Friday, July 18, 2014

When All Else Fails, Head To The Hamptons


Yesterday afternoon was one of those times when the outlandish possibility that the world might be about to end creeps into your mind. There I was having a delicious Italian Stallion sub at Big Al’s with some friends over lunch, when news breaks that a Malaysian 777 with 295 souls aboard had been shot down over Ukraine by a surface to air missile. Among the dead, 23 Americans. To the families of the dead I suppose it doesn’t matter who fired the missile, but that’s all the talking heads seemed to care about. Was it the Russians, the Ukrainians, or the separatist rebels?  If it turns out to be the Russians, what will President Obama do?

As if this wasn’t enough, word then came that the Israelis had begun a ground invasion of the Gaza strip. No dead Americans, but lots of explosions and tracer fire flying across the television screen and somber, earnest reporters breathlessly wondering what this escalation will do to the “peace process.” We were told that Secretary of State John Kerry was headed to the region for emergency talks. Gas, meet fire. Then, to add insult to injury, Bubba Watson made a triple bogey at the British Open. My chances of finishing my lunch without severe heartburn vanish. I glance over at a panel of sports reporters on ESPN2 having a discussion on how all of the day’s events will effect Lebron’s legacy. It was all just too much.

So, let’s recap. The most snake bitten airline in history loses another plane due to some trigger happy Russian/Ukrainian/ Separatist nutjob. Obama heads to the Hamptons for a fundraiser. The Jews and Palestinians are at each other’s throats for the 16,000th time over the last 4000 years of recorded history, and we send Lurch over there (for reasons that escape me) to mediate, or get caught in the crossfire, whichever comes first. Bubba Watson proves once again that he can’t play golf in any tournament with the word “Open” in the title. What a day!

Meanwhile, the afternoon’s events have had the effect of taking the southern border crisis out of the news cycle. No more pictures of crying children, angry protesters, or earnest info-babes wondering what President Obama is going to do about all those poor kids.

If I were him, I’d head to the Hamptons too!

 

 

                                                                                       

 

Thursday, July 17, 2014

Three Stupid Arguments


I would like to take this opportunity, granted to me by the First Amendment, to obliterate three ignorant arguments currently being made concerning our immigration problem on the southern border.

1.         “This is America. We are open to everyone!!”
                          Congressman John Lewis (D) Georgia

Mr. Lewis, I would like to respectably disagree with you in the most emphatic way possible. For the sake of charity, I will assume that you were merely caught up in the moment and used this line as a rhetorical device only, not intending it to be confused with an actual statement of law or fact. Surely as an elected official of some statue, you are aware of the many restrictions that we place upon anyone wishing to come to this country. In case you have forgotten, let me list just a few. The following are a short list of circumstances that would prohibit a person from entering the United States:

1.     Tuberculosis, or any other infectious disease

2.     Ties to any terrorist or criminal organization

3.     Guilty of crimes of moral turpitude ( child molestation, rape, fraud or theft)

4.     Having overstayed a previous visit to U.S.

5.     Ever worked illegally in the United States.

6.     Any outstanding international warrants.

Every sovereign nation has a duty to control the flow of people in and out of their country. For all of the beautiful optics of Lady Liberty, Ellis Island is/was a controlled entry point for immigrants, not an opened gate.


2.                               “Fences don’t work!”

                                   Practically every Democratic politician

Yes, fences don’t work, which explains why every important and powerful politician in America lives behind one. Fences most definitely do work, a fact that every dog owner in America knows, along with every convicted criminal living in a prison. The President’s Secret Service detail also knows that fences work since the White House is surrounded by a quite formidable one. The current Mayor of Los Angeles, Antonio Villarigosa just got finished installing a six foot tall security fence around his residence, becoming the first mayor in that city’s history to do so, yet it didn’t stop him from lecturing the rest of us. When discussing the present unpleasantness on our southern border, his honor proclaimed, “We don’t need to build fences, we need to build bridges.” Ok. We will if you will!


3. The fact that we want to build a fence on our southern border, while ignoring our northern border with Canada proves that the motivations of those in favor of “securing the border” are racist.


