And that word is "blechh"!!
A friend of mine got married this weekend at the age of 39, making him the last of my friends to get married, at least for the first time. We flew into Missouri, where the bride and groom somewhat inconveniently live, for the ceremony. The ceremony itself, in which yours truly had a part, was held on a gorgeous bluff overlooking the Missouri River. You could launch hang gliders off the patio where the vows were exchanged, but the bride wouldn't let us.
The reception was held at a local vineyard where they make their own wine. Now I personally know about as much about wine as I do about string theory and the role it plays in quantum physics. In short, both give me headaches and therefore I avoid them. But some friends of ours are quite into wine, and were very excited about the prospect of whooping it up at a winery. Until they tasted the wine. When asked to describe a particular red, a friend of mine, (who actually has my dream job at a major liquor distributor), described it as "grain alcohol with some fruit juice thrown in". Of course, another friend bought four bottles to take home, so perhaps the first guy is just stuffy.
The bonus from my perspective was that while the bartenders knew about wine, they didn't know about anything else. So when I went up and asked for four glasses of 14 year-old Oban scotch, that's what I got. 4 nearly full glasses. Generally, when ordering scotch one is lucky to get a little more than two fingers in a glass for about $12 if you're drinking the good stuff. In this case it was open bar and the bartender was pouring by the fist rather than the finger. I tipped him $5 and he was esctatic.
But not nearly as happy as I was.
In a related story, we went to a strip bar, or, excuse me, "cabaret", the night before the wedding. The bride gave us directions, and I'm not making that up. Hey, if you wait until you're 39 to get married, odds are you picked a winner. At any rate, the place was bring your own booze, apparently so that the club could get around those pesky "no full nudity" laws. The visit was pretty routine, choking smoke, some fun girls, some not fun girls, too much money spent on dances for the groom and best man. The funniest thing, however, was the table next to us. Apparently taking "bring your own booze" to an extreme, the eight guys at the table had brought in a keg and a bunch of plastic cups. At the other end, we saw one guy walk in with a plastic bucket full of ice and beer. Indeed, the whole joint reeked of class.
Well, it reeked anyway.