The Post-Season Conference

When a season comes to a close, it is customary for those involved with the season to give a post season press conference. It allows them to commemorate the season and have their thoughts concerning it printed and reported. Most end-of-season press conferences involve a well-dressed person sitting at a table in front of a slew of microphones, with a repeating corporate sponsorship logo pasted all over the cheap backdrop. On this occasion, I’d like to nominate Sun Chips for that sponsorship, ‘cause man, do they ever sound good right now

(drives to Subway) (returns from Subway)

Granted, these postseason press conferences are not without their share of coach speak, so I’ll do my best to keep that to a minimum. Without further ado, I will begin taking questions as we take a look back at the 2007 Wedding Season. What? You thought this was another baseball column?

Opening Statement: Thank you all for coming. My friends and I have recently completed another exciting season of matrimony. I believe I speak on their behalf when I say we could not be happier with our effort. While the scheduling gods in the front office may have dealt us a tough hand, I feel we really pulled it together in the end and gave 100%. All three couples are now happily married, and we look forward to next season, when they join the “savvy veterans” contingent. Ok, now I’ll take some questions.

“Why didn’t you wear a tuxedo this past weekend?”

Excellent question. Nordberg and I had made a pact to wear tuxedoes to all weddings, as long as the weddings went flawlessly. However, at the end of the Mellor-Viehweg affair, I tripped in the hallway returning to the hotel room. Certainly, the streak was broken. Plus, we had heat from the league to wear our alternate uniforms, suits, in order to help league merchandising.

“Where were you pleasantly surprised this year?”

Great question. We are currently going through a time where our generation is required to make their matrimonial mark. With said mark comes establishing 3-5 wedding reception music classics that will be played at weddings decades from now. Since we’ve graduated, I feel that the only songs to make the leap have been Usher’s “Yeah,” Outkast’s “Hey Ya,” and Justin Timberlake’s “Sexyback.” It’s far from official, but judging from the last two receptions, a strong case for Song Rookie of the Year can be made for Big and Rich’s “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.”

“What can you do to improve for next season?”

If I give a groomsman’s toast, I can, I don’t know, bring a glass with which to actually toast the couple. Raising a microphone and then drinking from said microphone just isn’t the same.

“What are your off-season plans?”

I’d like to get to know the playbook a little better. Maybe memorize popular wedding readings, in case a teammate gets stage fright. I could jump write in. I could be Guest of the Week for that kind of heroism. But even then, I’m just one player on a guest list. We win at weddings as a team. Thank you, Powerthirst.

“How will you remember this wedding season?”

I’ll use wedding photography. Because the photographer at the Motsinger-Reif affair stayed stationary for their first dance, I will be in the background of EVERY SINGLE PICTURE. Man, I wish I had spun a Frisbee. Speaking of which, the Kunkel-Liggett media did get a shot of me spinning my dinner plate – that should make for a nice memory. And as for the Mellor-Viehweg Week 2 showdown, I’m sure there’s photographic proof of me doing some bridelifting.

“How was the cake?”

At which wedding?

“All of them.”

Wouldn’t know – a science dork from Raleigh kept eating them before I could pick up a fork.

Revenge-Ma-Tazz

A few weeks back, I regaled you all with the tale of how I accidentally Punk’d my local tuxedo rental shop by walking out with my measurements but zero formal wear leases to speak of. All in all, things seemed to go smoothly. I was able to deliver my specific measurements to the local tuxederias in Chapel Hill and Princeton, my credit card was charged, and I never once had to return a worn formal garment bag to the mall near where I work. Of course, Ray at After Hours Tyson’s Corner is likely still awaiting my call with the Event ID for Dave’s North Carolinian affair, but he’ll get over it. I hope.

Apparently Tuxedo Karma is a bastard.

Now while each tux rental shop is out for their own profit margin and bottom line, I did not anticipate some underground guild structure that links them all arm-in-arm, in the name of snappy dressing. Apparently, punking one store, regardless of location, affiliation, or chain status, can get you in some seriously hot water with the whole family tree. So what if I ganked some free measurements under misleading pretense? It’s not like I’m ever going to be held responsible for my actions.

Word to the wise: The Tuxedors. They’re connected.

24 hours prior to the marriage that would rename Julie Viehweg on this blog to “The Prodigal Roommate’s Wife” had me, as well as the NC Duo of Dave and Nordberg, standing in the hallowed halls of the Market Fair Mall tux shop, known as “Chazz-Ma-Tazz.” A unique moniker, I know. But because there’s nothing more uncomfortably than an awkward silence while another man fiddles with the clothes you are currently wearing, I decided to make small talk as to discern where such a unique store name might come from.

