The Pre-Read

The Times Of Our Lives

As with so many things, and songs in particular, the one below reminds me of a particular time in my life.

While it doesn't remind me of the time this song was released, there is something about it that resonates very strongly with a particular time in the early 80s. I don't really know why. Maybe it's because the song played on an oldies station I happened to tune in to at that time, or maybe I so identify this song with the 60s hippie movement that it plays into this one memory perfectly.

As I've mentioned more times than most people care, I'm sure, I tend to operate best in a one on one situation. Actually, I should say I am most comfortable in a one on one situation. I tend to function very well in group settings which is a good thing becuase so much of my work revolves around that. But in my free time I prefer to spend it with one friend at a time, or if I happen to be in a relationship, then I'm one of those guys who likes the quiet times at home best.

In the early 80s I happened upon a group of friends that challenged my solitary preferences. They were a fun group of guys and one gal (I use gal only becuase we were so darned young then) and they were just a joy to be around. The lone female of the group, J,  was probably one of the most beautiful people I had ever seen, and she was partnered with probably the brightest and most down to earth guy in the group, B.

One summer B's cousin came down to San Diego to spend some time with his relatives. I wish I could remember his name, but for the life of me I can't. So, for the sake of this post we'll call him Tim.

Now that I think about it I may have written, briefly about Tim before, so if this story sounds familar, I'm sorry.

Tim was probably younger than most of us in the group by a year or two, but looked older. Not older in a bad way, but in an adult way. He was easily 6 feet, with blond hair, blue eyes, and a very good build. He was serious most of the time, but had a great sense of humor. And while most of us during that period had short hair and wore razor thin ties, Tim's hair was shaggy and he was sporting a mustache something none of us dared attempt. His prefered dress was jeans or shorts. In a word he was comfortable.

I'm not exactly sure why, but we clicked immediately. And most of that summer our large group of friends would pare down to just B and his girlfriend J and then Tim and myself. For the first time I can really remember, I completely enjoyed the company of this group of people. I didn't feel out of place and, in fact, felt like a member of the family.

More than a few times that summer, our small group of four would get smaller still as Tim and I would take in a movie, or grab lunch or just spend time when B and J were otherwise busy.

When summer came to an end  we didn't exchanged contact information, we just assumed we would keep in touch through his cousin B. And we did.

October rolled around that year, and another cousin of B's was going to be out of the country for the better part of three weeks. This cousin asked B if he wanted to house sit their place which was in Marin County, a stone's throw from Tim's home in Stinson Beach. B said yes and invited me to join his girlfriend and he.

My vivid memory of that time is how fun it was, how relaxing it was and how everyone seemed to just accept one another. I could tell immediatly that this area was populated by hippies who had migrated north from San Francisco after the Summer of Love. They settled down to jobs, and homes in an area that was rural, and tree filled and hilly and beautiful. And it was obvious Tim was a product of that upbringing.

I understood immedately what it was about him that I liked so much; it was his acceptance. Acceptance of nearly everything. He didn't necessarily agree with everything we all talked about, but he never challenged anyone on their opinions.

It was during this time that I would learn my good friend B identified as Republican. And, in fact, his entire side of the family in San Diego were not only conservative, but very active in the party. But to Tim it didn't matter, he was a big D democrat, even if none of us could yet vote. He was progressive in his thoughts and actions and that made me like him even more.

My memories of those few weeks I spent up there are fading a bit now. But some remain. Like the fear we all experienced when a very loud siren broke the silence of a quiet dinner. We looked to one another wondering if we should duck and cover (it was the Reagan years after all), but a smiling Tim would let us know that there was a fire nearby and this was a call to alert the volunteer firefighters that they had to go to work.

We walked down the hill for a moment, a little closer to the sound and watched as car after car, truck after truck arrived at the fire house. Then in just a moment, the fully dressed firefighters would leave in a firetruck barelling down the roadway.

I remember sitting outside on the deck at what seemed like midnight, but was really only 9:00pm, listening to the wind as it played with the tall trees. I remember looking over at Tim as he talked about volunteering for the local Sheriff's Explorer program and the exploits he experienced.

We didn't watch much tv those few weeks. we listened to the radio a lot and I have to assume that's where this song plays into my memory. I'm sure it was playing that night.

As time would pass I lost touch with Tim. B and his girlfriend would split after nearly 10 years together, and I would lose contact with both of them.

