Total Drek

Or, the thoughts of several frustrated intellectuals on Sociology, Gaming, Science, Politics, Science Fiction, Religion, and whatever the hell else strikes their fancy. There is absolutely no reason why you should read this blog. None. Seriously. Go hit your back button. It's up in the upper left-hand corner of your browser... it says "Back." Don't say we didn't warn you.

Tuesday, October 19, 2004


I had the opportunity yesterday to speak with my sister. Mixed in with the ranting about the Sociology-Lite one of her instructors has been spouting (she's pursuing a master's degree in geography) and chit-chat about her new house, she let me know what my fate is to be at her marriage. See, she's getting married to a former British sailor (You may as well let out your breath, I'm serious. There's no punchline coming) in January and there has recently been some discussion that I might be tapped as best man.

This has, fortunately, proven to not be the case. My future brother-in-law has managed to secure the assistance of an old and dear friend from the U.K. for this task. So, while I will be expected to stand in the wedding as a Groom's Man, and I am honored by this, I won't have to be THE Groom's Man.

I am, frankly, grateful. Partly, this is because even though I like the groom I don't really know him well. As such, I'd feel kinda sorry for the poor bastard. It isn't enough that he has to spend the rest of his life living with my sister (The first 14 or so years of mine were plenty, thanks) he has to have some complete doofus stranger there for moral support when he ties the knot? Wow. That would suck. Partly I'm glad I'm out of it because people pay way more attention to the best man than the other groom's men, and I think we can all agree that to whatever extent it's possible for me to be discrete, I should probably do it. Mostly, though, I'm glad I'm not the best man because doing the best man toast would have been a bit difficult.

Normally all a best man has to do is get teary and confess his deep admiration and love for the bride and groom, and he's covered. What people remember is a deep outpouring of genuine emotion, and they forget the painfully incoherent speech that preceded it. Unfortunately, as you can probably guess, nobody who knew me even for a few minutes would buy it. Deep outpourings of emotion really aren't my thing. Not that I don't feel them, mind you, but I just don't really see the point in spreading my emotions around like a flu virus. Yes, I am a sad, lonely man. Bite me.

So, since emotional amd moving were out, my only option would be to go for witty and amusing. Yes, folks, I'd have to try and deliver the dreaded "comedic best man speech." Loved because when it's good, it's really good, and feared because when it isnt, it's a punishment from god. The challenge would be daunting enough under normal circumstances, but as I've mentioned, my sister is marrying a British man. So, the room would be half-full of his family, who are obviously also British, and thus derive from a culture whose humor runs the gamut from Oscar Wilde to Benny Hill. And I have to try to be funny? Good fucking luck. So, I am thrilled to not be picked as the best man. I'm just breathing a sigh of relief and wishing the best for the poor sap who actually has to do it.

Besides, if it had been my responsibility to give the best man's toast, I might not have been able to resist the terrible urge to begin with, "It will come as no surprise to many that my sister loves British seamen..."

Thank you, thank you, I'll be here for the rest of the week.


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