There is a hierarchy to wedding parties based around the amount of time, effort, and stress that each individual brings to the event. The only two positions that are inviolate are the top of the hierarchy– the bride– and the bottom of the hierarchy, the groomsmen. Everyone else can be shuffled around somewhat depending on the particular circumstances of the wedding, but you can count on the bride being the center of the universe and the groomsmen being, at best, completely useless. Of course, it’s possible for a groomsman to rise up from the muck and distinguish himself from the rabble, but most groomsmen don’t bother out of a fear of saying something stupid and ruining the wedding for someone higher up in the hierarchy.

Fortunately for you all, I have no such fears. And so you get to enjoy the following story.

(Note: For a some additional context that may prove useful later, here are Jen Harris’ pictures from the pre-wedding stuff. I think they require some sort of account at kodak to see them, so no need to follow the link until you read the story and decide if it’s worth your while.)

I flew into Boston Thursday evening because I couldn’t find a cheap Friday flight that would get me into town in time for the rehearsal. An additional bonus was getting to hang out at a barbecue (how that word has new meaning for me now) at Kate’s parents’ house with Clay and Emily and my longtime role model, Jordan’s Dad. Kate did not consult me beforehand on beer selection (the only faux pas of what was otherwise a delightfully drunken weekend), and so the only choices available were Sam Adams’ Summer Ale and Corona (note to next wedding party: Sam Adams’ Black Lager, Lagunitas IPA, Anchor Steam, and Fireman’s #4).

I first met Kate’s Dad, Emil (who often works at Jordan Hospital in Plymouth, MA– how funny) and I had to do that awkward thing where someone asks me what I do and I say “math” because it’s easier than really explaining what I do, but the person I’m talking to can tell that I’m oversimplifying it and out of some masochistic impulse wants to know more, at which point I launch into the whole spiel about graphs and combinatorics and optimization because I don’t really have any level of explanation that lies between “math” and an incredibly detailed description of my dissertation topic. I should probably test out several midpoints that are technical enough to be frightening without sucking all of the oxygen out of the conversation. Anyway, Emil was cool– he’s an ER doctor who’s never watched ‘ER’, he loaned me a swimsuit, and at some point in the evening he arm wrestled someone, though I never figured out why.

Many beers later, and after a really good conversation with Jordan’s Dad about missed opportunities (a theme that has been resonating lately), I was introduced to Kate’s Mom, Marianne. Come to think of it, I don’t know that anyone introduced me, it’s possible that I just sauntered over and introduced myself (I am, after all, a people person.) So we’re chatting for a bit, and she asks how I know Jordan, and I explain that I lived next door to him in our freshman dorm at Thug U. Jordan and I shared a wall, actually– my bed was on side of it, his on the other, so I was telling Marianne that I used to hear these really odd sounds coming from Jordan’s side of the wall late at night. So Marianne (and I think Kate’s aunt too, by this point) inquired as to what kinds of sounds I had heard, and after a beat, I replied “Well, I don’t know if you know what an ostrich sounds like…”

Marianne and Kate’s aunt laughed alot, but some killjoy bridesmaid alerted Jordan who came over and ruined my fun. I’m pretty sure this bridesmaid saw me making a play for enhanced wedding party status and felt threatened. Little did she know that I still had another bullet in the holster.

Later on in the evening, they played one of those DVDs that has all those pictures of the bride and groom when they were babies all the way up through when they met each other. Several of the pictures had Kate as a really little girl with her Mom, and the similarity between the two of them was striking. After the show, I commented to Marianne about the similarity, and she told me that she heard that alot and then she made some self-deprecating remark about how Jordan has *this* to look forward to in 30 years. I was a bit thrown by this, so I said, “You’re pretty hot for a Mom, and guys totally check for that before they pull the trigger on something like marriage.” Again she laughed, again Jordan was alerted, again I was escorted away and instructed in no uncertain terms that I was to behave myself for the rest of the evening. Which I did, more or less.

Personally, I don’t feel like I ruined the wedding– not at the barbecue nor during the reception when Marianne and I were grinding on the dance floor (kidding, kidding…seriously. I’m kidding.) Jordan apologized to Marianne the day after the barbecue for ever having known me, but she told him it was fine– she said it’s nice to be called ‘hot’, no matter what your age. I just call ‘em like I see ‘em.

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