Then, one day, I got a call from J. She saw my name somewhere, did a google search and found my email address. She lives in Oregon, with her husband and child and is very happy. B called not too long after that to tell me he was thinking of me and also did a google search. I was happy to hear that he still keeps in touch with J, and his wife doesn't seem to mind, nor do his two children.

But it wasn't until recently that I thought to ask of Tim. How he was, what he was doing and how his life turned out. B said he only saw him about a year ago, and that with the exception of having an even more muscular body, he was the same Tim I would remember. Down to the mustache.

I didn't ask, but I wonder if he still remembers me. Especially on nights when the wind blows through the trees, and an oldies song, this oldies song, plays on the radio in the background.

Teri Garr

There was a time when I would watch David Letterman fairly regularly. There's nothing about his show that keeps me from tuning in every night, but getting up early isn't as easy as it used to be when you've spent the night watching late night television. So I catch him from time to time, and he's still probably one of my favorite late night talk show hosts.

Imagine my surprise when I heard Letterman mention, last week, that one of his guests would be Teri Garr.

One of my very first posts was about Garr and her, at the time, new book Speedbumps. The book, like Garr was fantastic and she just reinforced my love for her. Yes, I've never met her, but I gotta tell you, there are only a hand full of people I would really, really love to meet, and Teri Garr is one of them.

Her book described her battle with MS and it was refreshing to see that the book was about her life, not her life with MS. A short time after I read her book, I heard that she had suffered a stroke, a brain aneurism to be specific.

I was crestfallen. While not an aneurism, my mom had suffered a stroke some years back and while she fully recovered, I knew the road to that recovery could be a long one.

Compounding my frustration was there were few news articles about her after the initial reports. I'd try some google searches, but nothing. And, in a way, I’m kind of happy for that. Happy in that she didn't have the media constantly staking out her house, and trying to catch glimpses of her during that recovery and captioning pictures with the "poor Teri Garr" or the "valiant fighter facing major obstacles" or any number of tabloid titles that could have accompanied a candid shot of her in a wheel chair.

So I was excited, and a little apprehensive. How had she done? Was her wonderful smile and comedy in tact? All those, and more questions ran through my head, but after a while, I realized it didn't really matter. What I was happy about was that Teri would be on television again, and on Letterman no less.

Well, my hopes were filled.

First of all I must say that I like Letterman for a couple of reasons. Besides believing that he is probably one of the brightest of talk show hosts, I loved the fact that he pretty much told the world that were it not for Johnny Carson he would still be doing weather back in his home state.

Add to that knowing someone on the staff of his show reinforced what a genuinely good guy he is. Through no prodding of mine, my friend pointed out that working on that show is still work, but that Letterman has such a love and reverence for show business that it's gratifying to come to work each day.

Well that love and reverence showed last week in Letterman's introduction of Garr. While mentioning his lineup for the evening, he went on about how, in the past, she used to grace his stage from time to time. He went to great lengths to say how much of an honor it was for him that she took time from her schedule to spend a few moments with him and his show. And none of this was done tongue in cheek. It really did seem as if he had a love for her not just because of her talent and entertainment history, but because he genuinely likes her.

And then she walked out. In the more recent past, when appearing on a talk show, they would cut to commercial, and then return with her already seated. This time she entered as any star would. She seemed to have a little bit of difficulty and I couldn't tell, at first, whether it was the result of the MS or the stroke, but Letterman was quickly by her side and together they approached the desk and chairs.

Garr thanked him for helping her, and he didn't skip a beat by saying something along the lines that he would jump at any opportunity to grab at Teri Garr. Both laughed and the night just got better from there.

Her humor was intact, and she is still one of the cutest and funniest people around. I have a feeling that some members of the audience weren't quite sure if she was kidding some of the time, or making a guffaw, but to anyone who has followed Teri Garr, you know that her humor is quick, if deep and sometimes, even before any maladies, one had to pause to make sure you heard what you thought you heard...the other night was no different.

I guess she was in a wheel chair for a time, but is out of it now, and as I said, she looked wonderful.

With so much sad news of stars passing, it was truly a breath of fresh air to see Teri Garr happy, cracking jokes and doing things her own way. I can't wait for her return to Letterman soon. I hope she writes another book, because she's not only a talent in front of the camera, but certainly a talent with the pen.

I'm glad she's back!

And speaking of talent, here's one of my favorite short films starring three of my favorite people. Steve Martin, Buck Henry and the always beautiful and talented Teri Garr.

 

 

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Wouldn't It Be Great ...

