Saturday morning

Yup, spent almost all of yesterday indoors, which meant that I had no idea how hot it was outside, which meant that I completely overdressed for the rehearsal ceremony.

The rehearsal was fun, though. The practice priest was a fun young guy who reminded me of Assistant Professor Emeritus David Callele. At one point in the ceremony I have to speak ... out loud! ... to let the Ukrainian-speakers know that it's time to greet the newly married couple.

The church is nice. Little square-footage, but tall tall TALL! I'll post a picture at some point.

The Somerset Marriott (or Marriott Somerset, if you prefer) is currently hosting a conference of BABS -- "Big and Beautiful Sistahs" -- so the hotel is full of large black women and the men who love them. I was riding the elevator from the seventh floor down to the lobby when a guy got on at the sixth floor. He pushed the button for 4, then pushed it for 3. "So many single women here, it's hard to keep track," he said. Then he wished me a lovely weekend and went off in search of lovin'.

The post-rehearsal-ceremony meal was OK -- I had the roast beef and sat with my auntie and chatted her up. She used up most of her English last night at dinner, so as the only other Ukrainian-speaker at the table, it was up to me to keep the old gal entertained.

"But Dave, what about your cousins Luke and Adrian? They were at the table and they speak Ukrainian!"

I'd dispute that statement. They know Ukrainian, but they don't speak it. They don't speak English either. They don't speak at all. Having recently graduated from the Air Force Academy, somehow Luke has become the stereotypical cocky fighter jock despite not being able to string together three sentences interesting enough to form a conversation. He's cocky yet uncomfortable around people: maybe they'll cover that at flight school.

At the beginning of the dinner, Luke and Adrian's dad, Uncle Marine, gave me two heavy shopping bags laden with sausages that he'd purchased in NYC that afternoon. It was my job to take them up to my hotel room and set the room temperature to 65 degrees so the sausages wouldn't spoil. Predictably, on the way up a couple of BABS got on the elevator with me; carrying two bags of sausages, you bet I was scared!

Two hours later the dinner was over and my room smelled like a butcher shop and felt like an icebox.