Cornfed

So I'm back.

The wedding and my four days of being wrapped up in it was exhilirating. I often have this strange bittersweet observation of pieces and parcels of the seemingly endless staions and terminals of my life as it has progressed. Though, they are broken and jarred about as some uncared for dig site; where I can pick up a rock or handful of dirt and understand what shaped it, as similar forces shaped me.

I see things from my past that I hardly remember, but that seemed to trigger an attraction in something familiar to it in chapters that were to follow.

My best friend from high school (undoubtably holding the title for the long haul) says to me while we wait in the wendys drive-thru on the morning of his wedding, after having purchased some starfruit, a monkey, and all the ingredients for the peach sangria: "I feel like as we get older things move slower and slower.". On afterthought, I figure this sentiment of his could have his amazing moments-future wife and all of the carpe diem-moments they have shared as it's contributing factor, but my immediate response flipped it all around- embracing our precipice-clenching pasts and the futuility of our memories to grasp them forever. "maybe it's just because of hindsight. The more we progress, the greater the past contains and the harder it is for memory to grasp it, thus making it seem to fly by faster and faster and more memories are built up- and conversely making the present progression of things seem slower and slower. ..I think I now lean toward his understanding of it.

In some unnameable dis-order, I was able to, among the passing of endless not-so-remembered faces, experience:

- another father and son...and father...and father.

- crabs and crazy relatives I had met as a different boy in a past life

- Seville, the mega-(straight)bar of pcola, dueling pianos, with a beautiful bartender (derek)

- Being a best man but not; none of the typical responsibilties of getting to be by the guys side through the thick of it, straightening ties and combing hair, making sure the punch gets made and the music goes off without a hitch.

- Emerald City the mega-(gay)bar of pcola, dead before 1130 and not the same as you rememeber, though the thrill of confident compasrison is worth it.

- Staying up the night following the wedding, not to get wasted and party but to sit in the hotel lobby with the best man, bridesmaid, videographer, and random others chatting about philosophy and concepts of culture and society, religion and politics til 6am.

- Noting that the men I see down there always seem so much better-fed than the average guys in the northeast; hulking, worn, cornfed boys with handsome lilting accents that makes you you remember the awkward adolescent days of your first attractions.

Despite my seeingly unavoidable list-making, I still hang onto a giant cloud of goodfeeling that my best friend, the man that shared some of his kind, honest soul, that I probably wouldn't have made it through grade school without, is now with his match, a woman of equal caliber in giggle-cry humor and zest and such an overwhelming amount of love and goodness-- so lucky a guy am I to have been able to stand next to them on the threshold of this great new adventure.