...if we could all dance together?  Even if some of us can't.

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One Word

While I was never a huge George Carlin fan, I certainly appreciated his unique take on life. To say I wasn't a huge fan doesn't mean I didn't like him. It's just his comedy sometimes made me feel uncomfortable and I think that's one of his greatest assets. He made people think and laugh. I, personally, don't like to think when I laugh I guess.

Carllin's comedy was all over the place, irreverent and political. Political in a very general way. Sure he railed against conservatives, but he also had choice words for people who took things too seriously regardless of which side of the aisle they sat. I don't think there was ever a topic that he considered off limits.

Though I don't have a specific memory of the whole brouhaha, Carlin made headlines in the early 70s with his Seven Dirty Words You Can't Say On Television which was featured on his Class Clown record album. The album was a huge hit, and so was his Seven Dirty Words routine.

Eventually that routine, or a variation of it, was broadcast on a radio station and someone complained, which lead to a court case, which lead to a dismissal, which lead to the Supreme Court. The Supreme Court upheld the complaint, though it did say, in essence, that some of those words would be permissible if children weren't expected to be in the audience.

The Seven Dirty Words may be offensive to some, so please consider this fair warning to click to another side if you don't want to read them. To read them, just highlight below with your cursor.

Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker, Tits.

Of course George Carlin was more than just those seven words. And, again, while I could never count myself as a huge fan, I will miss him and appreciate his contribution to culture in more than just as a comedian.

So, in thinking about Carlin, his career and his passing, one word seemed more appropriate than any other. 

Sad.

Here Come The Brides

Tomorrow will be a happy day for Phyllis Lyon and Del Martin. It's the day they will legally be able to get married.

No one denies they've been together for over 55 years. And in an era where the divorce rate is about 50%, that's an accomplishment for any couple, married or otherwise.

Lyon and Martin, 84 and 87 respectively, began their relationship at a time when homosexuals were routinely sent to mental institutions in hopes of having their deviant behavior cured. It was a time when it was illegal for members of the same sex to dance with one another and it was illegal to love someone the government felt wasn't suitable. The repercussions could be severe. Whether it was the loss of a job, a stint in a mental institution or electroshock therapy, the ability of the government to govern the love lives of its citizens was not only commonplace, but upheld time and again.

For Lyon and Martin, that wasn't an option. They loved each other and in 1955 began an underground organization in San Francisco that would eventually become the Daughters of Bilitis. The name was chosen both for its public association and its private meaning. Daughters was chosen because it was an organization for women and the name was similar to those for American sororal organizations such as Daughters of the American Revolution and United Daughters of the Confederacy. Bilitis, was more obscure; a fictional poet, Bilitis was a supposed contemporary of Sappho in Pierre Louys' Songs of Bilitis.

I am not naive enough to think that change comes without pain and fear. Ask anyone who knows me, I dread change. But sometimes change is good. And regardless of one's political or religious beliefs, isn't it enough that two adults, fully consenting, love one another enough to spend the bulk of their lives together have the option of having it sanctified by their government?

I'm not suggesting that religious organizations have to follow suit, religious beliefs are between each person and their maker. I would never presume to impose my beliefs and my faith on any person or group of people any more than I would want them to impose theirs on me or my church.

But we all pay taxes,  we all interact in hopes that our government and our living situation will be better for it. But to deny a segment of our population what is available to others and regard it as being a separate accommodation, but really one that is equal just doesn't fly anymore.

And when I look at both Phyllis and Del, I am filled with happiness and pride. Happiness because wherever love is found is a cause for celebration. And pride because these two have lived their lives according to their heart and for 55 years have let no one tell them otherwise.

Congratulations Phyllis and Del, I wish you a very happy wedding day!

Put A Lid Down On It, And Everything Will Be Alright

Music often brings back vivid memories for me. And the song below did just that the other day.

Many years ago I was sitting at a large table in a noisy restaurant. Across from me sat a very handsome young man with talk of business on either side of us. I really didn't pay much attention to the conversations. It had been a long week, and finally I was having a beer and relaxing.

Every once in a while this guy across from me would laugh at a joke told or smile at a comment made. The odd thing about this was he kept looking at me. Granted, sitting across from someone at a table makes sense that they would catch your eye from time to time. But this was different.

At one point I looked over to him and he was staring at me. Of course I looked away, but when I looked back at him, he was still looking at me. Not smiling, not saying anything. Just staring.