This particular insinuation is so sand-poundingly stupid it defies comprehension. Yes, of course, we are racists for ignoring those long lines of Canadian children flooding into Detroit. This is the equivalent to arguing that the best way to treat a broken leg is with a multi-vitamin. It reminds me of that old bit that Bill Cosby used to tell about the time when he was playing football for Temple University. It was the one and only game of his career that was broadcast on television. All of the team was told that during the game they were prohibited from touching “certain parts of your body.” Sure enough, in the first period Bill gets kicked directly in the family jewels. When the trainer runs out he reminds him not to touch “certain parts.” So Bill grabs his head! To make it look convincing, the trainer bandaged his head!!

The reason nobody is talking about a fence up north is because nobody wants to bandage the nation’s head, when we are being repeatedly kicked in the you know where down south.

Thank you for your time. I feel so much better now!

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

The Wedding Day. Conclusion


5:30PM – Toby hustles the two of us down the stairs and into our designated spot for the grand entrance. I notice that the oppressive heat and choking humidity have subsided a bit. I hear music drifting through the tops of the grand oak trees, a piano and orchestra arranged by my son. I look at Kaitlin by my side, she is positively glowing. The last thing she says to me before we turn the corner and escape the seclusion of the lush green hedges is, “I love you daddy!”

5:32PM – As we make our way down the sweeping turns of the brick walkway, I look up and recognize the faces of some of my best friends on this planet. I see men and women who all had a hand in raising her, in shaping her character. Some of them have come from far away to be here. I remember warnings from many of my buddies that I would cry at this moment, but all I feel is deep gratitude. Just about the time we got to our stopping spot a soft, cooling breeze swept over the assembly. I managed to get through my four word speech, “Her mother and I,” without incident. I take my seat on the front row beside my wife.

5:37PM – The minister, Gordon Fort began the proceedings by reminding all that this date, July 12, 2014 would have been my parent’s 67th wedding anniversary, then proceeded to read from some of my Dad’s notes we had found just a couple of weeks ago when cleaning out his house after his death. They were in a small dog-eared three ring binder of wedding services he had done over the years. When I heard Gordon reading his words, I looked up at the top of the trees now swaying in the unexpected breeze. I wondered if he was watching, if he knew how much I miss him.

5:42PM – It was time to play my guitar. Kaitlin wanted Paula to sing and me to play the Steven Curtis Chapman song, I Will Be Here, so although it had been at least a year since I had played and longer than that since Paula had sung at a wedding, there we were beginning the song. That’s when the oddest thing happened. For the first time all day, I became overcome with emotion. I felt my palms sweating, my heart began beating loudly in my ears, my fingers began to tremble. Luckily, I never look at my hands while playing, so I buried my chin in my right shoulder and stared at the ground throughout the entire song. By the time it was over I had recovered my composure.

5:50PM – I hear Gordon introduce the happy couple as “Mr. and Mrs. Jon Manchester.” I look at Jon and he has a smile splashed across his face as big as Texas. Actually he’s had it all day. It’s as if he has a clothes hanger turned upside down stuck in his mouth. The poor guy is hopelessly in love and just can’t help himself. They disappear past me as they make their way up the walkway amidst raucous applause. It’s over. The deed has been done.

6:00PM thru 7:30PM – This is the part of weddings which I hate, everybody standing around eating cheese and crackers and fruit waiting for the photographers to do their work. Between the several summons I received to appear for pictures, I began bargaining with the Almighty over the promises I had made when praying for cool weather. While the weirdly timed cool breezes that blew during the actual ceremony were a nice touch, I’m not sure that it would qualify as “cool.” I mean, I made my request pretty clear and despite the aforementioned cool breezes, it was hot and sticky both before the service and now after the service. Any impartial observer would side with me on this one, but with God, you never know.

7:30PM thru 9:15 Dinner is served after interminable picture taking session, the only bright spot being when Toby showed up with a plate of crudités for all and two iced coffee drinks for the bride and groom. Never have little squares of cheddar cheese with carrot sticks and ranch dressing tasted so good. Actually sat down at my table and ate for at least 12 minutes. Rest of time spent making the rounds talking with the guests like a shameless politician.

