There are many titles/jobs/duties out there that are definitely more of a honor to be asked or appointed to, than it is to actually embody the entity. Such as President of the United States when you follow W. Or to star in the newest Bret Ratner film. For me, its to be the Best Man in some one's wedding.
I didn't realize until recently (when thinking about my own approaching marriage) just how select a group 'Best Men' are. I guess the equivalent would be Maid of Honor on the female side, but judging by the difference in obligational enthusiasm between men and women towards the ideal of marriage, I'd say the positions aren't exactly equal. Plus traditionally, since women seem to have shorter same-sex friendships then men do (you know, because we actually like each other), I'd be willing to bet that Best Men typically have a longer history with the groom than Maid's of Honor do with the Bride (if we're excluding family members).
My point is that its a big deal. Men typically take a foxhole mentality to most things in life and when one guy tells another that he wants him to be by his side on the day that EVERYTHING officially changes, its not something to scoff at. Besides...who else is going to be the pulling guard for him thru all the Bridal Party traffic if he changes his mind at the last second? I wouldn't want some cat I'm just 'cool with', taking out the knees of my would've been wife's father if I decide at the last second that this chick is way too crazy to commit my 401K to. If Tom Hagan was a punk, Michael Corleone never could've taken over most of Vegas. You get my point.
So it is an honor, no doubt. And an honor I would accept 98% of the time (one has to assume we're close if the guy is asking me). But that doesn't mean that being the Best Man is really cool. Actually its far from it. Its a lot of fuckin work homie. I've been lucky enough to be the Best Man at two weddings and I worked my ass off. Besides the odds and ends stuff, lets run thru some of the particulars of your duties as BM:
1. Getting the Groomsmen on the same page. Lets be honest about a couple of things here: One, men aren't known for their organization...or for particularly caring a whole lot about someone else's wedding. So making sure they'll all be in town on time, tuxes (Ugh), gifts, all that shit has to be sorted out by someone. Plus, I've yet to be a Groomsmen (5 total) at a wedding and been a close acquaintance to every other bastard lucky enough to be asked as well. So as the Best Man, you might have to manage some personalities you don't particularly care for. Its like being a head coach of a football team and having to govern over the assistants that were there before you and are bitter because they didn't get the job in the first place. Sometimes you're saved by family being part of the Bridal Party (like Ed has a son that's a teenager) and sometimes it makes things worst. The last time I was a Best Man, it was at my cousins wedding and he has two older brothers that felt...passed over. Awkward.
2. Planning the Bachelor Party isn't as glamorous as one would think. I'm sure the perception is, "Dude, you book a hotel room, a couple of strippers and alcohol, what could go wrong?" Well, with that particular setup, everything. But balancing a 'good but memorable time' and making sure Candy doesn't end up being the groom's baby mama asks to be touched with a velvet hammer. A lot of comes with judging the groom: Are you celebrating the marriage or the end of the bachelor status (two totally different things)? Is he normally a shut in or the life of a party? Does his wife pick up on details like glitter lotion? You want to avoid the extremes so that you're not bailing one of the groomsmen out of jail the next morning or sitting bored out of your mind while watching Obama's rise to power on the C-Span for the 32nd time. Plus another complexity and misconception about bachelor parties: They're not just for the groom. Often the other groomsmen have invested in that party as well (financial or otherwise), so its your job to make sure everybody has a good time. And some bastards are just hard to please.
3. You are THE insurance for every logistical issue. Safe Auto. Progressive. All State. You get the point. When Murphy's law kicks in, its usually your ass that's the target. "What's that, we need more chairs at the reception? Can someone pick those up?" "The DJ doesn't have the music we need? Who can take him this CD?" "Aunt Bertha is stuck at the airport? Do we know anybody that can help a 74 yr old woman with a surgically repaired hip into a car and turn a 35 minute car ride into 15 so she can be here at the start of the ceremony?" Who else are they gonna ask for that shit? If you're the Best Man, its all you Big Dog. I suggest you pack some running shoes and a protein shake on your way to the church.
There is one very large and obvious perk I have intentionally omitted (because it doesn't apply to me for Ed's wedding).
1. Being the best man makes you the most attractive man in an 8 mile radius to everybody except the bride (hopefully). Bar none. I don't care if you look like Howard Stern (minus Stern's money), you don't hear a lot of No Thank You's when you're the best man. Now, I assume this is regardless of sexuality, since emotions are high for anyone involved, but the stature of Best Man at a wedding is basically like being the guy who saved a 4 yr old from drowning down at the watering hole in a small town. I have since been rehabbed from my former life of debauchery and whoredom (as my fiance loves to say), but if I forgot to pack condoms with my clothes for the weekend a wedding was occurring, it felt about as grievous as the groom forgetting the rings. Few things in life are guaranteed...oral pleasure while carrying out your duties as a Best Man is one of them...
...unless of course you're getting married a month before that (or are in any kind of meaningful relationship period. Then you're just screwed (...never mind).