Back in the day I was a smoker. It was a nasty habit I picked up after high school, and a habit I continued off and on for some years.

With no cigarette machine in sight (this was when you could still smoke in some restaurants) I excused myself and headed outside to find a convenience store.

"You shouldn't walk around her alone." He said following me outside.

"Not safe huh?" Was my snappy come back.

He didn't answer, just matched my stride. We walked for a moment not saying a word. I wasn't sure if he joined me because he wanted some company away from the business crowd, or if he thought he was going to protect me from some evil lurking in downtown Oakland in what was fast becoming evening. Either could have been his reason I guess.

The air was warm and light and the sun was setting; Magic Hour is what they called this time in filmmaking. It's the time of day when everything is bathed in a deep orange glow. The worst things would look beautiful, and beautiful things would look spectacular. Z looked spectacular.

He walked with his hands in his pockets,  mostly looking at the sidewalk, seemingly in a constant shrug.

"So are you from Southern California?" Z asked.

"Yeah," I answered.

He began to talk and he spoke of school - yeah, he was still in college - and soon his hands were out of his pockets. The more he spoke the more relaxed me seemed, and the more relaxed he became, the more he would gesture.

Z started walking a little faster, and it was my turn to match his stride. He talked of his art, of what he planned for the future, and of making his mark on the world. It was as if he took this moment to map out his years ahead. I didn't say much, I just listened and watched and thought; did I ever have that much enthusiasm for what lay ahead? I had my dreams of course, but they always seemed so far away and unattainable, even when I realized them.

Finding a store I bought some cigarettes and as I took one out of the pack, I found a match to my lip. I smiled, held his cupped hands and took a deep breath. I saw him smile through the smoke.

"Thank you."

"Anytime."

The walk back was too quick. We didn't speak a word and before long we were sitting and eating dinner, the talk of business never interrupted. This time Z smiled at me from across our table. It was as if no one noticed we had returned, let alone left.

I smiled back.

That would be the start of a terrific kinship. Z wasn't sure what he wanted and neither did I. So there were times when it was awkward but that was okay. And even though we lived a short plane ride apart, we managed to see quite a bit of each other. We stayed friends and are to this day I suppose. I have fond memories of walking through the Castro holding hands. Later on he confided that he couldn't remember a time before when felt so alive and energized as when we spent that afternoon in San Francisco.

In time he moved around a bit, and I have other fond memories of visiting Z in New York. Even though he  seemed to be on the move, we always tried to catch up on the phone, even if months passed. One night, I remember laying in bed, nearly asleep, Z on the other end of the line. He was listening to some type of music that I couldn't quite make out.

"Who is that?" I asked.

"Squirrel Nut Zippers," he replied. I was sure he was kidding.

Like Junior High School kids, he put the phone up to his CD player and let me listen to a few of their songs, I felt silly, but enjoyed that.

The time we spent trying to catch up would take longer and longer still. From every couple of months, to two or three times a year. Finally, a year or two would pass before we would chat.

He had a short lived relationship with a guy who ended up moving out of the country, and when I finally pressed him about us. I was told there really wasn't an "us," there was just a him and a me. And I guess he was right.

I did a Google search for him the other day and was happy to find that he's continued his artwork. And what an amazing artist he is, and from what I can gather from his website, he's in a long term relationship. And the woman he's spending his life with is really very beautiful. They make a cute couple.

But every time I hear this song, I don't necessarily think of the time I first heard it, laying in bed with the phone to my ear. I remember, instead, the smile he shared through the smoke as I held his hands on a nice warm California evening so many years ago.

Whatever Happened To

PAUL SAND?

In the early to mid 70s a character actor so charmed ... well I was going to say audiences, but I imagine it was more the movers and shakers in television, and maybe some audience members, that he was given his own show.

Paul Sand in Friends and Lovers was an MTM series broadcast on the CBS network. The show followed the exploits of the quirky title character, Paul Sand, a classical musician who played for the Boston Symphony if memory serves.

I don't have specific memories of the show except that I do remember watching it at least once and enjoying it. I remember thinking that this guy was very funny, in a quiet, slow, deadpan way. He had appeared on The Carol Burnett Show and some other 70s sitcoms always playing a somewhat nebbish sort of character.

As I understand it PSFL had filmed 13 episodes, but only 3 were broadcast. Which is odd because, for some reason, that show really stayed with me all these years.