“So, where did you get the name for your store?”
“Well, my name is Chazz, and then I just added some Ma-Tazz.”
“Oh.”

Ok, so it wasn’t something cool like the name of a tuxedo shop in a classic movie or a line from a long-forgotten Sinatra single, but at least we know the truth. But I made an effort to be friendly, so if there was some sort of formalwear retribution in the works, maybe he’d forget about it and be a nice Chazzman.

Prior to that, he called us into separate dressing rooms based on the name on the garment bag, and needless to say, we were mildly baffled as to whom he was speaking. The dressing room assignments follow, as spoken by Mr. Chazz.

“Room 1, I need a Dave REEF.”
“Room 2, is for a Chris NORBERG.”
"And Room 3, that would be for you, Chris GORDON.”

Call me Flash, people.

So as Flash and his superhero friends got their James Bond on, we took turns stepping out in front of the Hall of Mirrors to allow the expert to admire his tuxedo-selecting work. Nordberg may have needed some different pants, I don’t know. As for me, everything fit just right. And to put the finishing touches on, Mr. Chazz affixed the piece-de-resistance to my trousers.

Suspenders.

Call me crazy, but I think suspenders are awesome. I specifically bought a pair to wear to a formal dance awhile back, and they add some class to your everyday suit. Curiously, our suspenders were added underneath the vest, so no one could actually see them, and they had a tendency to pull the pants up a little higher that say, standard level of comfort. But hey, Spud picked them so who was I to complain?

As we shuffled off to the rehearsal, the following exchange took place.

“Hey, what do you think of the tuxes?”
“I think they’re sweet. Nice touches with the pocked square and suspenders, no?”
“What suspenders?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t have any suspenders."
“Yeah, me neither.”
“Then WHY AM I THE ONLY ONE WITH SUSPENDERS?”

Tuxedor’s Revenge is served best cold with elastic.

Blame the Damn Cowlord

Back by popular demand, here’s a second installment of On Location: The Wedding Reifmotsinger. Why? Because Popular Demand ganked my car keys, and he won’t give them back until I publish more tales of matrimonial hilarity that took place on a hill constructed entirely using chapels. Yeah, apparently they haven’t heard of “dirt and grass.” Weird.

(Who likes bullet form? You do. You like bullet form.)

· I totally wasn’t kidding when I said we played 6 games of Madden to get ready for the wedding. In fact, there was an instance where Dave and Alison wanted their photographer to take pictures of both sides getting ready for the ceremony. For a bride, this is easy. The adding of makeup and a dress, as well as getting one’s hair done, provides many an opportunity for a shutter click. But with guys, it involves putting on a suit. Done. In fact, it was a mere 34 minutes before our time to go when we realized that we need to get ready. Three of us (Nordberg and the Prodigal Roommate), showered, shaved, and donned penguinesque attire with minutes to spare. Heck, we even got to finish that goal-line stand that the Jets had worked so feverishly to prevent. So when the photographer was ready to snap, he, uh, kind of missed the moment. So we did the next best thing: MADDEN. Now, we wanted everyone to look like they were have authentic fun and smiling genuinely in the pictures of us playing video games in tuxes, so I ran the perfect play: 27 QB Vanish. John Madden never expects 27 QB Vanish. It when you snap the ball and then make sure the QB runs a minute off the clock by running in the complete opposite direction of the goal. The only danger with such an audible? 27 Groom Vanish at the time of the wedding.

· The Bouquet Toss and Garter Toss go hand-in-hand as the turning point in the wedding. The Bouquet toss always is full of anticipation, as many a young lady looks to snag the airborne flora from their nearest competitors. Those most aggressive in the reception attempt often win, and this group is often composed of 1) bridesmaids who REALLY WANT TO GET MARRIED AND FIND MR. RIGHT (NOW), 2) people actually scheduled to get married next, or 3) Carolina Panthers WR Steve Smith – he catches everything. That’s the bouquet. For the garter, it’s the goal of the guys to look cool while catching it, yet show as little actual enthusiasm as possible. This typically results in 5 seconds on complete non-action, followed by the closest proximity guy to the falling garter making a shoestring catch to save face for the entire group. Wedding tradition dictates that spiking the garter results in a 15 yard penalty, enforced on the ensuing kickoff.

