Orson Scott Card wrote a fantasy series about an alternate reality of the settlement of America. Infusing the legend and magic of First Nation mythos with his Mormon faith, he wrote a tall tale of a seventh son of a seventh son who was born with mysterious abilities, etc. The reader soon discovers that this boy has a certain death wish from the element of water. This results in almost constant near-drowning, falling icicles, and the like. Wherever this boy goes, water is somehow impeding his progress. A supernatural bummer. In regards to this, I have this same relationship with traffic. Maybe a nice U-bend in my front bike tire from my neighbour's car started this affliction, all I know is that whenever I step onto a street, regardless of where or when, cars en masse will appear. They will not necessarily bee-line it for my brittle, soft-tissue, body, but their presence is enough to increase the odds of me being crumpled under their tires. Of course, this could be a psychological case of Murphy's Law, but I am sure that the faceless embodyment of Traffic is somehow scheming to end my earth friendly commute to work. I'll keep my prone Jumping Stance at hand until then.
A few weeks ago, I had the privilege to MC my friend's wedding reception. After cluck-clucking the separating seams in my suit I realized I should probably find a replacement for my battle worn accouterment for this occasion. Flying standby so often had worn a hole its very soul, so off to TipTopTailors we went. Luckly, I found a sales associate who mirrored my stature and was thus able to avoid any poo pooing of my lanky frame and soon purchased a fitting regalia complete with custom shoulder pad to compensate for my asymmetry (I was reminded that one of my shoulders is defective in its height).
Soon, I was off enjoying an early Spring and Ikea. That night I finalized my obligatory anecdote for the Big Day, quite confident in its syntax, and went to bed. Requesting a teacher to be the MC of a wedding reception seems fitting. It gives the person a chance to be center stage and direct the oggling mass to its destination. A teacher's ego is quenched. However, once the reality of lack of control is realized, panic sets in. Having been handed a minute-by-minute itnerary by the father of the groom, I perused its minute detail as one does a soothing balm, but was soon told that it was more of a guide and that I should wait for my queues. My steering had become soggy, and nonresponsive. And it became more so when I talked into the microphone as I realized that I did not have since September 4th to create a respective bond with my audience. I genuinely had short spats of stare-down towards certain tables expecting their immediate and silent response. My badge had been stripped. I am too new of a teacher to know how to improv my power. As most of my melodramatic stories go; life continued. The soggy steering seemed to be sufficient and I was able to wobble my way to the launching of a garter with narry a problem.
It was a fun wedding. Maybe good weddings put a good vibe on the surrounding experiences, but overall, the weekend could not have gone better. I had good conversations, good times, and good meals with family and friends. Next time, I'll bring my better half.
A few weeks ago, I had the privilege to MC my friend's wedding reception. After cluck-clucking the separating seams in my suit I realized I should probably find a replacement for my battle worn accouterment for this occasion. Flying standby so often had worn a hole its very soul, so off to TipTopTailors we went. Luckly, I found a sales associate who mirrored my stature and was thus able to avoid any poo pooing of my lanky frame and soon purchased a fitting regalia complete with custom shoulder pad to compensate for my asymmetry (I was reminded that one of my shoulders is defective in its height).
Soon, I was off enjoying an early Spring and Ikea. That night I finalized my obligatory anecdote for the Big Day, quite confident in its syntax, and went to bed. Requesting a teacher to be the MC of a wedding reception seems fitting. It gives the person a chance to be center stage and direct the oggling mass to its destination. A teacher's ego is quenched. However, once the reality of lack of control is realized, panic sets in. Having been handed a minute-by-minute itnerary by the father of the groom, I perused its minute detail as one does a soothing balm, but was soon told that it was more of a guide and that I should wait for my queues. My steering had become soggy, and nonresponsive. And it became more so when I talked into the microphone as I realized that I did not have since September 4th to create a respective bond with my audience. I genuinely had short spats of stare-down towards certain tables expecting their immediate and silent response. My badge had been stripped. I am too new of a teacher to know how to improv my power. As most of my melodramatic stories go; life continued. The soggy steering seemed to be sufficient and I was able to wobble my way to the launching of a garter with narry a problem.
It was a fun wedding. Maybe good weddings put a good vibe on the surrounding experiences, but overall, the weekend could not have gone better. I had good conversations, good times, and good meals with family and friends. Next time, I'll bring my better half.
3 comments:
I sure hope so.....we sure missed seeing your sweetie.
We're looking forward to "next time".
B.C. Mom
I can relate well to the tales of MCing weddings and the challenges of connecting to the masses. As I stood at the podium of my sister's wedding in February, a room filled with respectful adults who lament the lack of social graces displayed by this generation of young people - I smirked with irony that all people really hate to stop their conversations to listen to some schmuck with a microphone. Watch any gathering of people where there is a designated speaker and you will find "off task" behaviour. Ultimately we all just want to be the voice.
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