(special co-author: MHG)

“So, how was the drive?” became the number one question Friday night as MHG and I braved the completely snow-free highways to attend the wedding rehearsal in Green Bay. A weather advisory loomed over us like a stuffed animal on a high closet shelf, completely non-threatening, yet somehow portentous and bone-chilling. “The drive was fine, no snow anywhere actually.”

We had checked into our hotel about an hour earlier, having created for ourselves a substantial time buffer, and arrived at the church thirty minutes early after realizing that it stood practically within the shadow of our Holiday Inn. We made some time with the (surprise) Packer-clad organist and did our best to remember to talk like Christians. “Yes, that murderer in Brookfield must have been completely insane. I’ve certainly never entertained the thought of multiple homicide. Did that sound sarcastic? ‘Cause it wasn’t. And neither was that.”

Luckily, before too much more time progressed and this woman exposed us for what we truly are, the father of the bride arrived, with youngest sibling of the bride in tow. Gregariously grumpy, Mr. M made me instantly at ease with his obvious paternal pride and even more obvious dislike of pomp.

Then, in a rush, like they were in high school butting out their cigarettes to walk into homeroom as the bell rang, the rest of the bridal party clambored in. Jackets were discarded and the wedding planner and overworked pastor powered through the ceremony in record time. The time was right for partying, and the place? Chuck E. Cheese.

At first, none of us, not even the younger adults, were certain how to approach this. We sat and made polite conversation while we longingly gazed at the human gerbils who raced through the set of tunnels that ran throughout the play area, wishing we could afford such carefree attitudes. By the time the pizza arrived, however, everyone was ready to rock some Skee Ball. After only a few balls were thrown, so too was the gauntlet. The drive for amassing tickets was palpable, and people roved to find the greatest token-ticket ratio.

MHG and I collected 184 between the two of us, but only after we had put our own money into the token machine; we did not want to use more than our fair share of the wedding party’s free token pool. But we had a goal. We wanted that Policeman Mr. Potato Head, and we didn’t care if it cost us all night and half our savings to get it. It was only after we had traded in that first 184 toward the 300 ticket price, that we saw the sign, posted in that secluded location RIGHT ABOVE THE PRIZES: “Remember: all prizes can be purchased with cash.”

I settled for some Smarties and a Spider-Man bottle topper rather than putting another bill into the token machine. We hadn’t finished our vendetta against the Bozo Grand Prize Game which insisted on calling us “losers” when we couldn’t get all 6 ping-pong balls to ignore physics and stay in the shallow buckets, but time was marching on, and the wallet was getting thinner than expected. Then, we coughed up some more dough for the potato head, which MHG was referring to as “Mr. Potato Head in a gay bar.” We needed this potato man, you see, to celebrate Izzy the Bootblack’s birthday. Later, we would paint the police hat and shoes in a gloss black, and the mustache would do the rest.

When we returned to the pizza and soda area, with our prizes in hand, the place was getting dead. The bride and her best friend decided to get a snapshot with the animatronic Chuck E. Cheese, who secluded himself behind a velvet curtain between shows. We still had some time, so we waited through a brief birthday song by the staff to Cade, whose entire party was nowhere to be seen and several confusing cartoons until the big moment arrived. The music swelled and the lights flashed. All six screens were alive with overstimulation.

And then, the music reached the top of a crescendo, and…modulated up a key. No Chuck E. yet. He was letting the suspense build a bit. He hasn’t been in the business this long for nothing. The sign on the place doesn’t say Rodeo Dog or Weird Purple Monster. No. It says Chuck E. Cheese.

The music continued to build, and Chuck was backstage with his bottled water. “Let ’em wait five more minutes,” his jerkily animated head seemed to say, “it’ll make it all the sweeter.” S. looked behind the curtains as the music continued to herald the coming of the Chuck, and reported that he had a girl back there with him. The big mouse hadn’t finished with his groupie session yet, and the show was just going to have to wait.

Then, finally, the music hit its actual break point, the “On the Air” light turned on, and…turned off. The screens went back to playing cartoons. Chuck E. Cheese, that diva, that prima donna, had decided the bride wasn’t good enough to be seen with on film. We pulled back the curtains and like kiddy paparazzi snapped away anyway. But Chuck had the last laugh.

