Sep
Posted on 1st September 2005
This past weekend- almost a week ago by now to be exact- I flew to scenic Madison, Wisconsin for the wedding of my lifelong pal (well, I was about 14 or so I guess when it all started) Greg Schneider, who- for all you music trivia buffs out there- is the namesake of the song “The Creeper” from the popular “Glodean” album by my first internationally-acclaimed rock band Sons of Elvis (The song is an instrumental. We wanted to channel the magic of Greg through sound alone, not words. I feel like it worked. There is even a dance interlude.) Anyway, getting back to Wisconsin, it was good times all around. And not just because Matt Schneider, the younger and better looking of the two Schneider brothers (who is so totally not gay that it’s not even funny), was there.
I’ve spent a lot of time in Madison (which is either located on an isthmus or is in fact an isthmus itself, it is my understanding) over the years as my friend Doug lives there and we have recorded a lot of hits together at Smart Studios and Coney Island, two of the popular recording facilities located right there in town. It was nice to go to Madison with no work to do for a change though. I pretty much had to just eat and drink stuff and see people that I was really happy to see. I didn’t even check my e-mail that much. It was nice. Because I am mildly retarded though, I bought some stupid Internet plane ticket at the last minute that required me to wake up at odd hours and have layovers in like nine different cities between New York and Madison. In Tucson, they even made me load everyone’s luggage onto the plane (Ha- that is a joke, that last part).
The wedding itself was really fun. Things got off to a rough start however when- due to an unfortunate dry cleaning mishap- I was forced to shift my Friday night outfit into the Saturday night (the night of the wedding) pole position and- while the outfit was unstoppable- I felt slightly underdressed at the wedding itself. Most guys had on dark suits and ties and I was wearing a light gray suit with a delicate and adorable floral-patterned button-down shirt. Sure, there were a couple guys in golf shirts and khakis at the wedding, but no one ever knows who those guys are and they always stand outside the reception smoking the whole time anyway. Occasionally they’ll exchange a knowing glance with the guy who decided to wear flip-flops to the wedding, but they pretty much just keep to themselves and ditch the scene as soon as dinner is over. So as far as people who are actually “in the mix” at the wedding, the people whom the couple getting married can both address by first and last name without prompting and are totally expecting to get a nice gift from (Though, admittedly, it usually takes me five to ten years to finally send a gift. I just want it to be perfect.), I felt a little underdressed. I got through it though. A couple people threw me a bone and said I looked nice, so I thank them for that.
There was a little downtime between the wedding ceremony (Lutheran) and the reception, which was held at Club Majestic in the heart of downtown Madison, so I went with my friend Phil, whom I have seen naked a bunch of times, his sons Scott and Andy, and their women to get gyros, the popular Greek celebration of lamb meat and yogurt sauce in a pita. As is usually the case with gyros and other foods in which processed meat products are the primary ingredient, it seemed like a really good idea at the time, but afterwards I was left with an empty feeling inside. My pants however were not. Ha, I am joking again. Seriously though, I kind of regretted eating the gyro because an hour later I was at the reception and thinking to myself “Damn, I wish I hadn’t eaten that gyro so I could stuff my face on all these delicious foods on hand that together make for one magnificent buffet.” I instead ended up focusing on liquids mostly while waiting for that “no parking on the dancefloor” song to come on.
Other highlights of my trip to scenic and historic Madison, Wisconsin include eating a chocolate croissant at some fancy coffee shop that I can’t remember the name of (I do know that a restaurant named L’Etoile is somehow associated with it however) with my friends Doug and Sara (who were kind enough to let me stink up their home and even borrow a toothbrush while I was there), visiting the Farmer’s Market in the heart of downtown Madison, and using the bathroom at the St. Vincent de Paul thrift shop, where I almost bought another adorable pants suit but for whatever reason did not.
There is so much I’m leaving out, but- really- hasn’t this entry gone on long enough already? Before I go however, I would like to apologize to the International Weightlifting Community for not really mentioning them in this entry. I still love you. Now go lift something before I come over there and kick your ass.
Dave Hill
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