9:20PM – Bride and groom begin introduction of each of their bridesmaids and groomsmen. Kaitlin as poised and graceful in front of a crowd as her mother always is, and equally beautiful. After the introductions it was time for the father/daughter dance. Kaitlin chose that great song from “The Jerk,” You Belong To Me. Halfway through dance I was kicking myself that I didn’t arrange to have a trumpet handy to whip out for the solo. Truly wonderful moment. Later there was a dance for all married couples. At various times during the song, the DJ would ask those couples who had been married less than a certain number of years to be seated. The last couple standing were my in-laws. Cool.
    Photo
 

10:00PM – After several wonderful and moving toasts from various members of the wedding party, it was my turn to give the final toast before the cake cutting. Again, my palms began to sweat, again with the loud beating heart, I began. Except for a final perfunctory paragraph acknowledging that there was, in fact, a groom on the premises, my words were mostly about Kaitlin and what a gift she has been to my life.

10:20PM – Kaitlin throws her bouquet and Jon throws the garter. Jon’s throw was particularly impressive, since he wrapped it around a 2002 Ohio State National Championship commemorative football before sending a spiral into the amassed gaggle of single men. In true Ohio State form, Jon’s brother, the intended target, dropped the ball. Yet another incomplete pass by the Buckeyes.

10:35PM – Couple finally pass through the gauntlet of sparklers on the way to their getaway car. Taillights disappear and they’re gone.

11:55PM – Arrive home after lengthy clean up made infinitely easier by my helpful family who stayed until the bitter end helping us pack everything up. Potential mother of the bride meltdown avoided when all the leftover food from the reception was trying to be loaded into Pam’s car. There just wasn’t any room yet Pam was determined to squeeze it all in. When I noticed the wild expression of exhaustion and panic in her eyes I knew that she was unable to make one more decision, so I did. I carried an entire large pan of mashed potatoes and several other gargantuan containers of meat and vegetables back into the manor house with the simple declaration, “There is no way in the world anyone will eat any of this food!!”

12:30AM – After unloading the cars, we all collapsed on the sofas in the den, too exhausted to even speak. It was all over. After 18 months of planning, 6 months of deciding, 3 months of organizing, and three weeks of 20 hour days, it was all over.


Someone on Facebook made a comment about this picture, “The Perfect Family.” Nothing could be further from the truth. We are like every other family on Earth, full of flaws and flawed people. But this I know, the people in this photograph love each other, without qualification or reservation. Each of them have been a blessing to us and instrumental in helping Pam and I shape and form Kaitlin’s character. Without these people, and without Emmett and Betty Dunnevant, none of this day would have been possible.

Monday, July 14, 2014

The Wedding Day. Part I


It has been 48 hours since Katlin’s wedding. Already my memory is starting to waver, so I suppose I better get it all down before I forget anything:

6:30AM - I am awakened by the sound of harps and a gentle breeze on my cheeks from the wings of tiny bluebirds. I look out of my window and see a rare morning rainbow, God’s promise of a day like no other.

6:31AM – I startle myself awake from a horrible Disney nightmare, convinced that I am late for my Physics exam at the University of Richmond. It then dawns on me that this is July 12, 2014 and my little girl is getting married in exactly 11 hours….which is fine since I was going to flunk Physics anyway.

9:00AM – Arrive at Carmax for the third time in two days to pick up my daughter’s car. Carmax mechanics and technicians apparently graduated from the Helen Keller school of automobile repair since none of them could manage to hear the loud whining sound coming from the rear of the car the minute it reached 30 mph on the road. Suggested that next time they may want to consider taking cars for a test drive on the actual highway instead of their parking lot.

10:00AM – Arrive at Parkside Barbershop for the much celebrated and anticipated straight razor shave with all of the groomsmen. Was served a cold Yeungling draft upon arrival, which I consumed under the reasoning that it was 5 o’clock somewhere. Charm of the place began to wear off nearly 2 hours later when my name was called, the last on the list. Charm of the place totally vanishes when it dawns upon me mid-shave that I am alone at Parkside Barbershop with no ride home, since Jon had taken Kaitlin’s car, and Patrick had headed for home ten minutes ago with my car.

12:16PM – Get text from Pam directing me to drop by Martin’s and pick up “K-cups and a large case of bottled water. When I replied that I didn’t really feel comfortable buying women’s underwear especially bra’s, she informed me that “K-cups” were not in fact a bra size, but rather a brand of coffee used in our Keurig. Made mental note to help with grocery shopping more in the future to eliminate further such embarrassments.

2:09 PM – Caravan of cars leave house headed for Celebrations. Cadillac making frightening click-click-click noise. For a minute a vision of a blown engine on 288 flies into my head. To my eternal relief, all cars arrive on time and in good order. Women of the wedding party all disappear to the upstairs of the Manor House, while the men get comfortable downstairs in air-conditioned comfort, a good thing since it is hotter than homemade hell outside. It occurs to me as I ease back on a very comfortable sofa that I am at least off the hook for all of those things I promised God I would do if he gave us a beautifully cool day.

