This past Saturday, I married someone.
No, I don’t mean that I got hitched myself, I mean that I bonded two people in the blessing of Holy Matrimony. I’m a duly ordained minister, remember?
You might think that a wedding ceremony is as simple as the one at the end of Spaceballs:
“Do you? Do you? Good, you’re married, kiss her!”
But it’s not like that at all. The obligation to revere and celebrate the spirit of the couple, being the one thing that the couple can count on at this momentous life stage are responsibilities not to be taken lightly. At least I think so.
And being a wedding DJ is not just pushing “play,” it’s picking the right track to push “play” for, keeping the bride and groom happy, keeping a diverse, usually drunk crowd dancing and happy so that they don’t get uppity and ruin the couple’s happiness. And on top of that I work for a company, whose honor and reputation I am duty-bound to uphold, all by myself with only one chance to get everything not just right, but perfect, on the most important day of two people’s entire lives.
Digging ditches or unloading boxes for UPS are more physically demanding tasks, but I’ve done both, and conducting a wedding or a reception are much more stressful. Both at once?
While I made sure to get everything ready beforehand, the ceremony, the music–with all apologies to Messrs. Gilbert and Sullivan, I am the very model of a modern one-stop shopping experience when it comes to marriage–I was feeling a certain amount of “what the hell am I doing?” running merrily through my stomach.
That’s not a bad thing. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, and I’ve said this before, we never screw up quite as badly, as when we think we’re “experts.” A little “Holy toilet bowls, I really can’t afford to screw this up” can be a good tool for focusing one’s concentration and reminding yourself that you do, in fact, have to pay attention to things. A lot turns into crippling self-doubt. A complete lack turns into cockiness, which is what makes the Universe bitch-slap people.
I don’t recommend getting bitch-slapped by the Universe. It tends to sting.
The couple getting married in this story happen to be two of my closest friends. The groom, known as “Road Runner,” is one of my riding buddies, a man who I call “brother” regardless of blood. Once he performed a truly selfless act which led to my transmogrification into the individual I am today.
I’m not going to tell you the story here, not only because I’m a dick, but because the story is the length of a book, which I happen to be writing, and like hell am I giving that away for free on the internet when my retirement fund is two dead moths and a handful of obsolete arcade tokens.
The bride, by contrast, is one of the most soothing presences I’ve ever had the good fortune to meet, a woman whose conversation has led me to making much healthier life choices than I used to. Just rambling chats grant me new insights into the Universe and how to relate to it.
These two are honest, straightforward, honorable, caring and understand the meaning of respect. That makes them both Bikers, even though the bride is a passenger at this point.
Here’s a secret: The motorcycle isn’t what makes someone a Biker…it’s what’s inside that does. You don’t understand that, you just keep walking.
These two, if you didn’t notice, got Bikerism in spades.
There was no way I was going to cast a pall on the best day of their lives, with a thundercloud of negative energy. Bikers don’t do that do each other. It was up to me to see that they enjoyed this day of all the days of their lives, and by all the gods, that was what was going to happen. Bikers do what needs to be done.
So, I stopped to buy batteries, rolled the window down, cranked some tunes and had a lovely two hour drive in bright sunshine on a warm day, to witness two of my closest friends becoming one of my closest friends.
A good day, and the appreciation thereof, gave me all the energy I needed for that.
The love and happiness of the day manifested as jaw-splitting smiles on my friends’ faces, and that means that all is right with the world. On top of that, I got to literally practice, what I literally preach, and that means, that I am not a hypocrite, so bonus for me!
This is a short sermon. That is fitting, since neither the bride nor the groom exceed 5’3″. I will conclude it, with a toast:
Dan and Britnie, you prove that good things do happen to good people. I love you both.
That is the Truth.
And Truth rides a motorcycle.