So in September, I trekked down to Houston for Cheryl Dittrich (and her now husband Jeff)'s wedding. On the one hand, it was great to back in Texas, great to see a lot of great friends (Dan, Christina, Kristi Tan, Alex Fay, Jeff Muñoz, Jon Blue, Joe Candelora, Eric Heineman, Blake Barnes, Page Gandy, Jamie Kerr, Liz, Matt Akers, a truckload of others). On the other, this was the first time I had been back in the presence of Rice folk since the inevitable conclusion of the MSF (med school fiasco), and I so I felt like I had some 'splaining to do. People were actually on the whole very supportive and thought I must make a great teacher, so that was cool. Still, there was definitely some edge to some of the commentary, specifically from heiny, that felt a lot to me like "why is the blue chipper teaching high school?" So I got to walk around feeling a bit like a letdown in the presence of fabulously successful Rice folks which put a decidedly green tinge on the entire weekend. I also spent a lot of time thinking that I can't even play that "at least I'm happy with my life" trump card, because while I enjoy the WHS scene, and have enjoyed it more even since the wedding, i can't say it's *my passion* and I can't say that I've made some hard core value over cash personal ethical decision. I mainly can say I don't have very much cash right now. This is clearly a post/article in and of itself, but I have to admit that set of emotions cast a big shadow on the whole weekend. I managed to fight through and have fun, but just barely.
Aaron Garcia, another Owl, was coincidentally having his wedding the same day and his guests were staying at the same hotel. As you can probably guess, this nearly guaranteed Rice-based mayhem would ensue, and ensue it did. Unfortunately it also meant that Jeff Muñoz, who was Aaron's best man, was not in attendance at Cheryl's wedding, but he crashed the reception and reception post-party a couple of times, and thank Hasheem he did. You'll see why in a bit.
I stayed with Dan and Chrsitina at the Omni Hotel which was a blast. I got there late Friday night while D & C were at the Rehearsal Dinner, so I patiently awaited their return and then we headed to some upscale bar (???) for the obligatory conversations involving a lot of "heys" and "awkward pauses." I hate those; I also was still in my airplane wear and the others were in their post-rehearsal dinner garb, so i was the sore thumb at the party. D'oh. No fear; we hung out and Dan and I gave a running commentary at the relative ridiculous that is what boiled down to a skanky-ass singles bar for people 45 and older. There were many women in low cut dresses who should not have been. I would describe the average skin tone as "leathery and sagging" and the average man's hairstyle as "oily." This all started at about 11:00, so not only was I underdressed and out of it, I was operating on way too little sleep and an hour's lag taboot. Never fear, beer. Never fear beer. Either way, we had some drinks and things lightened up; it was, after all, good to see everyone and we quickly fell into the safe fallback, recounting old times and then the most recent Jeff Muñoz stories (this one involved him getting blindingly drunk, deciding *himself* that he was too drunk for a strip club and escorting himself out, only to be found lying down in a Cingluar parking lot. Many of Jeff's less publishable stories involve strip clubs, drunken states and wadded up dollar bills, so I'm sure there are a lot of folks excited that he will be rocking Rochester at a certain wedding in the not-that-far future. Lord help us).
So D, C and I left the schwank-skank bar and headed to the Ice House at about 1:30 AM, only to find it closing down. So we opted instead to go to the grad student pub on campus, Valhalla, which was just an incredibly awesome decision. Mad fun sitting on the steps, sipping 25 cent Shiner and weaving conversations as only the three of us can. Many co-eds staggered passed us at several points in various states of undress, prompting Dan to repeatedly utter "God bless college." It was a fun evening under the yellow lit paths of my stomping grounds - it still kills me that I have been in new England longer than I was at Rice, which I think is oddly parallel to the whole Iraq - WWII analogy that keeps getting made.
Dan and I hit up Mission Burrito the next morning while Christina limped her way to her bridal party duties. Please take note of Christina's Saturday morning metaphorical limping and is it will turn into a full blown literal crawling by night's end. The Mission Burrito was seventh level good. We headed back to the hotel to lounge around have awake and ended up watching (egads) The War of the Worlds, a movie which can be summed up "as stupid as it was crappy." Showered, shaved, Dan forgot a tie, and then we headed down to the lobby to have blank awkward conversations with some of Jeff's friend and other dates of the bridal party that had been offered a shuttle to take us to the church. We went, ceremony happened, we all mingled outside. It was hot as hell and humid, unsurprisingly. I remember the ride back because there was a TV playing a college football game and when a Rice score popped up (they won) Page Gandy went nuts. And there was also a lot of talk about the Astros (who, remember, were surging to catch the Cardinals during their biggest-collapse-of-all-time, a collapse so mighty that it ended with a world series crown. Again, take note that the Astros were knee-deep in a pennant chase that day). We got back to the hotel.
The pre-reception cocktails were awesome - the vodka-tonic gin and tonic lubricants worked their magic, and many a social circles were formed with perfect diameters and all participants held their napkins and hors d'oeuvres appropriately. Seriously, pretty schwank stuff, complete with bell chimes to announce dinner. Should be noted that Christina Noble/McCallum's drink of choice tonight was a dirty martini. Many of them. Bad Idea Jeans. I had my first martini of my life, and I should throw out there that it was totally disgusting and salty. I vastly prefer the tonics and long islands. The wedding progressed; I danced like Axl as Cheryl's request, and danced with Christina and other Rice chicas and all in all had a good time. I should also throw out that I gladly did not run into Ayesha at any point during the entire evening; please e-mail me directly if you'd like that heinous story. I also recall that the DJ was awesome, and that Matt Akers spent a great deal of time playing the tambourines. I sat at a table with matt, his wife Ebit, Kristi Tan, Eric Heineman, and some other really random people whose names i don't need to recall for any evolutionary purposes. All in all, a groovy wedding, a lot of Texas charm in the toasts and whatnot, and a transparent ignorance and or willful denial of Chryl's virtue in most of what was said. Just kidding Cheryl!!! Actually, it was a lovely affair, though I have noted of late that weddings have an odd sameness to them - same songs, place settings, etc. - that are giving me a kind of "This Starbucks could be anywhere in America" sensation. Cheryl's was nice and schwank, but there is that whole cookie cutter ritual form to it that seems very silly.
