I read the sources they referred me to I found confusing-- even confused-- advice.

For starters, nobody really seems to agree on the ratio of water to vinegar. I saw everything from 6:1 to 1 cup:1 tbsp (16:1) to no vinegar at all (divide by zero error).

Next, there was disagreement on how to use them, including some impossible instructions.

1. Use baking soda only on the scalp, and vinegar only on the tips of the hair. I don't see how this is going to work if you have more than three hairs per square inch of scalp, at which point I would just shave my head. I guess if your hair is long enough, you can effectively reach this goal...
2. Use baking soda on the scalp and hair, but vinegar only on the hair ends.
3. Use baking soda only on the scalp and vinegar on the hair.

So... which is it, and why?

But my absolute favorite advice was to never get both on your hair at the same time. "This would be really bad." OK... why is that? Because you once saw a fake volcano made with these ingredients? Are they afraid of the carbonic acid created? Vinegar is already acidic, and in any event, the carbonic acid immediately breaks down into carbon dioxide and sodium acetate (which is safe for human consumption).

Meanwhile, I'm in that inbetween place some people hit while their hair adapts to a new regimen. Since I have longish (2" to 6" depending on where on the head) hair and can't really get away with Snape hair, I use a small amount of shampoo (just on the hair!) every 2-3 days.

So... can anyone point me to something definitive on this stuff? If I can't get away from shampoo as a cheater step soon, I'll probably give up and go back to using post-industrial waste on my hair. Someone help me!

Angry Foods

I woke up in the middle of the night, and this artichoke was standing on my lips with a tiny six shooter pointed up my left nostril... I started to ask what was going on but he (He? She? How do you sex an artichoke???) cocked the trigger and said, "Don't even think about moving those lips, bud."

Thankfully s/he couldn't hear my thoughts, but my lips froze despite what I was thinking. Those beady eyes (I thought only potatoes had eyes) just stared at me a moment. Finally, the artichoke moved up onto that bit of skin between the lips and nose. "OK, talk."

Now that I was allowed to, I had no idea what to say. I hadn't done drugs since college, thirty five years ago. I don't drink. So why was there an artichoke on my face? With a gun? I decided to start there.

"Why are you standing on my face with a pistol in my nostril?"

"I'm impressed. You didn't just go, 'Oh, my! A talking artichoke!'

"I'm here because you listened to your parents and ate all your vegetables. I'm here because you sometimes order vegetarian meals. I'm here because when you were in Europe, you decided you enjoyed eating artichokes, and now eat them every chance you get."

By now s/he was squinting like Clint Eastwood.

"I'm here because you ate my family-- my wife, the one after her, the one after her, and the one after her. And my parents, my grandparents, my great grandparents, my siblings, my aunts and uncles, my cousins, my kids, my grandkids, and my great grandkids.

"So, in the words of a boy named Sue, 'Now you're gonna die!'"

As you can imagine, I was sweating up a storm. Sue (I thought of the artichoke as a him with a her name at this point) was scary. There was no anger. No rage. No fury. Just a matter of fact intensity.

"What kind of gun is that?"

If Sue had eyebrows, he'd have raised one. "Really? I'm about to shoot you and all you want to ask about is the caliber of my weapon?"

"Look, please... I had no idea!"

"Ignorance is no excuse."

"I have a family!"

"I had a family. You ate them."

"Come on, please! Have a heart!"

"Sorry. You ate that, too."

There was a bright flash and a loud noise...

I had a slight nosebleed.

"Maybe," I said, "you should have worried about the caliber."

I almost broke a tooth on that stupid pistol.

The heart's the best part, but the rest is still tasty.

Dedicated to Mary Tabata; this one's more or less her fault.