I Love Photo Booths

Mary Liz and I attended the wedding of our friend and fellow book club member, Mamata Reddy, and her groom, Michael Herbst. The wedding was fun, a Christian/Hindu fusion, and we had a great time, even though it started at 10 a.m. and continued throughout the afternoon. We had to force ourselves to bed early on Saturday night, but knew it was worth it as we had the perfect excuse for a nice round of day-drinking on Sunday.

Mary Liz thought I needed to dress appropriately for a day wedding, so last month a new suit was purchased (the Jos. A. Bank Executive 2-Button Poplin Suit - Tan). I must admit I looked great, and stood out among the crowd of James Bond wannabes in their dark colored suits.

I will say wearing a light colored suit and hat to a day wedding seems very southern, and I couldn't resist talking like Foghorn Leghorn at every opportunity: "I say, I say, my drink is empty and this will not stand."

Most people thought I was doing an Al Pacino impression, but I think that's more on him than it is on me.

Anyway, they had a photo booth at the wedding, which is always a good time, and Mary Liz and I got our picture taken with our friend Elizabeth, who looked rather Amazonian in her hooker heels and a blue dress. We had to make up some poses for the booth, which we of course practiced before we went in. You can see them to the right, along with the new suit, although it looked much better in the color of the afternoon sun and with a whiskey sour in my hand. I'm the one in the middle talking like Foghorn Leghorn throughout the picture taking. "I must say, ladies, there is only room for two hens and one rooster in this booth."

Mid-Year's Resolutions

The title says it all. Maybe sometime I'll think of positive things to add to my life. For now I prefer to cancel things out. Here are some things I'm going to stop doing:

• Thanking the person who is no more than 3 feet in front of me for holding the door open behind him for a half-second. At that distance, I am really only thanking him for not being rude, and that does not warrant a 'thank you'.
• Running because I'm late for something. I will reserve running for saving my own life or that of another.
• Signing emails "Best,". What do I really mean by that?
• Playing Monopoly on my iPod. I'm tired of exploiting the glitches in the game that guarantee I will always win. I've exhausted the possibilities of gameplay even to the point of playing a benevolent landlord with hotels on every property who replenishes the funds of the other players whenever they get below $10,000. Plus, while callouses are cool for guitar players, it is lame to build them up on your iPod's wheel.
• High-fiving Chris Othic's wife, Mary, just to make Chris jealous. I haven't even started doing this yet, but I've been considering starting. Assuming she would allow me. I presume nothing. If I don't live up to any of the things on this list, it will be this item.
  
• Saying "uh" instinctively when I don't really need to. (Example: A waiter asks me if I want more water. I say "Uh, yeah," when what I really meant was "But of course."
• Checking chipublib.org daily to see the status of my hold requests. They will send me an email when my item is ready for pick-up.
• Thinking about how to end this post.
  

The Masters: We're Talking About Golf, Right?

My father-in-law’s birthday usually falls around the Masters, so it has become a bit of a tradition that we are all at my in-laws’ house on Masters weekend. We generally celebrate golf’s greatest major by eating too much cake, drinking too much beer, watching baseball and golf, and having "sports" conversations like the following:

Mary Liz (my wife): (As Angel Cabrera makes his winning par during the playoff holes.) So, do they all place their orders before they tee off, and then the winner gets his dinner?

Me: (reacting as if I just took an Ali jab straight to the head) Wha?

Mary Liz: You know, the dinner. Do they place the order and now they are making the dinner?

Don: (brother-in-law) You mean the winner’s dinner. That’s next year.

Mary Liz: Oh, they eat it next year?

Don: Yeah, it’s the Champions’ Dinner. The winner from the year before gets to choose the food.

(Then we have a lengthy conversation about how we know this because of the Tiger Woods/Fuzzy Zoeller flap a few years ago. Then . . . )

Mary Liz: I wonder what they will have next year for dinner.

Me: (Taking the bait.) Probably Argentinean food. Cabrera’s from Argentina.

Mary Liz: What is that? What kind of food is Argentinean?

Don: Maybe steaks. Churasco? Is that from Argentina?

Me: [shaking my head back and forth slowly]

Mary’s Mom: Plantains? That’s South American. I bet they have plantains.

Me: [Hiding my head in my hands.]

Mary Liz: Hmmm. Will that be on the internet? Will we be able to look at the menu? I'd like to see that.

Me: [banging my head against the coffee table.]

Mary Liz: (As Cabrera is presented with his green jacket.) Do they all wear the little green jackets at the dinner? I bet that looks odd, all those guys in their green jackets. Like a fraternity.
Me: [Sticking a fork in my eye.]

Mary Liz: So do they have a tailor on the premises or do they just get a jacket off the rack when they win the tournament? Is there a big closet with a bunch of green jackets in different sizes? His jacket looks a little big. Doesn't his jacket look big?

Mary's Mom: That jacket is a little big.

Me: [Head explodes.]


Angel Cabrera gets his "fitted" green jacket and wonders "What's for dinner?" 2.5 seconds before Chris’ head explodes.

BONUS STORY:

If you think this is an isolated incident, here is a story I was telling people last year during the Ryder Cup team event. As always, 90 percent of this is actually true.

Last September the Americans won the Ryder Cup golf team event, beating the Europeans 16½-11½. I saw the end of the matches with Mary while perched on a bar stool in the Irish Oak, drinking a Guiness. Here is the “sports” conversation we had during those matches:

Mary Liz: So, who do you think picks the shirts?

Me: The shirts?

Mary Liz: The shirts they wear. The guys on the teams are all wearing the same golfing shirt.

Me: (Taking the bait.) I don’t know who picks the “golfing” shirts. The captain, maybe? A committee?

Mary Liz: (Thinking for a moment.) I bet it’s the wives.

Me: The wives?

Mary Liz: I like the Europeans’ shirts better. Their wives have a better fashion sense.

Me: [Pounding my head on the bar.]

Mary Liz: And they are wearing white belts. I like the white belts. They’re fun.

Me: [Sticking toothpick in my eye.]

Mary Liz: I wonder what color their socks are. I wish they would show the socks.

Me: [Setting myself on fire.]


The wives of the 2008 European Ryder Cup Team displaying their fashion sense. Mary would like to know, "Where do they shop for their sunglasses?"