Wednesday, October 27, 2010

A Capital Time Indeed

I love weddings.  Going to a wedding is like a chance to steep yourself in undiluted happiness for a day.  Unless the event royally sucks, odds are you'll come away feeling better than you did going in.  With Purdue pals Laurie and Jonathan slated to get hitched last weekend, my sometimes popular wife and I teamed up with with good friend/semi-sister Spronk, loaded up Spronk's tricked-out V-12, 310 horsepower Honda Civic (with optional flamethrower), and, anticipating a capital time in the Tarheel State, tore up the 500 miles of highway that lay between West Lafayette, Indiana and Banner Elk, North Carolina.

Never heard of Banner Elk?  Neither had we, and we're still trying to figure out why they chose this godforsaken wasteland to celebrate what was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives:

In spite of the post-apocalyptic setting, the proceedings came off with nary a hiccup--no flubbed lines and no runaway bride.  Nuptials exchanged, the love-drenched ceremony was followed by a spectacular repast.  I'll admit I was wary.  Wedding cuisine too often wavers between the 'marginally edible' to the 'unrecognizable as food.'  I suppose everyone would have commented on how good the grub was if we weren't so busy stuffing it into our gluttonous maws.  And I really appreciated how the wine and beer flowed in quantities unrestrained.  The beer was locally crafted and especially delicious.  I wish I could tell you all the name of the brewery, but, true to form, I drank too much to remember.

Random dudes
Dinner was followed by dancing, affording bride and groom the chance to shake their respective 'things' while being showered by a truly Welkian display of bubble blowing.

A lifelong phylatophobe, Jonathan used love to overcome his crippling fear of bubbles

The Purdue cohort, sans bubbles, groom and random dudes
Things really got cooking when the newlyweds, perhaps in an amorous state of delirium, started chucking handfuls of money at their guests.  I was lucky enough to catch a 'garter' constructed of neatly folded fifty dollar bills, which I wrested away from a young pack of toughs in a superior display of athleticism.  Behold what remains of the wad:

Not sure how that Washington got in there.
As the festivities were winding down, the young couple took its leave of us, bound perhaps for a tropical getaway in some lover's paradise.  That's when the night took a strange and fortuitous turn.  Fellow revelers Jess and Rick invited us to their mountaintop lodgings to hit the bar, catch the band and cap off the night in the time honored tradition.  After careening down one winding road and up another we found ourselves in the convivial confines of the Jackalope's View.  In what I assumed was an alcohol fueled hallucination, I spied an old cross-country teammate from my early years at Firestone High School.  This seemed a longshot at best, and yet I couldn't shake it: there Kim was, unchanged after nearly 20 years.  And yet, how could it be?  Still skeptical, I hatched a plan.  Hearing through the grapevine (facebook) that she had in recent years become immersed in the dissolute subculture that is bass playing, I made a bold declaration to my comrades: If the young gal with the curly hair picks up the bass, we went to high school together.

Not five minutes later, Rick sounded the alarm: 'She's picking up the bass!

Yes, life is nuts.  Sheepishly, I approached the stage and identified myself.  Kim, who, in spite of being older, cooler and generally superior to me in high school, never seemed to mind dorking up her car by giving me rides home from practice.  Gracious as ever, we exchanged a hug...

...and after brief introduction to my sometimes popular wife, the band launched into a delightful set.  Thanks to all of them for putting up with our incessant requests.

Well, all things must end and so we said our goodbyes.  Not long after, the Spronkmobile was roaring back toward our humble accommodations at the Banner Elk Ritz.  I peeled a fifty from the garter and instructed a pimply valet to 'take good care of her.'  The three of us nestled into our beds and took a moment to appraise the festivities and marvel at the unlikelihoods that make life delightful.  We were unanimous: it had been a capital time indeed.

Laurie and Jonathan: a long and happy union to you! We are only too happy to stamp your marriage with the McBone Seal of Approval: McB.  Thanks for the invite!

Kim: it really was awesome catching up with you.  May we meet again in Akron someday soon!


Photos courtesy of Jess!

1 comment:

Mari Ani said...

I love wedding too. I'm glad this one got your stamp of approval. LOL. and a fifty??? really? and I have another comment, but I'll tell you later, not here.