Before I begin, I’ll direct y’all to the album of pictures I took at Brendan and Tara’s wedding. Best way to view it is to click “Slideshow,” and read along with the comments.

Anyway, the wedding was in East Lansing, Michigan at the Michigan State Alumni Chapel. I finally found out why: It’s where Tara’s parents got married.

Before I found that out, it didn’t make much sense, since both Brendan and Tara went to Northwestern, which is a direct rival of Michigan State.

Although that did get an amusing nod as Brendan and Tara exited the church to what I imagine is the first playing of the Northwestern fight song as a recessional in the history of the MSU Alumni Chapel.

The ceremony was really nice, and Tara’s dad reading from Oh, The Places You’ll Go! made me cry a little. Shut up, it was really sweet, you would have cried too.

I was kind of amused towards the end of the ceremony when the minister asked the congregation to recite the Lord’s Prayer and Jon Lewis, Jamie and I looked at each other and went…uh…Shma Yisrael?

Anyway, the reception was quite fun, although the wedding photographer must have taken about four million pictures, because it took the wedding party almost an hour to make it there.

They also cut the cake almost immediately after arriving, which was a little odd to me, but hey, if it’s your wedding day and you want dessert first, you’re more than entitled to dessert first.

The speeches were all quite nice. Mark’s old Wordman persona came out of hiding during his Best Man as he came up with words to describe Brendan and Tara’s relationship that made me glad I did well on the English portion of the SAT’s.

Things get a little fuzzy after that, since I took full advantage of the open bar and was pretty hammered by the end of the evening (see last picture in slideshow).

However, I had a fan-fucking-tastic time, and it was really nice to see some of my crazy college friends for the first time in over a year.

Congratulations again to Brendan and Tara, who were so happy that it even melted my black, cynical little heart. You guys are gonna do well.

Edited to add: This post that was included in today’s update of best-of-Craigslist is highly appropriate for today.

At long last, baseball returns to my hometown. I think I might now officially have a National League team.

For the record, I will still be rooting for the O’s, since I grew up rooting for them. However, they’re currently in a state of perpetual suckage, so it’ll be nice to have another bad team to root for.

God help us if they name them the Senators again, though. At least if they named them the Washington Interns, they’d have an excuse for sucking.

Wedding update will likely come tomorrow. Unless life decides to keep being insane. Then it’ll come sometime in 2005.

I’m back from Brendan’s wedding, which was a whole hell of a lot of fun, but the full report will have to wait til tomorrow.

This is because I got on an airplane at 7am EST, still half-drunk and totally exhausted. I got off a different airplane at 11:30am PST, hung over and ready to work.

I had a long (though fun) day at work today, and tomorrow’s my early day. But tomorrow night you can look forward to:

- Tales of drunken stupor

- The man with the leather pants

- Semi-incriminating photographs

- Me in a dress (and hell subsequently freezing over).

Congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. Brendan and Tara Tidwell-Cullen. I think I’m going to follow the DJ’s lead and never refer to them as anything else.

I’m going to fabulous East Lansing, Michigan tomorrow afternoon for Brendan’s wedding.

After several days of arguing back and forth with the voices in my head, I decided I’m leaving my laptop in LA, so blogging will be on hold until probably Tuesday night.

Have a good weekend!

Now I can much more realistically have no shot whatsoever with her!

Also, here’s a rather dippy article with the world’s most roundabout coming out story.

I had a fun little minor heart attack this afternoon when I almost got killed in my car by some jerkass in a pickup truck on his cell phone.

I was coming back to the studio after a run. I’d like to describe how it happened, but it’s a lot easier to make a crappy diagram:

The guy had a stop sign, and I did not (thus me having a green direction arrow and him having a red one), and he had seen half a dozen people go by him.

I think he didn’t see my turn signal, and was just going to follow me down the street. But as I turned, I saw him coming out and leaned on the horn.

I instinctively hit the brakes and slammed to a stop as he managed to stop literally six inches from my car, about to hit me head-on on the driver’s side.

My window was down, and I could have reached out and punched the grill of his truck. I was thorougly tempted to.

I decided against tempting fate, because seeing as how a) he was driving a pickup truck and more importantly, b) he lives in Los Angeles, both of which meant he was probably armed, and I didn’t feel like getting shot at.

I think one incident of almost kissing my ass goodbye is enough for one day, thanks.

I had a pratfall-filled day today.

I was working in the control room, which usually leads to lots of standing around and fewer opportunites to fall on my face. Yet today, thrice did I make a pratfalling ass of myself.

First, I was standing on a small flight of stairs. Someone reached to get something off the wall behind me, and as I was stepping down the stairs, I tripped over my own jeans.

It was brief, just a small stumble, and I quickly shoved my hands back in my pockets to try and make it appear nothing was amiss.

Of course, I did this in front of a professional pratfaller (he’ll remain nameless, but if you watch the show, you’ll know which of my coworkers I’m referring to), and he cracked up laughing.

So I was like, well, there’s my dumbass incident for the day. Oh no. That was just the beginning.

My coworker-to-remain-nameless and I were getting lunch for a bunch of people, and as I walked up the exactly two stairs to the commissary (aka cafeteria), I tripped and fell flat on my face.

So I thought, OK, I just need to avoid stairs, and I’ll be fine. And the universe laughed.

It managed to hold itself off for a good couple of hours, as the next incident did not occur until right after we had finished taping.

The head writer walked out the door, and someone asked me to get her so she could talk to one of the producers. So I ran out the door after her.

Except somehow, my sweater got caught on the handle of the door (it’s one of those push-down handles, not like a doorknob or anything).

I didn’t realize it was caught until I went about two steps down the hall, and my sweater arm stopped stretching and was forcibly removed from my body…my arm was just hanging out, then the neck of my sweater caught me and pulled me back.

I know this description doesn’t even come close to justifying how ridiculous this looked.

After that happened I was like…I’m just going to stand stock still for the rest of the night and hope nothing falls on me.

Just when you think the anti-gay insanity and panic on the part of extreme right-wingers can’t get any worse, Jimmy Swaggart goes completely off the deep end.

My favorite part (other than that he thinks God will somehow believe him when he tells Him that said queer just died) is that right after threatening to kill any gay man who looks at him “like that”, he says:

“I’m not knocking the homosexuals. They need salvation just like anyone else. I’m knocking the politicians.”

So basically, he’s not insulting the gays, he’s just murderously opposed to them. Right.

Thanks to an unusually well-thought out post on Margaret Cho’s Blog, which, while entertaining, is usually a little lacking in the argument department…

I was talking to my mom on the way home tonight, and I mentioned that I’m going to Brendan’s wedding in Michigan this weekend.

So she said, “Okay, have fun, give me a call when you get back.” Then she put on a very, very serious voice, and said “Do NOT catch the bouquet.”

Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.