So, by far the train-wreck / story-generating fool of the weekend award goes to my friend and yours, Mike NTPB. After forgetting to get fitted for his tux (this worked out, obviously, see above), forgetting to reserve a room at the hotel (this worked out thanks to the foresight of the iPFam), forgetting that his flight was at 3:00 and not at four as his strange-perception-of-time brain had told him (this worked out because Mike leads a life that is decidedly Alyssa-less but nonetheless "Charmed"), Mike actually made it to the rehearsal not entirely too late. SWEET! So Mike knew exactly where to walk and all that on Saturday. Excellent. The wheels were briefly in motion for an incident-free weekend. Here's a pic of Mike beaming with excitement of the weekend to come... little did he know he would later be known by all of Beck and Nyet's relatives as the guy who "had a rough weekend," "has bad luck," "is questionably responsible for fate's misgivings" and/or "Pulled Off the Trifecta:"
That is, btw, the official casual shnazzy pose of the male side of the wedding, heretofore known as the "groom's party." Jamie, Beck's bro and superstud bassist of the GPGDSquad, was technically a bridesman and thus did not make the cut for this shot. But we'll throw him in here with superbride Beck...
Nice. Getting back to the story, we finished stuff up Sweet Briar and there was a grand debate as to how to get to Grinnell's, whose directions to follow, etc. Shockingly, there was a directional dispute between the Beck and the iPJ. Beck won... this time. Mike jumped in his rental mobile and took Aaron with him - which is a bit like the pres and VP both riding in Air Force One, so that was a dubious decision - but all went well. Mike even drove from all the way back to Rochester without receiving a ticket or even being pulled over. Nice work Gordo! The dinner itself was awesome - great food, fantastic to see the immediate fam and friends there. And I would be remiss if I did not mention that Mike delivered a quite nice and heartfelt toast at the rehearsal dinner. Here's a pic of Mike posing with my dad:
At this point, the term "ill-fated" had not been tossed around much. Notice the lack of blood on Mike's face or the front of his shirt - that's an important detail for later. So what, you ask, caused this evening to take a turn for the adventuresome?
So this pic is chronologically inaccurate AND contains an innocent bystander in iPMM. The real culprit is the otherwise infallible Liz, aka Zil, aka "Loser of the Grand Game of Good Idea / Bad Idea." Liz had to take her brother Jim home to Geneseo that evening, but she uttered the fateful words, "you guys should totally go check out Daisy Duke's and ride the mechanical bull." Exiting idea for an after-party, and yes, the bridal party et al acquiesced and decided it was high time we go out and groove. If you know me, of course, you know that I am a Level 19 Pansy when it comes to activity of adventure and risk, and so I was not really inclined to ride the mechanical bull. Lest I get any stupid ideas, Beck, too, was there to ensure that I took no steps toward the inorganic Tauran monstrosity. Who in the room would be brave/foolish enough to step into the groom's place and battle the Machine-o-taur?
Well, Aaron would be an obvious choice, he of the skydiving ventures. But slow on the draw was he. It was another Texan, another "brother" o' mine, who jumped on the synecdochal headless bull-bot. Well, technically not a "bull-bot," at least not in the traditional AI-sense. More of a bull puppet. Because as Zach can attest, there was a dude, a tattooed and fu-machued dude, at the controls of the bull. Mike was happily bounding around while Zach was conversing with the low budget equivalent of Cusack in Being John Malkovich - and apparently Zach asked the guy something about the controls, and the guy said "Yeah, I can throw him off any time I want." And with two wrist turns of knobs in Chaplinain fashion, the following ensued...
That was taken milliseconds before a mecha-buck back into Mike's face. Mike, as called by the controller, indeed went flying soon thereafter. And Mike came up clutching his face. Lots of things came to mind... broken jaw? Missing teeth? We all went flying to Mike's side, and luckily our party traveled with a vet and a couple of fresh-faced docs in tow. They quickly determined it was just a cut, albeit a deep one, right below the chin - a quick discussion of the relative curative properties of bar napkins ensued, and as the newly degreed ones debated the proper course of action, I caught Mike in this pose:
Blood, blood everywhere, nor DID THEY COMP HIS DRINK?!?!?! That's right, Mike at one point was seen digging though his wallet to pay for a craptastic beer to drown his bull-begotten sorrows. The big-haired and (according to Zach, in perhaps his fatal-to-the-schwerve move of the weekend, fake-breasted) bartender didn't even blink her fake-lashed eyes. The Bull-operator meanwhile regaled us with tales of his own laundry list of injuries suffered on the bull stool; we were not impressed. Eventually we figured out that Mike needed some stitches at the hospital, so kate, beck, Mike and I headed to Strong Memorial at approximately 1 am. Ah, the absurdity of starting the wedding weekend in the ER. Beck and I hung out til around 2, but awesome friend of the night award goes to Kate, who stayed up with poor Mike until 4:30 (The Tipsy K was still in D.C. at the time and probably got a better night's sleep for it). Here's a pic of Kate, Jill, Beck and me at the RD, again, unaware of the fun that lay ahead.
So Mike eventually got stitches - 10 of them - and headed home for the morning. This required Dan leaving keys at the chec-in counter for him, etc. - good times. But Mike's weekend wasn't done. After more mayhem on Friday night out at the Bishops, Mike got something in his eye under his contact... and developed an eye infection. Is there an ophthalmologist in the house? Oh, there is. How fortunate. Mike got an emergency visit from iPJ sometime Saturday morning and got some antibiotic drops. So this meant that Mike would be wearing glasses for the wedding and sporting a day and a half old goatee. I mean, dude, if you wanted to attend the wedding incognito, there were other options. But it was a solid entry for the record books.
And then Mike's plan entered phase 3 - spend a night in jail. After the wedding (mayhem will be posted soon enough), Mike got pulled over for speeding in the lovely town of Geneseo. In a breech of decency, the cop looked at Mike's tux and ASS-U-ME'D he's been drinking that night. So Mike NTPB ended his festivities Saturday night / Sunday morning by performing a sobriety test on an ill-lit Genesean road. Ill-lit, except for all of the cars of our friends who were headed to the lakehouse and saw Mike on the side of the road... d'oh.
But Mike apparently managed to breathe a .07 and everything worked out, with a fine being the only result. We saw Mike off at brunch the next morning, and presumably everything in his life has gone swimmingly since. Barrie seniors graduate, Miguel rolls on.
So in sum - thanks a ton for coming and being in the wedding, MNTPB. You spiced it up with some stories, but more importantly you were just here, an integral participant in life as I know it. Gracias, go Spurs, and thanks again for some SICK good times. ANd if I hear anything else in the next couple days, I am officially affording you Boy in the Bubble status. :)
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