Obsessive readers of THE VENT(c) will remember that I have previously written about the upcoming wedding between my cousin Sefton and his bride-to-be Amy Leavitt. Specifically, you may want to reference the following VENTS:

VENT 4 – Sefton Meets Amy (I have incredible foresight)
VENT 9 – Amy Shoots Sefton Down
VENT 14 – I recommend “High Karate” Aftershave
VENT 15 – Sefton asks Amy out again, tells her he knows me
VENT 16 – Amy says conditional yes, “you must act Daylin-like.”
VENT 44 – The First Kiss, Sefton says I’m a “great kisser.” He vows to try kissing Amy next.
VENT 76 – Sefton’s Dark Secret – The non-kosher years.
VENT 90 – The proposal, in pig Latin, the language of love
VENT 101 – I’m the Best man, Leavitt’s threaten injunction
VENT 123 – Bachelor Party
VENT 125 – Wedding present – re-gifting lingerie

Well, the wedding finally happened this weekend. The job of a journalist is to recount events with precise accuracy. However, I am not a journalist, so I get to make a bunch of stuff up. Here’s what happened:


Jen and I arrived in New York. The first step was to pick up the Tuxedo. The man at the Tux place took my measurements. However, some people refuse to acknowledge they are not the same size they were in college. I’m sort of like that, except I go back to fourth grade. I demanded pants with a 28 waist and an XXS jacket. I told the man he could give me whatever inseam he wanted as long as he promised to keep measuring until I agreed to run off with him. It took 2 hours and a borrowed sausage stuffer, but I was soon in my tux.

The rehearsal was smooth and well run, except they never rehearsed the part about “if anyone knows any reason these two should not be joined, yada yada yada.” I guess they like that part to be spontaneous on the wedding day. I did detect a little nervousness on Mr. Leavitt’s (the bride’s dad–allegedly) part about my best man toast. He had read the Vents and was concerned that I would go a little long. I decided to torture him a little by telling him not to worry; time is, after all, just an illusion. He seemed confused, and not completely reassured.

At the rehearsal dinner, Jen and I met one of Sefton’s friends named Bruce. Bruce had been to literally every country in the world. And not just the one’s with white people, like most Americans. I was ashamed that I had never really been anywhere, so I pretended that I too had trotted the globe. Although this became harder to do as the conversation progressed.

I thought Bali was a beautiful place.

Oh…shit yeah!! I did some great ice
fishing there.

Ice fishing? In Bali?

Yup, caught me a penguin!

Really? Ever been to China?

Have I been to China?? Sure, three,
four, 90 times. Something like that. Say,
one of my best friends is there, guy named
Lee. You run into him?

There are an awful lot of Lees in China.

Asian fella. Ring a bell?

As I was leaving the rehearsal dinner, I caught a glimpse of Mr. Leavitt. I told him that I had met many wonderful people that night, and I was going to talk a little bit about each one during my toast. He started developing a small facial twitch. Then it was off to remind Jen of what our wedding night was like. Which I did by falling asleep as soon as we got back to the room.


We woke up late, read the paper and watched some TV. I think it’s great how even the most expensive, fancy, sophisticated hotels in the world still have “Cheerleaders in Heat” available for rent. Soon, I oozed back into the tux for pictures. The thing I’ve learned about bridal party pictures is that the key thing is to get pictures of every conceivable combination of people. First, it was the groom and the bride. Then the groom with all the groomsmen, then with each groomsman. Then the bride with all the bridesmaids, and then with each bridesmaid. Then with each groomsman.

Then, each groomsman gets shot with each bridesmaid. Then the whole party with the mother of the bride. Then just the mother of the bride. Then each groomsman with the mother of the bride. Then each bridesmaid with the mother of the bride and the father of the groom. Then everyone got photographed with Henry Kissinger, who just happened to be in the hotel. Then each groomsman with Henry Kissinger and the mother of the bride, then each bridesmaid with Henry Kissinger and the father of the groom. Then just Henry Kissinger. Then, the uncle of the bride, Henry Kissinger, and a cardboard cutout of the Pope, who couldn’t be there that day.

The final picture was of the best man (me!) and the father of the bride. I used this time to tell Mr. Leavitt that while I still planned to read “The Joy of Sex” out loud as part of my toast, I had decided to delete all the chapters dealing with Lesbians. Mr. Leavitt’s twitch got a little worse and he started picking hunks of skin off of his neck.

After pictures it was showtime. First, there is the Katuba ceremony where the couple signs the marriage contract. As a lawyer, I insisted on crossing out a few of the more objectionable parts. I had to make a quick bathroom break to stuff the left side of my body back into the tux. When I came out, I went directly into the main room to check it out.

The flowers were beautiful and the organ player was divine. The casket was open and the deceased looked very peaceful. Then it hit me, I had entered the wrong room and was now at the front of the Flanders Funeral. To avoid looking awkward, I said a few words about how Mr. Flanders was a great man who loved his wife and how he shouldn’t be remembered solely for the chronic philandering of his later years. I then quickly grabbed a couple of little crab cakes and made my exit.

Back at Sefton’s wedding, we lined up for the processional. Normally the groomsmen line up by height, but I suggested that we break from tradition and line up in ascending order of IQ. So the Bush supporters were in front, followed by the Three Stooges fans. Geniuses were in the back (why yes, I do frequently refer to myself in the plural).

The ceremony itself was just amazing, everyone looked gorgeous, except for two people, and you know who you are. When it came time for me to hand over the rings, everyone seemed to like my “I sold them for ganja” joke. Although when I said, “No, really, I sold them for Ganja” people did get a little testy. As the newlyweds marched off the stage, I gave the rabbi a sloppy kiss (she earned it) and turned for the final time to Mr. Leavitt.

Beautiful ceremony.

Mr. Leavitt
Tell me the truth, how long’s the speech.

Not long at all, I just say a few words about

Mr. Leavitt

And a few words about Amy.

Mr. Leavitt
No problem.

Then lots and lots of words about the Florida
election results.

Mr. Leavitt
Now listen here…

And maybe a little about baking.

Mr. Leavitt

I love to bake.

Mr. Leavitt

Are you OK sir? Sit down. And you really should
get that twitch looked at. Wait a minute…going
to the doctor….what a great subject for a toast…

As it turns out, the toast went fine. Turning off my microphone did help me gauge my time, although the cattle prods may have been uncalled for. Sefton and Amy were whisked off to consummate their marriage, after some final, tasteful advice from me on how. We all wish them the best of luck. And now that the word is out, I have a feeling my best-man services will be in great demand