7/7/07
Recent newlyweds are slitting their matrimonial wrists because they didn't wait til today, 07/07/07, to get married.
Happily, a co-worker was forward-thinking enough to snag the 'most wedding-heavy day in American history.' And it was the first wedding I've ever been to that required an intermission.
First off, he's Italian (and apparently a bit Jewish, but that claim might be specious). And she's Dominican. And, for the record, I'm Irish-Native American, but mostly Southern. Southern weddings tend to stretch for a few hours or so, from the walk down the aisle to the newlyweds diving into the get-a-way car. Receptions, in my limited experience, are usually quick affairs consisting of a buffet, some non-alcoholic champagne (the real liquor is usually in the parking lot with the bride's cousin Dave--as is the real weed). Not all Southern weddings are for teetotalers, of course--open bars are not unheard of, and the South did practically INVENT most major brands of booze.
But usually, whenever I get suckered into a wedding in the South, there's a buffet, and the Sacred Ceremony is the main attraction.
The wedding today? Most everyone skipped the 15 minute 'I do' thing and showed up for the reception.
First off, as I said, Anthony is Italian. And being Italian comes with its own set of... I wouldn't say 'stereotypes,' but, I assume 'social pre-sets' isn't too weak a phrase. His bride, Thencasti (I hope that's how it is spelled--the name always makes me think of witchcraft and mystery, for some reason), is Dominican. Which has a totally different set of social pre-sets. Both the Italian and the Dominican pre-sets are that they know how to throw a wedding, they know how to have a family, and they know how to party.
Btw, I apparently got the White-Boy pre-set rather than the Gay-Boy pre-set: being around people who are dancing furiously makes me nervous because I'm terrified I'm going to make eye-contact with someone who wants me to join in the dancing. The very idea of dancing makes me break out into hives.
Anyway. So. My boss picked me up around 11.30ish this AM, on one of the hottest, sunniest days so far this summer, and we drove into the Bronx. I didn't know it, but my boss was already stoned (and I found out that he was stoned because, later, at the reception, he shouted at me over the music, 'I didn't smoke enough weed for this!'). We sat outside, where there were a handful of spectators to watch Anthony and Thencasti tie the tie that binds, and the sun was unrelenting, and I think I started hallucinating because over the fence of the restaurant, during the ceremony, I could've sworn that an elderly woman with large hair stated hanging out her unmentionables on the balcony of her 2nd floor apartment, directly behind the happy couple.
And I'm pretty sure she was talking to a penguin.
Anyway, after the ceremony, we were ushered first into, then out of, the air-conditioned space of the restaurant. We were ushered out onto a patio, where a long table had been set up, heavy with food. Ah, I thought, the familiar buffet.
Except it wasn't. My boss explained to me that it was 'Cocktail Hour.'
No sign of the bride and the groom. A lot of people milling about in the hot sun.
Cocktail HOUR, I thought. With all that food, this is just cocktails?
And yes. It was. It was both cocktails, and an hour.
We eventually made our way back in to the restaurant, and found our assigned seat. Sat. No bride, no groom, just a lot more people at 9 or 10 separate tables, and the tables were fully dressed with 4 different glasses (one of which had pre-poured champagne in it) and... waiters came out, set plates before us, and huge dishes of pasta--two different kinds--were set on racks in the center of each table. There were 5 or 6 others at our table, and we each, in turn, spooned heaps of pasta onto our plates while a DJ played 1950s tunes.
At some point, the bride and groom made the formal entrance, and we were told to rise (we rose and sat more than members of a Catholic Christmas Mass--which was good because we needed to do SOMEthing to work off all the food). Then we sat, and ate, and suddenly the DJ declared it was time to DANCE--so there was dancing. Lots of dancing. Great dancing--Thencasti's family could get down, and I suddenly missed my own family, none of whom can get down in the strictest sense of the term. They can get in traction, of course, but not really 'down.' It was great fun watching her aunts and uncles and, god, her mother in thin heels, shake it down to the music (which moved swiftly from 1950s style to reggaeton. Reggaeton, the bane of Greg's and my existence since moving here, destroying our sleep, destroying quiet moments of reflection.... Reggaeton is the music that kept us awake when we lived over the bar on 106th St, and reggaeton is the music that our upstairs neighbors blasted at all hours when we moved here. Seeing the dancing that goes with the music tho, I gotta say: if I could get into music that much, I'd blast it all the time too).
So, I'd assumed the pasta was the main course--not because it was a main course, really, but because there was sooooo much of it. I expected either desert, or the cutting of the cake, and then my boss and I'd be off.
I was wrong.
After our dishes were cleared, a salad was brought out.
We're two courses in already, and just NOW being served a salad.
