"And With THAT, There Only Remain Three Signs Of The Apocalypse."

"And With THAT, There Only Remain Three Signs Of The Apocalypse."
the shade is a tool
a device
a saviour
see i try
and look up
to the sky
but my eyes burn...
--the Deftones, "My Own Summer (Shove It)"

So I'm sitting here looking at a placecard with my name on it. And MR. is in the front, and a little bell is at the end.

Really, it all happened so fast.

At one moment I was a little 12-year-old behind some big white kid with a mullet going "Hey, he ordered the same thing I'm going to get! Good taste." The next, I stand in a rented tux inveighing about the power of love and the words, while not prewritten by any sense of the imagination, flow like booze from the open bar. It was just before Memorial Day, and my friend Dustin said he was getting married. I said, that's nice, what's really going on? How was I to know? Just last month we'd been watching Syracuse smack around Texas in a Hooters and he hit on the waitress. (Missed it--picked up a crayon off the floor. Long story short, my journalistic mind was perplexed as to how a crayon got in a freakin' Hooters.) Six weeks later, the thunderclap, the speeding bullet. BOOM.

I'm getting married. You're a best man.

After some hiccups, it took place this weekend in Las Vegas. Got a lot of memories. Got some time and space to write them down. Got a few people interested in the now-notorious Rosser Perspective. So let's go.

DISCLAIMER: Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages, Another Step Closer To Rollerball proudly brings to you a WBR Production of one cynic's twisted drunken viewpoints on a three-day weekend. Some of you may be unintentionally misquoted or portrayed with your halo slightly off to the right but if you want names changed to protect the innocent, go watch some fucking Dragnet or something. Colin Quinn 3:16--this here's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

FRIDAY
Up at 5:30. Usually I would've been into a kvetching seething rage about this but there's something about a new job making you get up at 4 for two weeks straight that really just makes the horror less horrifying. I turn on the last great radio station, 94.9, and attempt to wake up while I surf the net one more on the way out. I know, I know, what a toooool. Anyway, I check to make sure I haven't missed anything on my packing. Packing for Vegas is great because you know what you won't be packing: anything heavy. A few shirts, a couple pairs of shorts, 58 condoms, the Jordan jersey (natch). Get the toiletries ready. Make sure to pull out the ID, make sure I got every last little thing (pocket organizer, shirts, good fancy shoes). I wait outside, Amanda shows up. Amanda's one of my three best friends in the world, and the best girl I have. She's like a sister to me except occassionally through drunken hazes I still harbor incestuous feelings.

We meet Cecelia & Sandra. Cecelia's the resident den mother in my circle, and will be doing the driving. Sandra's a friend from the Evil High School Down The Block that's heading to Japan in a couple weeks to teach Japanese business such pertinent American common-day phrases as "What up, pimp?" We get a ride downtown, we pick up the rental, I actually get into Denny's within the hour I get there with one white person and Amanda being mocha, I pick up my fat Fourth-of-July check, and we're rolling.

Up the windows. The HEAT. Holy fucking hell, the heat. I compared it throughout the weekend to a punch in the face followed by a kick to the crotch and various circles of hell. No exaggeration. I mean, a dessert in the afternoon in July, you kidding? We could've done the Golino/Sheen sex scene from "Hot Shots" and put some tabscky on the hash browns on the side. I mean, it got down to double digits (99) Saturday night and I was actually happy. It's so hot the BREEZE is hot! I'm going off about this because here in San Diego, the breeze is cooler than a DQ Blizzard. Like walking into a supermarket on the better days. AHHH, cool breeze just danced under my arms. But through the desert, into Sin City itself, pressure cooker.

We got there pretty quick. I want to say six hours but being I woke at 5:30 I was stealing naps when we weren't playing a movie trivia game. Cecelia began using Moonstruck as a running gag as I used Runaway Bride for every evil category. I will not budge from that, that movie was pure fucking evil. An hour early and we all slowly melted into our room. Pretty good considering it was only $15 a night betwixt us four. Two beds, desk, nice two-tiered bathroom with sink in front and shower & toiler in back, TV. Of course if you looked outside the sun would burn you like an ant under a microscope.