2:48PM – Fall sound asleep on ridiculously comfortable sofa and am abruptly awakened by a sharp poke on the knee by Toby, our intrepid “event coordinator,” who implores me to get dressed into my tuxedo and meet the photographer outside immediately. While I was asleep a flurry of pressurized activity is going on upstairs, with Kaitlin and Pam trying to get her wedding dress put on correctly amidst the buzz, clicks and blur of not one but TWO photographers capturing it all for posterity. Later, when Pam discovers that I was sleeping while she was going through Dante’s ninth level of hell, she is understandably perturbed.

3:00 thru 4:00PM – Spend most of this hour walking around in circles, barking out confusing orders to anyone who looked like an employee of Celebrations. Also, begin trying desperately to get guitar in tune. 40 year old classical is temperamental in this regards in the best of environments, but in tropical heat and humidity that would induce projectile vomiting in Lucifer himself, it is a hopeless endeavor.

4:30 PM – Am summoned to the upstairs of the Manor house, and told to wait at the door to the dressing room. Inside I hear the rapid fire of camera shutters. This is one of the “money shots” of the day…Dad seeing daughter in wedding dress for first time. No pressure. No pressure at all.

4:31 PM – Open door slowly and behold as radiant and stunning a vision as I have ever seen. My only daughter looks like some kind of princess, enchanting and sublime, happier than I have ever seen her. It’s hard to be sad, impossible to cry. Why would I? This is what every father worth his salt wants for his little girl.

 

                                         ……to be continued….

Thursday, July 10, 2014

A Bad Morning

 
I woke up at 5:15 after sneezing into the mask of my CPAP machine, the very definition of an inglorious beginning. Yes, I’m fairly certain that sneezing into the mask of your CPAP machine ranks right up there with wetting the bed on the Top Ten list of worst ways to start your day.

I haven’t written too much about my CPAP experiences since I got the thing over a year ago. That’s because there’s not much to tell. It works pretty well. I sleep much better than I have in years. It’s not nearly as cumbersome and uncomfortable as it looks…except when you wake up after sneezing into the stupid thing!

So now it’s 5:30 in the morning and I am wide awake. I went downstairs to make some coffee and noticed that my wife had bought me a brand new bag of Gevalia. I had been out of my regular stuff for two days and had been reduced to using some sort of fru-fru stuff from the freezer (Chocolate-glazed doughnut). Then I discovered that she had bought a bag of DECAF! Bless her heart. The poor woman has worked herself cross-eyed this past week to the point where she can be seen at 11 o’clock at night stumbling around Martin’s buying groceries. Well, decaf isn’t going to cut it, so I decide to go with the Keurig machine. My choices are as follows:

1.     Donut Shop Coconut Mocha

2.     Donut Shop Decaf

3.     Wild Mountain Blueberry

What has happened to America?? All I want is a cup of Joe and instead I am presented with items from a pastry menu. Coconut Mocha? What does that even mean? Will there be bits of coconut floating around in my cup? What genius thought of combining coconut with mocha in the first place? I love these kids you see today clutching stylish cups of Starbucks with their skinny little fingers. They just dropped $4 on a cup of over-brewed, bitter, acid water, when they could have gotten a real cup of coffee at 7/11 for a buck. Starbucks, the biggest, baddest capitalistic enterprise in America who’s most loyal customers are the type of people most likely to show up at an Occupy Wall Street rally. I’m trying to imagine George Patton marching into a chow tent during the Sicily campaign and ordering a “triple, venti, soy, no foam latte” but I just can’t. In fact, knowing George, if he heard a soldier place such an order he most likely would have slapped him.

Wow. It just occurred to me that the last paragraph sounds an awful lot like Steve Martin’s hotdog bun rant in Father of the Bride! I think the pressure is staring to get to me. I’ve got to hold it together for 72 hours. My most crucial mission today is to load up Pam’s car with all of the table decorations they have been slaving over all week and take them over to the “venue” so that our highly compensated table setters can begin their work. I just hope I don’t have a wreck or something…

State Trooper: Mrs. Dunnevant, I’m sorry to inform you that your husband has been involved in an accident.