So the wedding reception eventually ended (with the Doobie Brothers' China Grove - WTF? - if I remember correctly). So we natch headed down to the Omni Bar downstairs, a sort of basement hangout / legitimate club where real Houstonites and not just reuniting under the pretense of weddings Houstonites could be found. This was cool, as it meant that Aaron Garcia's and Cheryl's weddings merged, and mayhem ensued, except that it was one of those stupid loud, crowded, overpriced, overly bass-pumped music bars that people pretend to have an awesome time at but don't.
And the crux of this entire post, the point of the title, is that night rumors spread very quickly that Jeff Bagwell, he of the Killer B's from the Houston Astros, was there. I immediately questioned the validity of this, as why on earth, in the middle of the pennant race, would Bagwell be spending his time at the crappy Omni underground bar place? He was injured at the time, sure, but shouldn't he be supporting his team, watching tape, or at the very least taking his multi-million dollar butt out to fancier joints than this? SO I didn't believe it until Cheryl herself walked me around this weird U-shaped bar and pointed him out, sitting in a booth with another dude and two ridiculous, and I mean that in the "ridiculous," not in the "ridiculously good-looking" sense, women in the booth with him. The two girls were decked out in evening gowns and looked entirely plasticine in a horror movie featuring a wax museum way. Bagwell himself is *tiny* - and I knew he was short, but it wasn't just that, his stripe collared shirt just hung off him. He did not look like an athlete, or at least not like the muscle bound monster he once was, which of course has all kinds of steroid implications. But maybe he just hasn't been lifting because of the arm injury; we'll give him that. Regardless, he was clearly hiding out and looked like a shell of himself; I assume this injury has been tough for him. I chose not to speak to him as I have a general policy against talking to celebrities unless I feel I can connect to them on some authentic level, and given that most of my bagwell comments would have been oriented around something along the lines of "I really like all those world series rings that aren't on your fingers," it's probably best I didn't. I mean, he was smaller than I thought, but he could still probably take post-wedding Nyet. So I kinda forgot about him, endured the bar scene as long as I could, then started wondering where my roomies Dan and Christina were.
Enter Jeff Muñoz. An extraordinarily LOUD Jeff Muñoz. I run into him in the basement lobby where we had to wait in line for the elevator - some genius created a crowded space where there was only one path out. Nice. Anyways, I'm talking with jeff, who for some reason is demonstrating some crazy dance moves in this tiny crowded lobby. Jeff gets hot and decides to take off his tuxedo jacket, only as he does this, Jeff Bagwell also leaves the bar and walks right behind him. Jeff M throws an elbow back to take off his jacket and misses clocking Jeff B in the face by about 3 inches. Jeff B is actually pretty reasonable about almost getting clocked - says, "hey watch it dude," and walks out, trying to take a door exit (which actually leads to the fenced in Omni pool) rather than the elevator. Drunk Jeff M. then immediately goes into a "who the hell was that guy" routine, saying how he can take him, etc., as I'm trying to explain to him how funny it is that he almost elbowed jeff bagwell in the face. Jeff M gets very confused at the second Jeff involved, and as I'm finally getting the point across, Jeff B comes back in from the outside. Jeff M. finally realizes who he almost hit, but without seeing that Jeff B has walked back in the room, says something along the lines of "Whatever dude, Jeff Bagwell is so done." This is said at the usual Jeff M while drunk volume, and just as the room had quieted down a bit, so jeff B hears it loud and clear. He walks back toward the elevator and jokingly says "hey, watch it buddy," at which point the Latin lover (Jeff M) turns three shades of pale and says, "Oh, man, I'm so sorry Mr. Bagwell, sorry I almost elbowed you in the face." Which is funny enough, but it continues:
"That's cool, man."
"No, I'm really sorry, I was just taking off my jacket, i didn't see you, i was hot."
"Really, it's okay."
"Alright man. Hey, Mr. Bagwell?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks. Thanks for... Thanks for Everything."
Elevator door closes. I'm laughing as Jeff Bagwell disappears from our lives forever. Another reason I don't talk to celebrities is that you end up blabbering and saying things like "thanks for .... everything."
SO I eventually find Dan and Christina (Dan had spent a solid hour battling hotel security to let him back into his own room), and we head up to a post-post-party in one of Aaron's guests suites. The party turns out to be us and a lot of people we don't know. Christina goes off to sleep in a room as the martinis have defeated her. We eventually leave and head back up, Christina spending a lot of the night, well, not in bed.
The next morning was the brunch, and I spent a lot of time recounting the Bagwell-thanks for everything story. Cheryl has the forever-memory of a baseball star showing up at her wedding, more or less. I think she got her picture with him at some point. Jeff M is nowhere to be seen. Dan takes me back to the airport as Christina stays in bed and recovers. I make it back to Providence and resume my low-salary life, one experience richer.
That's it.
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