Off to the rehearsal, because it's time. It took about five minutes and I got to say hello to Dustin's family who hadn't seen me for a year or more (running gag: "What're you doing?" Me, in response: "Drugs. You know, X, blow, whatever gets me through the day.). I meet the bride, she's perfect for him and is sarcastic like me. Got to love the sarcasm. I say hi to my old friend Jeremy, who along with Amanda and I will be serving (have served, now) as the Best...People. I make the requisite jokes a black guy makes to a friend who's become a white cop and meet his girlfriend Michelle. Very cute, very quiet, very observant. Kinda looks like a cross between Natalie Portman and Catherine Zeta-Jones if I had to earmark some familiar faces.

Dustin's wiped. No bachelor party. I mean, seriously. What sort of boy doesn't want a bachelor party? I know dick about getting married but one thing TV's taught me is that best men throw bachelor parties where hilarious complications ensue! But he's barely able to remember to breathe, and he crashes out. So, there's a getting-to-know party where the families & friends interact. The HELLO MY NAME IS sign is put on my back so I get one on the front that says "the Best of ALL (underlined) Possible Men". I get to meet, however briefly, everyone on her side of the family for the shindig. I meet the bridesmaids. I have six Bud Lights. I try to control the music system but quite frankly it wasn't any 50 on there and when I put on "Let Me Ride" I got looked at. *sigh*

Party finally dies down, Dustin's bravely trying to rally. We go downstairs to an Irish pub where my cop buddy introduces me to an Irish Car Bomb. All the rumors about Guinesss are true, it is well and truly thicker than J-Lo's ass, I could've thrown a fork in there and it would've stood up. If it wasn't for the shot of Bailey's Irish Cream that went in there, I'd still be chewing it now. As it is, it tasted like Vanilla Coke with a tinge of the al-ke-hol. A live band was there and we all sang "I Want You To Want Me", "Underneath It All", "Breathless" and other songs. We all...not all, less Cecelia and Dustin to an extent beat on the table and said songs and tried to hold conversations. Good times, good times. Then I went to play blackjack and shit away $20. Stupid blackjack. I won the first two hands with ease and of course I was thinking Back the truck up and push back the wedding, time to make some sweet change but within 15 minutes it was the usual "What the hell happenened?" most everyone gets in Vegas. Part of the charm of the joint.

Back to the hotel. Hello, pillow. Hello, darkness.

D-Day
Someone opened the window and AIEEEEEEEEEEE there is the sun turning me darker black melting my eyes. 9:30. Meeting the groom for breakfast in the lobby. We all eat something, except for Dustin, usually a voracious lover of the culinary arts. He is nervous. I mean like a boy about to go down on his first priest. Practically no sleep and the whole love of his life thing going, can't really blame him.

But we seperate for a bit, and I watch Big because it rules and it's on. Cecelia & Sandra switch to X-Men II while I hop in the shower, and Amanda's already off to the big show.

It is then and only then do I come up with an opening line for my toast. And immediately stop. I know, but I know what I'm doing. I had a speech for Academic Decathalon back in the day. Four months to write it, wrote it on a bunch of note cards on the way up, 3rd out of about 150 in the county. Simmer. Now a couple hours go by and I'm over at Jeremy's room with his girl and the groom getting ready. They've got a great expensive suite, a Jaccuzzi tub where 8 people could have sex in it, and a balcony the size of a ripped stamp. I wish I could say we all realized the levity of the moment and spent it in quiet reflection, wondering how our lives would change, or if this girl was the one and this would be us soon, or if the girl would ever come.

Instead, I "pretended" to write the speech and we told the same dick-and-fart jokes that've kept us friends about a decade. Dance with who brung ya. In fact, the whole thing was so laissez-faire less my complete consternation over my tux ("THAT"S why niggers wear throwback jerseys!" I screamed after my Evil Racist Left Cufflink poked out for the third time--and would do so 4 more times during the evening) that we were all standing, looking ourselves over in the mirror with 15 minutes until it was time to make the doughnuts, all singing along with the radio Hold my breath as I wish for death/oh, please God, wake meeeeeeeeeeee... Maybe the girls had some good stories about Zero Hour but less the tuxes and ritzy setting we could've been getting ready to make a beer run. You can put a guy in fancy clothes, but he's still a guy. Hell, Jeremy was drinking a Bud Light on the way down and if that doesn't say CHRISTMAS CARD I don't know what does. Dustin gets miced downstairs which amuses me greatly and the families mill around. It takes a while to get the whole line in order, but after a bit we're ready.