At the end of the day, guys asks a lot of people for a ride, money, permission to date some one's ex but typically, they only ask one person on this earth to be their Best Man. And if you're willing get Bertha's big ass into your two door coop from a crowded airport if your job depended on it...would you even flinch if your brother asked the same thing of you?
1.28.2009
Seven Points of Light
Seven Points of Light
When they come for me
Their hands gnarled and twisted
Like smoke in the lungs of a fetus
They will ask me where I have hid you
To what place makes sunlight knock softly at its entrance
Where birth never cries until the blood
Has become visible
I will ask them for a tool
A rock hammer
A colored pencil
The name of their worshipped
Anything that will die slowly from constant use
I will use it to trace these seven points of light
From the sky above us
I will tell them I buried you alive there
That you smiled
When I pulled the black over you
That you felt you were too good
For soggy Earth and sad songs
I will tell them you were right
That I tied a boulder to my ankles
And dove into your yes
That I have raised six kitchen knives
That are just like you
That if it weren’t for their intent
People could tell they were your brothers
Gentle ladies of consequence
Do not let your daughters trip into these shallow graves
When you smile flash floods
All your regrets will wash up around your ankles
Like smoke at the base of twin buildings
Like cigars vanquished in the mudslide of a bully
To these docile men of Cicero
And the thunder of legions who don’t remember home
Try as you might
To avoid dropping your sons into these square emporiums
They deserve a soldiers demise
A promise that ties itself to your ribcage
Like a kite fueled by the winds in your chest
We’ve made a habit of burying our young
In a planet that is dying itself
We plant magnolias in the Sahara
And expect orchards
Call our children Jupiter
As they are galactic in our eyes
That will only fail at being stars
There is too much sky to be undisturbed
And left vacant
Too much of everything
To ever assume we are alone
When they come for me
Bury me six feet above the ground
Let my spirit dance with a prevailing wind
Do not obstruct me with brick walls
Do not bar my entry into the ether with skyscrapers
Or telephone polls
Knock down these billboards, these voting booths
Group homes and parking garages
Bring your bulldozer
Your wrecking balls
Your colored pencils
Your fallen stars
Your matchbooks and create absolutely nothing
Where everything can exist
Till we have mass graves floating around our hips
Till cemeteries are opening doors for those that still walk
The earth
And remind them
They never really left us
When they ask you why
When you have pushed the last lighthouse into the embankment
And they ask you why you have done this
Tell them there is still life floating around us
Tell them no fence will ever stand between you
And your mothers face when she says your name
So softly
The gunpowder in your ears shies away from the spark
When they come for you
They will ask you where you have hidden me
Tell them that I am not hidden
That they should not disturb the earth on my account
That I am amongst the living
Because you
Never forgot me
When they come for me
Their hands gnarled and twisted
Like smoke in the lungs of a fetus
They will ask me where I have hid you
To what place makes sunlight knock softly at its entrance
Where birth never cries until the blood
Has become visible
I will ask them for a tool
A rock hammer
A colored pencil
The name of their worshipped
Anything that will die slowly from constant use
I will use it to trace these seven points of light
From the sky above us
I will tell them I buried you alive there
That you smiled
When I pulled the black over you
That you felt you were too good
For soggy Earth and sad songs
I will tell them you were right
That I tied a boulder to my ankles
And dove into your yes
That I have raised six kitchen knives
That are just like you
That if it weren’t for their intent
People could tell they were your brothers
Gentle ladies of consequence
Do not let your daughters trip into these shallow graves
When you smile flash floods
All your regrets will wash up around your ankles
Like smoke at the base of twin buildings
Like cigars vanquished in the mudslide of a bully
To these docile men of Cicero
And the thunder of legions who don’t remember home
Try as you might
To avoid dropping your sons into these square emporiums
They deserve a soldiers demise
A promise that ties itself to your ribcage
Like a kite fueled by the winds in your chest
We’ve made a habit of burying our young
In a planet that is dying itself
We plant magnolias in the Sahara
And expect orchards
Call our children Jupiter
As they are galactic in our eyes
That will only fail at being stars
There is too much sky to be undisturbed
And left vacant
Too much of everything
To ever assume we are alone
When they come for me
Bury me six feet above the ground
Let my spirit dance with a prevailing wind
Do not obstruct me with brick walls
Do not bar my entry into the ether with skyscrapers
Or telephone polls
Knock down these billboards, these voting booths
Group homes and parking garages
Bring your bulldozer
Your wrecking balls
Your colored pencils
Your fallen stars
Your matchbooks and create absolutely nothing
Where everything can exist
Till we have mass graves floating around our hips
Till cemeteries are opening doors for those that still walk
The earth
And remind them
They never really left us
When they ask you why
When you have pushed the last lighthouse into the embankment
And they ask you why you have done this
Tell them there is still life floating around us
Tell them no fence will ever stand between you
And your mothers face when she says your name
So softly
The gunpowder in your ears shies away from the spark
When they come for you
They will ask you where you have hidden me
Tell them that I am not hidden
That they should not disturb the earth on my account
That I am amongst the living
Because you
Never forgot me
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