·There was a sequence late in the reception where the DJ (whose name is actually B.J. I kid you not.) played the following sequence of songs. 1) Devil Went Down to Georgia. 2) Cotton-Eyed Joe. 3) Shout. It was at the point when we were gettin’ a little bit louder now that I realized something. B.J. the D.J. was out to kill us all.

·Ah, the Crazy Taxi Girl. Lemme explain. Many of the wedding guests were staying at a hotel a few miles away, but the bride and groom had arranged for an end-of-evening shuttle to transport them back there. The first one came and promptly filled up, leaving many a Monrovian behind to wait for it to return. Now assuming that the driver of said shuttle is not a member of the Andretti family, we could expect reasonably 30 minutes of downtime. For one in our midst, that was not worth losing in quantities of sleep, and decided to call for an independent van shuttle to transport the rest for a small fee. (I won’t say who, but his name may be awfully similar to Damn Cowlord.) 20 minutes later, the Tar Heel Taxi pulls up, with more than enough room to transport the remaining survivors off of Wedding Island. One problem, the skipper riding shotgun of their fateful passenger van was a drunk UNC girl who eschewed a traditional greeting like, “Welcome to the Tar Heel Taxi, where can we take you?” for the more festive “HURRY UP, BITCHES! I’M F’-ED UP!” (Censored for our family audience.) You see, the Skipper (as she will be known until someone comments with her actual name) isn’t on the Tar Heel Taxi payroll. But her friend and driver, Tyrone, is. And Tyrone can give the Skipper a free ride to a wicked party if he takes someone else for a fare in the process. How does the Skipper do her part? By passenger-wrangling of course. Meanwhile, back on our end, everyone’s a tad petrified over the Britney Spears on Red Bull hanging out of the van’s window. Would YOU admit you ordered her services? (Fortunately, the Cowlord was nowhere to be seen.) With each individual denial, she got feistier and (somehow) drunker. Liz claimed amnesia. Nordberg politely declined an invite to her raging kegger. I calmly explained that I was staying at THIS hotel and had no reason to go elsewhere. And while she stared at me trying to decode my Platonian logic, a 40-year old man wearing khakis but NO SHIRT walked through my vision in the lobby of the swanky Carolina Inn. And since the Skipper was wearing a dress that could be mistake for just a shirt and lacked much leg coverage, I did what any other tired groomsman at 1 AM would have done.

I told the Skipper that the Man in Khakis looks like he needs a taxi.

On Location: The Wedding Reifmotsinger

Anytime you ask my old roommates and me to wear tuxedoes on the weekend, you know that some hilarity will ensue. After spending my Saturday serving as an official witness to the newly christened Mr. and Mrs. David Reif, I realized that the best part of weddings are the stories that you can treasure for years to come. Now Dave, the guy WM ResLife thought I’d be able to share clothes with back in ’98, doesn’t have the best memory, (he once left his brother Peter in his dorm closet for 5 consecutive months), so I thought I’d give him one more wedding gift. Candlesticks, you might suggest? Nay. The following is a re-cap of his truly blessed matrimonial event. I give you YAB’s On Location: The Wedding Reifmotsinger.

(now, in bullet form!)