The wedding goes off. The music for "Here Comes The Bride" and the exeunt music the name of which escapes me skips to the point where it's stopped. You'd think that's ominous much but it goes smoothly. Minister was a pro. He said a lot of stuff about the power of love. I stood there and looked on while making sure the ring bearer didn't step on my shoes or block up too much of me for the torrent of photos. I had quite the conversation with him about the Red Wings bringing back Hasek Friday. I tried to explain to him offense puts the asses in the seats while defense wins the championships and that's why the goalie's more important than any Federov but you know 8-year-olds; think they know every damn thing already. The ceremony flew. People cried. And then my friend was married and I became uncle verite to two five-month old twins.

Pretty f'n cool.

As opposed to the picture session outside. The pictures took longer than the ceremony (I may even be kidding for effect but I doubt it) and it was about 4:30 so of course it was 115. We all talked here and there. I got in the pictures but they put me away from Dustin at the end. Stupid photo bitch only did it cause I'm black and better looking and I'd upstage him. I was about to crack her one. With THAT over, the bar opens. I begin to have wine because I'm thinking ritzy celebration but Merlot's a lot drier when it's not in a box and I go to my dependable friend Mr. Heineken and start tipping them back. There's a tape that goes to the bride and groom, I say the usual platitudes and in a nod to the Irish pub tack on "May you be in heaven an hour before the devil knows you're dead". I'm a surprisingly good public speaker, three drinks in me or not.

Time for the dinner ceremony. RITZAAAAAAAAY. The floor behind the ceremony hall hosts, with tables on the sides, a DJ table in the middle, and the big shot table at the head of the room. I get next to the groom with my people to my right, the bride's people on her left less C & Sandra. They get introduced to "Sirius", better known as the Bulls opening theme. I was waiting to hear "From North CAROLINA!" but alas, no dice. Same thing happened at my graduations when I looked for "Macho Man" Randy Savage and he just didn't show. First dance to "Unforgettable". Out comes the food. Also ritzy, but then again I suppose the rules of society dictate you can't have Roscoe catering with three courses of chicken and waffles. There's a crabcake with a Creole remolade that I plow through, it's awesome. There's a Caesar salad.

And there's also a dance floor.

I love dancing. I range from ludicrous to good but a lot of it is I genuinely like dancing. And it's fun. So I grab Sandra, and we do a little bit across the floor and it's nice. She's actually shorter than I am so it works pretty well and the dance goes by in a flash. "Ain't Too Proud To Beg" starts playing and I get Jeremy. In the pre-game show (so to speak) I'd mentioned we look like the Temps and if they played a Temps song, I'd teach him the little three-step shuffle they used to do to complete the look. I start doing it. 1, 2, 3, turn, 1, 2, 3, turn. After a couple missteps, Jeremy gets it. We're doing it, and I'm laughing because it's actually pretty good considering by this point we've split 10 beers. I look up.

Me & Jeremy...has become Me & Jeremy & Dustin. Well, the shit's obviously on now, and I'm clapping on the turns and I look up again and now the WOMEN have joined in: the bridesmaids, the bride, the parents, Dustin's parents. I'm leading 12 people along, six to a side, and the moment is ridiculous but completely right. This IS on tape and I WILL get a copy if I have to kill someone. Just crazy. For some reason (something similar happened at a 70's Dance I went to) I get down and people follow. I'm like a less gay version of the Pied Piper.

