fun with staples
Brother of the Bride

By Zach Oat

This past weekend, my sister got married. She also broke Roger Maris’ record for most cleats purchased in a season, including two pairs bought on the same day, so it was kind of a joint celebration. It was a small affair, which means that we could have held about six simultaneous rugby matches and not had a lot of substitutes, but the caterers still made off with a significant portion of my tuition for this semester. I could hear them laughing as they drove off in their van, leaving behind enough food to feed twice as many people as had actually attended. The people who didn’t make off with any of my tuition were the DJ (me), the valet (me), the guy who hung the Christmas lights (me), and the guy who went to Stop and Shop once to get more punch and again to return the punch we didn’t use (me and me). I felt bad about not getting my sister a present. For approximately one second. Then I considered soaping her windows.

It was also a relatively informal ceremony. It was going to take place on the beach, and it was a pretty hot day, so short sleeves were the rule and ties were nowhere to be seen. "Are jackets required?" my uncle asked as he stepped from the car. I told him the groom wasn’t wearing any shoes. "I see," he said, throwing his jacket into the back.

The plan for the procession was interesting. My sister, who had injured her foot a few weeks before, would be making her way 50 yards down a steep, sandy slope, with my father apparently supporting her as she writhed in pain. After being cued to start the wedding march (not "The Wedding March", another wedding march), I, the DJ, was informed that I was needed in the procession at the top of the steep hill. (There is apparently an old custom in Massachusetts that the DJ walk with the bride’s mother.) Upon arriving, I was told by my sister what I would do when the wedding march started. I said, "So you mean right now?" and she said, "No, you’re not supposed to be playing the wedding march now." I said "Oh" and kept quiet.

The minister led the procession, in what appeared to be utterly insensible shoes. When she was halfway down the slope, we set out, only to have her hiss at us three-quarters of the way down that we had passed her. She delivered the vows from a rock, and was a little thrown off at being taller than everyone else for the first time in her life. After the ceremony, my sister took two weak steps before her husband decided to just carry her back up the slope, beating everyone else by a good ten minutes and the minister by an hour and a half.

The punch went fast, leading to the first of the two trips to Stop and Shop. After that, no one drank any punch, leading to the second. I managed to squeeze in a few Frank Sinatra tunes before the groom’s band was ready to play. And play they did. They’re actually pretty talented, despite the fact that all they do are covers of Pearl Jam and Radiohead songs. The lead singer’s voice was shot by the time he got to the end of "Creep" and the older wedding guests had moved to the other side of the house a few songs earlier. The champagne and the clam chowder were served at the same time, to make for some interesting toasts, and the cake was gone in minutes. Then came the smoking of the hookah pipe, a gift from a cousin traveling in the Middle East, and plenty of traditional Lebanese music, and there was much rejoicing.

The bouquet throwing was odd — it fell short of the crowd by a good five feet, and no one seemed to really want it. Eventually the closest woman felt obligated to pick it up, the way some people pick up a quarter off the street. ("It’s in the street, but hey, it’s a quarter.") Of course, maybe she was reluctant to accept the bouquet blessing or curse or whatever you call it. Maybe she didn’t want to be the next one to get married. My new brother-in-law is a great guy and I wish him and my sister all the best, but my sister is only two years older than me and I just can’t imagine getting married at my age. My parents did it, and they’re still together, but for me it’s just an awe-inspiring commitment. I can hear you all now:

"Right on, Zach! It’d be like watching that stinker Joe Versus the Volcano every day for the rest of your life!"

Or: "You’re so right-on! It’s like hearing the same old copy of Appetite for Destruction 24 hours a day!"

Or: "How right-on of you to say so, since it would be like eating greasy General Tsoh’s Chicken every day for eternity!"

I’m sorry, but that sounds like nirvana.

Who’s got the Tsoh’s?