Pam: Oh My God!!!

State Trooper: Don’t worry ma’am, your husband is fine.

Pam: BUT WHAT ABOUT THE TABLE RUNNERS!!!!!?????

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

My Worry List


Strange week.

I leave the house in the morning at my usual time, go to the office and do the usual things. Well, except for my first and last trip to the Social Security office to report my Father’s death and to return to them a check that was sent for the month of June, making me the only person there trying to return money. Suffice it to say that the place was standing room only inside the building and outside for half a block onto Cary Street. The wait time was estimated to be 2 hours. To the uninitiated, it would appear that the only people interested in Social Security at the Cary Street office were African American or Latino. Regardless, I decided that I would try the website instead, at which I was implored to call an 800 number to locate the office nearest me. Sigh…

Anyway, what has made this week so strange is the fact that for me it has been like any other week, while Pam, Kaitlin and everyone else staying at what has become my boarding house have been engulfed in a tsunami of calligraphy, fabric, poster board and the color "oasis" (which is translated "teal" for anyone who doesn't work at David's Bridal). I walk in the place to grab some lunch and they are all hunched over on the floor working away like Santa’s elves. This all makes me feel like a complete slug, since I have nothing to do. Yes, I pay for it all, but it takes me like two minutes to write the checks, then I wander around the house looking for something to do to make myself useful. I take out the trash. I empty the dishwasher. I cook meat on the grill when asked, but that’s about it.

So, I’ve had all kinds of time to sit around worrying about the Father of the Bride toast. What do I say? Will I get choked up? Honestly, since I’ve never given a daughter away before, I have no idea what it will be like. Will I get sentimental, or will I get all protective and try to talk her out of it at the last minute?

Then there’s the Father/Daughter dance thing. I’m not much of a dancer, and to tell the truth, neither is Kaitlin. Somebody should take a video of the thing and market it on Facebook as “White People Dancing.” But at the same time, I don’t want to embarrass myself, or Kaitlin. Lucky for me, there will be champagne at the reception.

Of course, there’s the sitting thing to worry about. When I go to weddings, or any public event for that matter, I’m not very good at sitting for long periods of time, “long” here being defined as anything over 7 minutes. I’m more of a work the room kind of guy. Plus, when I’m at someone else’s wedding, I always leave before the cake eating part, much to Pam’s dismay. Well, I can’t leave this wedding. I’m there for the duration.

So, while Pam has worried about every single detail of the blessed event for the better part of 18 months now, I’m left to worry only about dancing and sitting. Doesn’t seem quite fair.

Monday, July 7, 2014

Dispatches From the Wedding Bunker


The week of wedding finally here. All personnel bunkered in family room at battle stations. Best Man and wife arrived three days ago. Now have three crazy women within theatre of operations. Yesterday, women spent 30 man hours designing, and printing out programs for event. Long and agonizing decision process concerning proper font resulted in major delay, causing men of house to retreat out unto deck. By 1900 hours, family room had taken on look of major natural disaster.

Meanwhile, in dining room, table runners hang over laundry hanging device awaiting stitching and ironing. By midday, room will resemble sweat shop in India. CO avoided major tactical error by failing on several occasions to suggest that wife “just chill out.” Instead, deployed tried and true hug and back pat in response to several spontaneous crying jags.

Best Man planning day of fun for male members of wedding party, including lunch at sports bar, and afternoon at driving range/batting cages followed by more sports bar festivities. Made command decision to not share itinerary with female members of household out of fear of major escalation of simmering hostility.

Commander of domestic operations constantly glancing at weather app for forecast for D-Day. Results mixed. Forecast varies between 87 and sunny and 92 and ungodly humid with chance of killer t-storms. Latter produces epic crying jag. Thinking of sending Best Man to Martin’s on wine run.

Given orders from bride/daughter to produce toast for reception totally lacking in sarcasm, pithiness or depression. “Must be upbeat!” was major theme of order. Additionally, request was made to practice father/daughter dance. Bride/daughter frustrated with non-compliance

Family finances taking continual heavy fire. Reinforcements in route. Relentless and excessive use of credit card continues to baffle representatives of bank, who call once a week and leave message on cell, “What the hell man??”

Despite much collateral damage and shortage of major provisions, morale remains high. Groom expected in 48 hours, son in 72.

Dad optimistic that coming battle can and will be won.