• As a means to relax the Groom, the Groomsmen decided to take the Groom on a leisurely walk around campus. According to Nordberg, one of UNC-Chapel Hill’s most famed landmark is something known as “The Well.” From name alone, this seems like a place where freshmen and star-crossed coeds can wish for good grades and love. You know, throw some of your parents’ money in the deep chasm of water, and take the easy road to success. Surprisingly, Nordberg sits on a throne of lies. The Well? It’s a frickin’ water fountain in a stone gazebo. I love Complete Opposite Day.
• Following the walk, we played some Frisbee on a quad-like area not far from “The Well.” On a football day like Saturday, not many Tar Heels spend their day relaxing in the grass catching up on their P-Chem text reading. In a vast expanse of green, in fact, only one girl chose this to be her Saturday morning activity. And somehow, in the expansive green acres, we nearly hit her nine times.
• Weddings are held later in the day for three main reasons. 1) So wedding guests do not have to get up at the crack of dawn to arrive, 2) So that the bridesmaids can spend 6-8 hours getting ready with hair, make-up, and dresses, and 3) So the groomsmen can get in 6 games of Madden football on Playstation 2.
• If you are planning on having a wedding soon with more than 100 people in attendance, ask plenty of your buddies to be groomsmen. We worked on a 4-man rotation to usher everyone to their seats, and it was like running laps back in high school track. Forget the champagne toast; can we have Gatorade instead? (In return, we promise not to sweat orange on our tuxedos.)
• When you’re a Groomsmen and not the Groom, taking wedding photography is WAY easier. Dave and Alison’s photographer was British, which somehow made him seem 41% more qualified to do his job. By the mere nature that you’re donning a tuxedo, you feel compelled to put on one of those “knowingly-vacant” stares into the distance. With our attire, you can also add an element of “I’m quietly content that Dave didn’t pick magenta vests.” Thanks, Dave.
• A standard reception staple in the entrance/announcement of the wedding party. Typically, it’s a walk, stop, smile, continue walking procedure. However, the emcee mentioned the word “pose.” Uh oh. Nordberg and Meg opened the show with a Marilyn-Heisman duo, and then while I did not see Dan and Carol, Spud did what he does best and spun and dipped Jessica. Farid and Zoe, whose great idea this was in the first place, did not disappoint, and then that leaves Condon. Fortunately, Amy was quick on her feet to come up with a minor dance move that we could pull of in a no-huddle offense. You don’t want to end it like the Phillies bullpen is right now. (Apologies for mixing sports analogies.)
• Later on in the wedding, Dave was wearing Alison’s veil as if it were a cape. Verdict: Massively dorky. However, there was an occurrence earlier when Alison’s 90-year old grandfather was dancing whilst wearing said veil. Verdict: Adorable. That’s the advantage old people have; anything they can do will come off adorable. Imagine an old man hobbling into a bank and robbing it – wouldn’t that be the absolute cutest thing on the evening news? Hell, yes.

I'm in the Gift Shop! Give Me My Gift!

This weekend I am going to the wedding of my freshman roommate, Dave. Dave and I were randomly assigned to one another for our stay in Monroe Hall in the ’98-’99 school year. The means by which Residence Housing determines these dormitory pairings is via a simple form that they request every new student to fill out. This form is supposed to create a limited roommate profile – major attributes that you do (or do not) have. Poor Dave. After comparing our entries, it’s likely that he got stuck with me because for music, I put “Country.” (My reasoning was sound; I doubt a guy who listens to Alan Jackson in his free time would steal my electronics or eat my food.) Dave put “No preference.”

Yeah, that’ll teach you to be indifferent.

Just over nine years later, Dave is getting married. I wish I can say I had a hand in the coming together of he and Alison, but it’s a stretch. He knows how to dance like Nelly, deadpan jokes like Kevin Nealon, rehab like a Sherpa, and as my mom pointed out after my first-ever phone call with my new roommate, he can’t share my clothes. And what’s more, his fiancée refers to the other Chris as “The One Who Likes to Dance.” Chris Nordberg? Really?

I don’t even know who you are anymore.

But aside from my paragraphic animosity towards the groom-to-be, I am still planning to head down to the Tar Heel State to watch him say some flowery language in a fancy penguin suit. My only concern is that when the groomsmen are lined up along side Dr. Reif, I am standing in closer proximity to him than Nordberg. Nordberg freakin’ hates when he can’t see the movie.

However, I must be careful of taunting the Mighty Scandinavian One too much; he will be my roommate for the weekend in the luxurious accommodations that is the Carolina Inn. Now it’s not often I am able to stay in lodging of this magnitude (business trips make you check your swank at the departure gate), so I need to make sure to live it up to the fullest and take advantage of EVERY AMENITY they have to offer. Some of my ideas are listed below.

• “Valet Parking (6:00-Midnight)” – Valet parking is only acceptable in the following situations: you are wearing black-tie level clothes, it’s blistering cold out, the parking garage is on fire, you are in a desperate hurry, you’re trying to impress a girl, or you want to play a prank on the valet guy. Need an example? Ok, fine. Set up your laptop at home, grab your acoustic guitar, and record a strumtastic original song titled, “This Valet Guy Steals Your Loose Change and Is Legally Drunk.” Crank the volume, and hand your keys to the nice gentleman in the white gloves.
• “Complimentary wired and wireless internet access in all guest rooms” – This will probably come in handy for a guy who has two fantasy teams, runs a football pool with disdain for a major sportswriter, and is a write on three blogs, don’t you think?
• “Complimentary Wi-Fi internet access in public areas” – For people who can’t make it to their rooms. It’s the dork equivalent of putting public restrooms in the lobby.
• “Hotel fax and copying services” – Never buy a hotel before getting a Hotelfax report. You never know what goes on in those places.
• Dry Cleaning Services (Mon-Fri) – Translation: Don’t eat anything with mustard on the weekend. You’re going to regret it.
• 169 guestrooms with…an abundant supply of jumbo pillows.” Sweet Mercy, we may not make the ceremony. We’ve got a fort to build.