That's when I realized it was gonna be a long haul.
(cont'd)
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Happily, a co-worker was forward-thinking enough to snag the 'most wedding-heavy day in American history.' And it was the first wedding I've ever been to that required an intermission.
First off, he's Italian (and apparently a bit Jewish, but that claim might be specious). And she's Dominican. And, for the record, I'm Irish-Native American, but mostly Southern. Southern weddings tend to stretch for a few hours or so, from the walk down the aisle to the newlyweds diving into the get-a-way car. Receptions, in my limited experience, are usually quick affairs consisting of a buffet, some non-alcoholic champagne (the real liquor is usually in the parking lot with the bride's cousin Dave--as is the real weed). Not all Southern weddings are for teetotalers, of course--open bars are not unheard of, and the South did practically INVENT most major brands of booze.
But usually, whenever I get suckered into a wedding in the South, there's a buffet, and the Sacred Ceremony is the main attraction.
The wedding today? Most everyone skipped the 15 minute 'I do' thing and showed up for the reception.
First off, as I said, Anthony is Italian. And being Italian comes with its own set of... I wouldn't say 'stereotypes,' but, I assume 'social pre-sets' isn't too weak a phrase. His bride, Thencasti (I hope that's how it is spelled--the name always makes me think of witchcraft and mystery, for some reason), is Dominican. Which has a totally different set of social pre-sets. Both the Italian and the Dominican pre-sets are that they know how to throw a wedding, they know how to have a family, and they know how to party.
Btw, I apparently got the White-Boy pre-set rather than the Gay-Boy pre-set: being around people who are dancing furiously makes me nervous because I'm terrified I'm going to make eye-contact with someone who wants me to join in the dancing. The very idea of dancing makes me break out into hives.
Anyway. So. My boss picked me up around 11.30ish this AM, on one of the hottest, sunniest days so far this summer, and we drove into the Bronx. I didn't know it, but my boss was already stoned (and I found out that he was stoned because, later, at the reception, he shouted at me over the music, 'I didn't smoke enough weed for this!'). We sat outside, where there were a handful of spectators to watch Anthony and Thencasti tie the tie that binds, and the sun was unrelenting, and I think I started hallucinating because over the fence of the restaurant, during the ceremony, I could've sworn that an elderly woman with large hair stated hanging out her unmentionables on the balcony of her 2nd floor apartment, directly behind the happy couple.
And I'm pretty sure she was talking to a penguin.
Anyway, after the ceremony, we were ushered first into, then out of, the air-conditioned space of the restaurant. We were ushered out onto a patio, where a long table had been set up, heavy with food. Ah, I thought, the familiar buffet.
Except it wasn't. My boss explained to me that it was 'Cocktail Hour.'
No sign of the bride and the groom. A lot of people milling about in the hot sun.
Cocktail HOUR, I thought. With all that food, this is just cocktails?
And yes. It was. It was both cocktails, and an hour.
We eventually made our way back in to the restaurant, and found our assigned seat. Sat. No bride, no groom, just a lot more people at 9 or 10 separate tables, and the tables were fully dressed with 4 different glasses (one of which had pre-poured champagne in it) and... waiters came out, set plates before us, and huge dishes of pasta--two different kinds--were set on racks in the center of each table. There were 5 or 6 others at our table, and we each, in turn, spooned heaps of pasta onto our plates while a DJ played 1950s tunes.
At some point, the bride and groom made the formal entrance, and we were told to rise (we rose and sat more than members of a Catholic Christmas Mass--which was good because we needed to do SOMEthing to work off all the food). Then we sat, and ate, and suddenly the DJ declared it was time to DANCE--so there was dancing. Lots of dancing. Great dancing--Thencasti's family could get down, and I suddenly missed my own family, none of whom can get down in the strictest sense of the term. They can get in traction, of course, but not really 'down.' It was great fun watching her aunts and uncles and, god, her mother in thin heels, shake it down to the music (which moved swiftly from 1950s style to reggaeton. Reggaeton, the bane of Greg's and my existence since moving here, destroying our sleep, destroying quiet moments of reflection.... Reggaeton is the music that kept us awake when we lived over the bar on 106th St, and reggaeton is the music that our upstairs neighbors blasted at all hours when we moved here. Seeing the dancing that goes with the music tho, I gotta say: if I could get into music that much, I'd blast it all the time too).
So, I'd assumed the pasta was the main course--not because it was a main course, really, but because there was sooooo much of it. I expected either desert, or the cutting of the cake, and then my boss and I'd be off.
I was wrong.
After our dishes were cleared, a salad was brought out.
We're two courses in already, and just NOW being served a salad.
That's when I realized it was gonna be a long haul.
(cont'd)
Read more >> Options >>