Monday, August 29, 2005
...what a crap wedding...
It was a warm, cloudless late summer day. We arrived, heels clicking on the warm pavement, in matching hot pink tops that can be dressed up or down merely by putting on a skirt or some nice pants, and tying our hair back neatly. A soft breeze ruffled the table decorations under the strikingly white tents that encircled the backyard. The coordinator of the whole affair put us on a corner of the patio where we would be playing close to the bride and the groom themselves.
We settled in and tuned to ourselves perfectly before the photographer promptly kicked us out so that the exact space we were in could be used as a background for the pictures. Instead the three of us were put conveniently in front of the food table, blocking the large path for the caterers to rush back and forth carrying heavy trays of attractive smelling food later on. But for now, we dug our heels literally into the well kept grass and clipped our sheet music with clothespins to combat the potential wind.
As friends and family arrived, we played classical music to set the tone for a quiet backyard wedding. The caterers were formally dressed and setting up the tables of food professionally. The cupcakes with a variety of colored frostings were calling to us.
We had warned them that Pachelbel’s Canon is a long song. Five minutes can seem like a short time when you are, say, watching an episode of your favorite TV show, but apparently when you are waiting to be married, five minutes is just too long to wait. The bride looked particularly anxious, and busied herself with arranging her children and soon-to-be stepchildren. Usually we play the canon and people start to react – married couples think of their own weddings, someone smiles, looks over to us. But this time, no, everyone suddenly sat down and stared straight ahead waiting as anxiously as the rude bride. Finally our song drew to a close, and people sighed in relief as the three of us tapered our last D major chord, beautifully in tune.
The ceremony was short and somewhat informal, ending with the two 40 somethings and their children leftover from past marriages happily embracing with tears in their eyes, and they put on the Smashmouth version of “I’m A Believer,” (yes, from Shrek) after which we were supposed to pick up and play for an hour of the reception. We flipped through our massive quantities of music suited for more than two hours of entertainment and played some upbeat Handel, moving through some sweet love songs that the brilliant audience should have recognized. As with the ridiculously overplayed Pachelbel’s canon, neither the bride, the groom, nor any of the guests paid us any recognition for, “Love Makes the World Go Round,” or “Scarborough Fair,” but still we played on as trays of delicious smelling food were brought past us every two seconds on average.
A total of one or two wedding guests acknowledged our existence and paid us minor compliments. Not that we are the world’s best string trio, but usually three teenage chicks in matching pink halter tops playing classical music (that’s in TUNE, for the most part) in some random stranger’s wedding is enough to at least encourage people to pay us minor amounts of attention. At every other wedding we have been to, afterwards people smile at us or thank us. Here all we received was unhappy impatient glances that could be in the glare category, and we were pointed at rudely once by the bride in question.
25 minutes into our planned hour of music, the wedding coordinator showed up and kicked our butts out of that gig. Within seconds of our bows leaving the string we were replaced by a fancy outdoor speakers playing... something. MORE Shrek music? How much is there? Old-people-pop-music by the sound of it. The wedding coordinator came over and paid us as agreed to before – after all, it wasn’t our fault the bride and the guests didn’t approve of us. Our theory is that the bride doesn’t actually like classical music – her motives for approving two violinists and a cellist to her wedding are therefore questionable. We didn’t say so much as a word to the ungrateful bunch. Three Pynk Pyritz stood, pissed off in the middle of their overly groomed lawn as Claire called her mom, and said loudly, “Can we get a ride? We’ve been replaced by a CD.”
In other news, today Mrs. Jockusch talked about College Algebra in class (I finally kinda get what it is) and she said that usually now college classes just integrate it with their normal calculus class. HOW IS THAT FOR AN UNINTENTIONAL CALCULUS JOKE!!!
Calc is so awesome guys. I love it.
PS. Does anyone else find glue sticks scarily similar to chapstick? It makes me want to put it on my lips but then I realize it will be sticky and disgusting instead of relieving and tingly.
mo posted at 7:02 PM.
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