Wedding March of the Penguins

In the next month, I will be attending two weddings. And not only will I be attending two weddings, I will be part of two wedding parties. Aside from getting to show off how much taller I am than the other groomsmen, there are other perks to this job. I’ll eat a couple of exquisite rehearsal dinners, get introduced before a group of people who will passively clap in my general direction whilst waiting for the actual couple of honor, and I’ll have complete dictatorship-level authoritative control as to where you sit at the ceremony. So be nice, or I’ll have you placed behind the organ.

Oh, and I get to make this look good.

Bridesmaids have to do all sorts of crazy things on behalf of their friend, the bride. Aside from showers, bachelorette parties, and the occasional tea or luncheon, bridesmaids have it way harder as to set their attire for the big day. Sure, the bride may pick out a dress, and you may have to purchase that dress. On top of that, you’re going to need to get your hair done, makeup done, find shoes that fit, find jewelry that matches the dress, not trip on your face if the alterations weren’t done just right, ad hold some flowers. Some heavy, heavy flowers.

Groomsmen rent tuxedos. That’s it.

Now since it’s a fortnight between the two affairs, Chris Nordberg and I are toying with the idea of just renting one tuxedo apiece (rather than two), wearing it for the first wedding and every moment afterwards until the conclusion of the Mellor-Viehweg affair. I think wearing a tuxedo everywhere I go will gain me some newfound respect, from other commuters, the cashier at the cafeteria, and definitely the other guys at the gym. And if anyone needs me to host a banquet at the last minute, I am so freakin’ golden there, too. However, since my two roomies have different tastes in black tie fashion, this plan will likely fizzle before I even get my first “tuxedo overdue” notice from the rental shop.

Speaking of the rental shop…

Both of my former roommates have chosen to organize their respective tux rentals through local shops, tuxerias that are close to the location of the wedding. Since neither location of either wedding is say, Fairfax, Virginia, I would be unable to walk in and take care of business. However, thanks to a convenient system of universal measurement (metric can go to hell), I was told that I could get my measurements taken at a local tuxedo shop of my choosing, and then via the magic of the interwebs, that information can be transferred to the appropriate tailor of their choices.

However, walking into a tuxedo shop and asking for a service when I have zero intention to procure any rental of their wares just doesn’t feel right, you know. I wouldn’t walk into a supermarket and ask them to cut a pound of roast beef when I have no intention of buying, you know, just to see if they could do it. Nor would I ask to use the bathroom of a fancy restaurant if I didn’t have a reservation. It’s just a little…weird.

Nonetheless, it had to be done. Since my usual suit store didn’t comply with my request, I was forced to go the chain of tuxedo shops that I facilitated my wedding party’s rental through. Here’s how it all played out.

Tuxedo Shop Guy: Hi there, how can I help you?
Condon: I need to get measured for a tuxedo rental.
TSG: No problem (pulls out After Hours order form) Ok sir, what is the date of the wedding?
Condon: (realizing it’s not too late to turn back on an elaborate farce) (chooses otherwise) September 15.
TSG: Groom’s name?
Condon: (will have some ‘splaining to do later) Reif.

TSG: Alright then, let’s get those measurements

(takes measurements)

TSG: Ok, let’s see what we have you guys wearing in the computer.

Condon: (Knowing damn well he’s not going to find any Reif in the computer) Sounds good!
TSG: (searches through computer for non-existent information) Ok, I’m having a little trouble…
Condon: That’s weird. (Note: totally not weird. It would be weird if he DID find Reif’s info.)
TSG: Maybe it’s on another date?

Condon: No, I’ve got the right one

TIME OUT: At this point, I’ve got the measurements I need, I didn’t make this guy make a decision as to whether to spend time on a no-sale, and now all I’m looking for is an out. It’s a shame this guy is so damn persistent.

Condon: Here, let me try and call him. I’ll confirm the event date. (calls Condon’s work phone, leaves phony message) He didn’t pick up. I’ll just come back or call when I get the Event ID.

TSG: Sounds good!

Condon: (RUNS AWAY!!!!!!!!!)