As we packed and left, right as the bride-to-be reached the entrance to the party area, the curtains pulled back and Chuck began to sing. The victory was his. At least until we reveal to the press his big secret: he lip-synchs every word.

Weeks ago, as I toiled over some vastly important work project that has since passed into anonymity, an email arrived from an old friend. She had news, so the message read, and she wanted to be certain that she had the right email address. Soon after, I learned that she was to be married. She asked me to usher the event, and I agreed without hesitation.

The husband-to-be is a soldier and since he will leave for active duty soon, they pushed their wedding forward. Many people asked them why, with the possibility of his never returning, they would choose to rush the marriage. The simple answer eluded them, I suppose. As a conscientious man, the groom wishes to be assured that his fiancé will be provided for in the event of his death. Not to mention, as a soldier leaving for war, he might want to be assured of spending quality time with his beloved before duty calls.

So, the drama is in place. This man, who I have never met, will in three days be married to my old and dear friend. And then, in a few months, he will be off to war. The time table is short, and she is traditional in her ways, meaning that the wedding will be a large Christian affair and will require a great deal of planning. And if the pressure at this point is not enough to bear…

There’s an ex-girlfriend. And she’s casting impunity on the character of my friend’s fiancé. I haven’t any details and I wouldn’t hand them out if I did. But several philosophical questions have arisen.

One, do I assume, as is so often the case in these Jerry Springer type troubles, that there is at least some truth to the ex-girlfriend’s statements? Although the bride-to-be’s faith in him is strong, I have no grounds to believe him over the ex. Does my loyalty lie with my friend’s faith or with my own doubt? To serve my friend is to be removed from emotion in this case and be prepared for the worst, in case it is true.

Two, because it is now my place as a friend and as a hopefully just man to proceed as though he is thoroughly innocent of the crimes, am I justified in “handling” the ex should she turn up for some reason? After all, as a friend and an usher, I want to make sure the wedding goes off without a hitch. Well, with just the one, I suppose. Or is it best to stand back in this instance and let the scene unfold as it must?

Let us hope that these questions remain philosophical and not practical.

3/18 update: I’ve met the groom-to-be, and my instincts do not lead me to believe that he would allow my friend to come to any harm due to malicious intent or simple mistake. I am led to believe that his ex is crazy and if she shows up for whatever reason, I will step in.

I’ve been in a state of self-analysis lately, determining why I’m willing to put myself in a position of wage-slavery when all of the people whom I admire have avoided such servitude. Not surprisingly, it comes down to courage. They have had the courage to work toward their dreams, and I have not. I hope to change that.

My heroes include:

Spider-Man – I know, he’s not a real person. Maybe I should be idolizing Stan Lee instead for creating him. To me, however, Spider-Man is the perfect hero. He’s a working stiff. Although he is possessed of great intelligence and amazing superhuman abilities, he realizes that his duty and responsibility is to do what no one else can, even at the cost of his own happiness and success. No other comic book hero is as fully realized as a human being as Spider-Man, to this day.

Jack Black, Ron Perlman – Two guys who do not fit the Hollywood ideal, yet have achieved based on that very principle. Jack Black rocked his way to the top and maintained his allegiance to the entirely underrated Kyle Gass. Ron Perlman took what jobs people would offer him early on, relying not on good looks, but on raw talent and determination to, as he puts it, “put his kids through school.” Now, he’s the oldest actor ever to play a superhero.

Joss Whedon, Ben Edlund, J. Michael Straczynski – Gifted writers all, but what makes them truly admirable is their adherence to quality above profit. Each of them continued to work to have their art produced and eventually made their mark on the TV scenes, only to become the upper eschelon of geek idols.

Most-Honoured Girlfriend helped me celebrate the passing of years with a trip to Broadway Baby, a dinner theatre North of Milwaukee. My lack of interest in birthday-related celebrations notwithstanding, my belly had its fair share of laughs, after more than its fair share of prime rib.

Dinner was tasty enough and the service was excellent. So, despite my trepidation at the somewhat cramped theatre, the 5 to 1 ratio of elderly to young person, and the attached bar, I was welcoming a little bit of musical madcap. And I received it.