Things settle down for me, but not after I dance with Sarah, Hot & Tall, Bridesmaid Extrodinaire. Time for the filet mignon, and then time for the speeches. At this point I'm not even worried. It's probably the booze, but I just feel completely ready for whatever I need to say and do. Jeremy's going over his speech since he was the only one with the foresight to write it for about the 28th time today, and Amanda's sort of quiet, which means she's nervous. As the Best of ALL Possible Men, I get on deck first. I get off a quick joke about how the family knows me on his side for better or for worse and say hello to her folks. (Originally, I had a joke that his parents were afraid he was going to get married to his sister and how my parents were afraid he was going to marry me but I respected the wishes Dustin told me 383,432,327 times and cut it.) I get in the line I thought up about marriage being considered an outdated institution and then I launch into a Sturm and Drang about the power of love. I throw in a couple of jokes but really I just bring some of my feelings to the surface and talk about the family. I end the toast. APPLAUSE. And so, a little champagnia. Amanda does her speech and it's good, Jeremy does his speech and the fucker nearly upstages me with his own jokes. Fucking piggies. The bridesmaids talk about how well they know the bride, and they're funny, too, and the next thing you know the eye of the storm has passed.

Back to dancing. My mojo (and the free booze) was severely working. I'm taking compliments from the bride's family about the trueness of my speech. I'm dancing with Cecelia, who never dances, because I'm just smoother than vanilla soft serve and I am Geppetto and this whole thing now runs through my puppet strings. I pause for wedding cake. I hit on Sarah because well, what the hell else am I supposed to do? I dance with Dustin's older sister Julie, a peace treaty after we broke up her relationship when she was in seventh grade & we were in eighth with a guy some eight years ago we later became friends with. I'm on such a roll at one point I do the "reel 'em in" to Michelle who was off to the side talking with Jeremy and she just plays along and gets reeled in and takes me for a spin. Cojones the size of church bells, amigos. Nice trait to have but it makes buying underwear a bitch. I say hello to my nephews. I teach the ring bearer the Roger Rabbit & Cabbage Patch to attract girls. I have gotten everyone to buy into the hype.

I actually AM the Best of ALL Possible Men.

The party ends shortly after my Swingers homage, and after Julie does some quality control over Jeremy's toilet we hit the Strip. Traffic is going in reverse. It's crazy, but even when you're outside on the street you feel like you're in a dome. We walk through the Paris and down towards the Imperial Palace where we meet Amanda's ex-boss Xavier. I am sobering up and since that's just not happening on my Vegas vacation--well, that and Sarah is leaving me hanging--I get one of those nice big Mudslides. Alcohol fixes everything, don't it? Thought so. IP has a club I can't get in because I'm rocking the Kobe jersey so we end up going to New York, New York and I make a little bit at video blackjack that gets immediately ursurped because we go to the Mirage where he's staying and I split $100 with him at a blackjack table. Soon I am out. Soon he is out. Total losses: $130? There you go, went to Vegas, lost a grip of cash that'd normally make me freak--lost about how much it cost to rent the custom-fitted tux. But I'm an adult now that I've lost it. So hooray.

Sandra & Amanda play the penny slot Munster game for a solid couple hours (J & Michelle went back their own way at NYx2) as I sit there nursing my free Heineken. I'm very fucking blitzed. After they cash out we hop a cab back to our room and then I add one to the blooper reel as I try to lay back on the bed after someone turns out the light, I overshoot, go over the corner into the wall and fall between the wall & the bed in the little gap. I utter "SHIT!", completely forgetting Cecelia's in the room asleep and begin laughing like a mental patient into my pillow.

Ah, no bridesmaid love, bitter about losing money, fall-down drunk: it's like I've been to Vegas for years. Couldn't close a deal at a Vegas wedding--I've been told this roll of stamps I've just been handed is to mail it in. G A H.

I'd throw in Sunday, but not much happened. Did get a couple DVDs and got Amanda a birthday present with the pack set of Real World: Las Vegas (sooooooo have to get one for me). I have been since I got home compiling copies of the original toast, the best quotes of the weekend, and now this here recap deal, so I think I'm going to put this thing to rest.

You got a happy couple. And I've got enough memories to last me until they shove me in the cryogenic chamber: GRANDPA!, the counter girl at the Most Crowded In-N-Out asking about the MJ jersey, the Temptations dance line, the odd feeling of isolation standing on an SD street corner when not 18 hours ago you were enveloped by Strip traffic.

And I'm going to remember my friend, who wanted Skittles & Sprite like I did, and was willing to talk to a weird small kid he'd never seen because they got the same thing at the counter.

To the new husband. To my best friend.

The REAL Best of All Possible Men.

G'night.