It may be that the series also starred one of my first crushes and all time favorite actresses, Teri Garr, as well as Penny Marshall, Steve Landesberg and Jack Gilford. I mean, that cast alone should have guaranteed it a 13 episode run. But television is funny that way and the series was soon forgotten. But maybe not Sand.

While he never had another shot at his own series, the rest of the 70s saw him continue to work, rather sporadically. Then a few years after that he had recurring roles in a variety of series, as well as appearing in some features and it is my understanding he has appeared on Broadway, even taking home a Tony for a supporting performance.

Not only did I enjoy Paul Sand in Friends and Lovers, I enjoyed Paul Sand. I'd love to see more of him on television, features, or even Broadway. And it's still odd to me that someone who had such a break could be kind of forgotten.

Well, maybe not really forgotten. He is the subject of this post after all.

These Few Precious Days

I may have written before, about my Mom and Dad's massive reel to reel tape recorder. It was the CD of their generation. None of the clicks and pops of music from a turntable. The sound was nearly flawless. And made even more so depending upon whose voice radiated out of the even larger speakers.

My childhood memories don't start very early. Well, compared to others anyway. Some friends talk of remembering seeing their parents cooing at them through the bars of a baby crib. For me, most of my memories seem to start right around kindergarten, maybe a little before.

One very vivid memory is of me being put to bed, we lived in Japan at the time, in a two story house. Actually, it may have been that someone else lived below and we occupied the upper floor now that I think about it, but I do remember we had to walk upstairs.

I think the walls were a seafoam green, and I can remember a long hallway toward the end of which, was my bedroom.

The lights were off, and I laid very comfortably in my bed. The sound of laugher coming from the living room where my parents were entertaining their friends. High Balls, and cigarettes all around, except my dad of course. While he may have had a drink or two, he never smoked.

The silence of my bedroom would be interrupted from the occasional laugh, or shriek when someone was losing at, or winning Gin Rummy. But all those sounds were a comfort to me. They still are. I love falling asleep knowing there are people awake around me.  Sounds odd, I know. Actually, it is odd. But there's a safety I feel knowing that the world is being monitored, while I close my eyes to it.

One of the other things that I enjoyed so much was the music from those speakers and tape player. Songs my Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra and Nat "King" Cole.

So, with the world revolving the way it does and with time marching on as it must. I can't help but recall this melody.

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The Stench Of Clinton

I can still remember, vividly, election night 1992. My friends headed down to election central to watch the returns. I opted to stay in and watch the results on television.

They were all so excited, they couldn't understand why I would want to sit, glued to the television set when I could be amongst the throng of Clinton/Gore supporters cheering in a new era in politics and America.

"I've seen this before. What if we don't win?" was all I could say.

I was assured that we would win, how could we not. Hispanics were for Clinton, African Americans were for Clinton, and for the first time a very visible Gay population was for Clinton. "We can't lose," is all my friends said as they left the house, quiet except for the television blandly relaying exit polls coming in from the eastern part of the country.

Of course Bill Clinton won. And I couldn't help but get a little emotional. For the first time in my memory, a political candidate, and a candidate for president no less, had openly courted the gay vote. Clinton had said we were as important as any other citizen or constituency. We were told that gays had the right to be heard, to be seen and to serve openly and honorably in the military if they so chose.

I thought not of myself that night, but of my friend R. For some reason I saw this as validation of him. Finally, he could be who he was without fear of repercussion.

Anita Hill, some years earlier, made the notion of making sexist jokes in the work place taboo. I can still remember I worked in an office primarily of women. And it was completely accepted that a "joke" could have sexual innuendo's or sexist references. We'd all roll our eyes and how awful the joke was or how odd it seemed. But I realize now, that not everyone rolled their eyes. Some just looked straight ahead, having to deal with something that was uncomfortable.

When Bill Clinton courted the gay vote, when Bill Clinton talked of open service in the military and brought the gay issue to the forefront. It was as if someone had opened the door and the shining light of truth made everything bright.

It wasn't as easy to make gay jokes in the work place anymore because it was okay to be gay. At the time it was really okay to make derisive comments about gay people in the workplace. And unless one was afraid of being labeled gay, so many people chimed in. Daring someone to call them homosexual.

I know we don't live in a utopia. I know there is still prejudice and intolerance. Maybe now, more than in recent times. For a moment there, it was okay to be who you were.

And Bill Clinton appointed his wife to head a commission on Health Care. Very close to being the number one priority of people at the time. The president even held up a credit card looking prop during one of his State of the Union speeches telling the American People that one day soon every American would have something like this. A card that would allow access to universal health care.

