August 16th, 2004
So I said that I wouldn't get too personal here in this blog/rant thingy of mine. But, of course, "too personal" is what a former co-worker would call weasel words. It gives me some leeway to make my own decision about it.
See, I got married on Saturday, and it ranks up there in the best days of my life, so I can't really pretend with my public face that nothing happened in my personal sphere. Besides, a marriage starts out very public, what with the ceremony, the regalia, the public feast, et al. So right here is the "official" mention of it.
Rather than talk about all that went well--which is practically everything--I think I will mention a few random memories of events that were not predicted.
Ribs
Such as that asshole of a bicycle rider who clipped me on Thursday. I was walking out of the liquor store with $178 worth of wine and champagne in a box, and this totally careless twonk zoomed (on the sidewalk) between me and the closing door of the liquor store. He got my trailing leg as I walked, which was enough to send me off balance, whereupon I struggled to keep the (very heavy) box of booze upright and safe from tumbling out of my arms to the sidewalk. Miraculously, I was able to keep the box from hitting the pavement too hard. But in the process of doing so I had to fall into a parked car square on my left side. Crunch went my ribs, and the pain was exquisite. A woman was able to help me up after I had a few moments to recover/realize that I was going to live. And then I went to pick up the box. Serious pain! But I managed somehow. I didn't even tell my parents until after all the heavy stuff had been moved, because I was afraid they would treat me like an invalid, and then nothing would get done on time.
Even though my ribs were bruised or possibly cracked, I was able to do all that I had to prior to and after the wedding, so this turned out to be only a nuisance. They still hurt, by the way--especially when I sneeze. But they are improving. By the way, Mr. Bicycle never stopped. I'm sure he knew what had happened, he just didn't want to stick around to face the fallout from his in-a-hurry maneuver.
My sister
And then there's my sister. Not the jazz-singer sister that I talk about a lot in my rants, this is another sister. She's a scholar, and you'd best not get into an argument with her about anything feminist, social, ethical, or wiccan if you know what's good for you. She's always been the smartest (said with envious undertones).
One other thing about her: She has Multiple Sclerosis and must rely on her wheelchair or groovy electric scooter to travel more than a handful of feet. So, on the morning of my wedding, when informed by my best man that he was returning to her place to get her wheelchair, which she forgot to bring, I had to wonder.
I mean, think about it for a moment: A diabled person forgetting her wheelchair is akin to someone like me going out of the house and arriving at work only to realize that they've forgotten their pants! Well, that all got sorted out, since the wedding was about 15 minutes late starting (aren't they all?)
But, really, Big Sis ...
Electricity
The one thing that had been preying on my mind all week prior to the wedding was how the guitarist was going to get electricity to his amplifier, and my friend Sean electricity to his cameras. Well, there were some plug-ins around the gardens (we got married in large-ish gardens in North Vancouver--though not as large as they used to be before a shopping mall was built over more than 2/3rds of them), but I am always highly suspicious of outdoor plug-ins, and my suspicion was justified: None of them worked!
So I ran around the gardens looking for the keeper (who wasn't there, despite long and loud adjurations that we needn't worry about it by the girl in the gardens' office all week) and finally gave up looking for him and did my own wiring job. I found a building in a non-public place that had a plug-in that actually worked, so then ran (in my kilt) to the hardware store and bought a large extension cord. Then I had to tromp through a compost heap and some brambles and other bushes to get the extension cord from the little shack to the place where we were getting married. Shoes scuffed, burrs got embedded in socks, etc. but I succeeded in getting the electricity situation set up.
Hmmph, if I had taken the advice of the girl in the office, which was that I "don't need to worry about it," we wouldn't have had any music, and less video due to limited battery power.
And, for the record, kilts are not particularly well-suited to climbing piles of grass clippings.
The presumed entitlement of a woman who had to sit RIGHT THERE to eat her lunch
Anyhow, when I returned to the location of the wedding (still about an hour to go) there was a woman lying on one of the gardens' benches. She'd actually moved the chairs I had set out for the guests, and she was eating lunch and reading. When I told her that she was welcome to stay until the wedding started, she acted as if I was being rude for limiting her lunch hour stay in that spot of the gardens to ... well, to an hour. I moved the chairs back to in front of her (perhaps I was being a tad rude, but she should have recognized the Groom-on-a-Mission-in-a-Kilt look I had in my eyes).
And for the record: I had no problem at all with her presence; I only minded that she was moving the furniture around.
That's it
Really, there is nothing else to gripe about! Everything else went so smoothly that I had to search my mind long and hard to come up with only these four complaints.