The Wedding of Ernie and Bert

All the trouble going on around the world, the wars, the idiot terrorists, the diseases, the hunger, global warming, the deficit, the crumbling infrastructure, unaffordable health care, it’s a good thing politicians recently took the time to debate the issue of a constitutional amendment banning gay marriage.

Now I’m not sure how many congressman and senators have been to such a soiree, how many did their homework to see what the fuss is all about before deciding it may or may not be worth changing a monumental document in human rights.

But judging by the affair I attended Saturday, the only thing banning gay marriage might accomplish is saving gays from themselves. That is, it will take away from the alleged fabulousness that we know all gay people possess and leave them as dull as boring as any heterosexual couple.

For this event (which the groom of the two insisted to me was not a marriage, because that’s a “breeder” term and see my post “My Dinner with Austin” for details) was a very nice afternoon, but a pretty staid affair. In fact, I would say it was the whitest event I have attended in some time. I’ve heard that Barry Manilow concerts get wilder than this.

Who knew gays could be so boring? I mean, there wasn’t a Mae West, a Little Orphan Annie, a 6’ 240-pound drag queen in heels to be had. There were no show tunes, no chaps, no dancing even, no flannel.

Well, there was plaid, as I wore a kilt for effect. Note to guys of either persuasion: A few women were intrigued by the look (and you gotta be stocky to pull it off, so to speak) as were a few guys. Of course, I found out that at least a couple guys assumed I was gay because of my “dress,” which amused me because: a) I know 300-pound jocks who could hurl them into space who I am pretty sure are straight (not that it should matter) who wear kilts and b) if you don’t want to be stereotyped, don’t make any assumptions yourselves.

Also, the kilt is not a dress. It is a traditional Celtic garment dating back centuries. People who wore kilts kicked ass, despite the silly hose. It is history and heritage.

Would you PC types freak out if an African showed up in clothing from his homeland? I don’t think so.

Besides, I look damn good in one.

Anyway, I’m glad I sported the tartan (with a black vest, tie and sport coat with white shirt, mind you) if nothing else to have something to talk about. Even if it did get old saying, yes I do wear underwear with it, at least in public.

Top it off, this was an afternoon party, in a restaurant, which leaves your ass dragging by 5:30 p.m. I mean that’s not only dull, that’s AARP dull.

Which isn’t to say I didn’t have a good time. They put me and my friends at the kids tables in the back of the place, just in case, with the happy couple and all but 10 of the 60 or so guests out of our view.

This probably was a good thing, allowing us to enjoy our multi-course meal without having to pretend to pay attention to the choreographed toasts in between each served dish.

(See that aforementioned old blog post again). For all Austin’s talk about not wanting it to be a wedding party, but for the lack of a formal ceremony, it quacked like a duck. Hell, there was even a frilly cake.

Actually, because of how he framed it with the speeches, I took to calling it a gay mitzvah. And framed it he did, like an architect only Ayn Rand could love (and erasing from the blueprints that the lovebirds met through a 900 phone number dating pool).

He even told the carefully chosen speakers (each to represent a different group of friends) that there were to be toasts, not roasts.

Now I did my part to fuck with the blueprints - the kilt but one of the techniques. I got them a photographer as their gift, which wasn’t part of the grand design (which is why I had to really bite my lip hard when I heard a guest bitch when my friend who took the photos at no cost to the couple and paid out of my pocket and at a rate less than she could demand, left before the end. I so wanted to tell this women that there weren’t even going to be any pictures, but I think I just went to get a drink instead, something high priced and on the couple’s tab.)

The photographer got a mandolin player to come and serenade the couple, at my initial suggestion and her charming powers of persuasion.

But best of all on changing the grand design was Austin’s dad. He joked about how he shouldn’t have let his son watch Sesame Street as a kid. Now his boy and his betrothed are a couple that bear an uncanny resemblance to Ernie and Bert.

He joked about telling his construction buddies about going to a gay wedding on Saturday, then to see the Care Bears with his granddaughter on Sunday.

He was gracious and funny and it was probably hard for him, but you could tell his love for his son tempered everything he said.

Save the speeches for the convention. Acceptance is about moments like that.

If you want to change the world, use jokes, dancing and spontaneity, not suits, scripts and platitudes -- especially at a party. Otherwise what you have is a political party, and who wants be have anything to do with one of those anymore?