The show regaled us with relationship humour common to most stand-up routines, with a few clever lines thrown in and some over-the-top characters to help with the hyperbole. Overall, the writing and music are about what one expects from an off-broadway show. And, although I was not “enchanted” or some similarly unctuous term over-used by critics, I was pleasantly entertained.

The live theatre atmosphere communicated the joy that the actors shared in playing their roles. Enthusiasm of that degree rarely gets expressed through the multiple-take medium of film. I was also impressed with the use of space; the stage was somewhat small, but the actors seemed completely comfortable, belying the close proximity of the audience. And we were able to take away a phrase that we will use to symbolize when we’re being assholes and we know it : “So chooo-ooose ME, Mr. Video Man.” Yeah, you hadda be there.

Music: 6/10 (referring to composition, not performance)
Direction: 8/10
Acting & Musical Performance: 8/10
Writing: 7/10

Overall: 8/10

Czeltic Girl sifted through waxy and sent me disturbing news about Bugs Bunny. it didn’t take long for the internet to FLASH-RAGE on that shit.

‘A New Bunny’ [Flash, NSFW]

For players of World of Warcraft, a list of fun items and easter eggs only adds to the addiction. I’ll be taking my time to narrow the list to some of the best ones. For you, the Steelbuddha reader.

After all, no one wants to wade through the numerouds bitchy and double/triple/hundredple posts, least of all you, the Steelbuddha reader.

For the literary mind:

• The 1 Ring. Also, humans give a bit of a long-winded satire of Tolkien’s work as one of their /silly responses.
• Hemet Nesingwary (an anagram of Ernest Hemingway) and his expedition ask you to prove your worthiness as a hunter of wild beasts and to return pages of Hemet’s manuscript, The Green Hills of Stranglethorn

Historical myth and fact exploited:

• Nessy [.jpg] can be found in the aquatic section of the Deeprun Tram if you like dodging trains.
• Blizzard found Jimmy Hoffa.

Numerous Shrek-like pop culture movie references, though funnier, geekier and better masked:

• Scooty and Sprok stand in front of transporters in Gnomeregan and Stranglethorn Vale.
• You can find the Six Demon Bag, without having to deal with Egg Chen.
• There is a goblin racing machine crashed into the side of a cliff. No word as to Buckaroo Banzai’s whereabouts.
• One goblin racing machine is clearly modeled after the podracer from the ill-received “Phantom Menace.”
• Woo Ping [.jpg] is selling two games at once, baby. He’s that fast.

Some people make their own fun (or is that pwn fun?):

• Crocodile Hunter
• Safe in contested zone
• Loot Lag

That’s all the ones I’m going to filter. There are several more worth knowing, but you’d have to deal with the same idiocy on the boards that I did. And you, the Steelbuddha reader, are obviously above all that. Should you change your mind and want to read through them: WoW General Discussion –

Give me some time and this place won’t look like a trainwreck. For now, we’re back to Ronald McDonald color scheme you all know and love.

Just click this. [jpg]

A quote from one of the greatest books I’ve ever read might explain this behavior. But probably it’s just fun to jingle the bells.

Someone, somewhere, was paid to write, rehearse and perform this “song.”

They typed up the lyrics and put it in front of the vocalist, who as vocalists must, scoured the song for climax. Then, slowly, he knew the strains where he would project emotion, driving home the message of the song. Perhaps he thought of American soldiers fighting in the steamy jungles of Vietnam as through gritted teeth he sang “Knee deep in the mocha.”

Later, as they layered effects, sweating in the production room of a studio, the backup singer said, “I’m going to add a simple “ooo, ooo” vocal solo here, but we can just have it as an echo after the call-and-answer ‘Remember’ section at the end of the third chorus.” That much thought had to go into this.

And then Survivor came in to help the producer give authenticity to the remake, putting the tracks through different filters and samplers, and *Survivor* said, “No, we’re not going to work on this.”

Later, an emcee would weep silently in a men’s room stall when his cries for dancing went unheeded.

I hope you’re happy, Starbucks.

Slapnose: Jefferson Starbucks