Well, of course that didn't happen. It wasn't a lack of trying, it was a lack of support and a brilliantly mobilized Republican party that thwarted it.

Of course we didn't get an executive order lifting the ban on gays in the military. A move that was also thwarted, this time by members of his own party.

And there were other things that didn't happen. But then, there were some things that did.

For the first time I can remember anyway, a budget was submitted to congress that didn't spend more than we took in. Fact is, in time, the president was able to deliver a surplus of funds.

With input from the vice president, we were able to increase conservation and instead of it costing us more money, it saved us money.

Our standing in the world was at a peak. Talks with North Korea and other rogue nations were moving forward in a productive manner.

22,000,000 new jobs were created with tens of thousands of new police on the streets of the United States.

People came before corporations when they were given the option to take family leave to tend to a sick loved one, or care for a new born child.

There was so much good in those eight years that it almost seems like a dream now. And if you were to listen to Air America or anyone, it seems, on the left, that's exactly what it was a dream. Or maybe even a nightmare.

I have stopped listening to Air America because I can't stand to listen anymore, about how awful Hillary Clinton is for not dropping out of the presidential race. How awful Bill Clinton really is, and how he could have been such a better president.

I'm tired of listening to Democrats tear down Hillary Clinton because she holds grudges. I'm tired of listening to how misguided she was in not being able to work harder to pass health care reform when she was the first lady.

I'm just sick and tired of what has now become the history of revisionism. The hope I felt before and during the Clinton administration I am now being told was false. While things might have seemed good, they weren't great.

Well I have something to say about that. Bull!

I would take another eight years, or eighty years of a Clinton presidency that I would one more day of a Bush in command.

Did Clinton do everything right? Of course not. And guess what? No president ever will. But he tried, and he did a pretty damn good job. Was he perfect, oh, far from it. But  neither is the guy sitting at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue now. And I would gladly trade one administration for the other.

What I fondly recall as a new era in politics, a new age of acceptance and tolerance, I am now being told to remember as being many things but that. The attacks Hillary Clinton and her husband leave me feeling queasy as if they're mired in stench not of their own making, but of it being heaped upon them by friends and associates.

Do I think Hillary Clinton would make a good president? No, I really don't. I think she'd make an amazingly great president. And because I support her, because I think she can deliver, takes nothing away from anyone running against her.

But I have grown tired of being constantly told how calculating she is, how mean spirited she is, how conniving and grudge holding she is. You know what? I DON'T CARE.

I am proud of the fact that I am a life long Democrat. But I am not proud of my party at this time. Sure, we've done some bone headed things in the past. But heaping trash upon the Clinton administration is more than I can bear.

I will vote for whomever the Democratic nominee is in November. But I'll do it a little less enthusiastically because I have seen members of my party act like Republicans, and I never thought we would fall so far.

The Best Man

I had the wonderful honor, some weekends past, to be part of a wedding party.

While it is always an honor to be asked to stand with a friend when they marry, it isn't always described as wonderful. By that I mean, all the things that go into a wedding can be daunting, even if you're not the ones getting married. Whether it be getting fitted for a tuxedo, buying an appropriate gift, making sure the tux fits and that you spend the day looking like it not only fits but that it's your preferred form of attire. Or making sure you don't do anything to upset anyone in what can be described as a charged atmosphere.

Well, I was lucky. Not only did my tuxedo fit, but, really, it was pretty darned comfortable. In fact, all of the groomsmen commented on how great they fit. And I have to say every one of the guys looked stunning in their formal wear. And the day was so relaxed that I honestly left the ceremony wishing my friends would make this a monthly gathering. And for anyone who knows me, hanging out at a party, isn't what I usually describe as fun.

The last time I was a member of a wedding party was ... well, more years than I care to remember. And while I'm happy to report that the couple are still very happily married, the day of the ceremony had it's bumps, the biggest, perhaps, was that florist had gone out of business and no one bothered to tell the wedding party. Imagine trying to scramble for flowers for a wedding with only an hour or so to spare.

My most recent wedding experience would be different from the get go.

I got a call from the best man that a weekend gathering was to take place at a beach resort in the sleepy beach town of San Clemente. The weekend would be filled with drinking, bar-b-que's and all things that one might expect from a "bachelor party." I'm not much of a party goer, and the thought of spending the weekend with a group of straight guys was ... well, was something I wasn't sure how would turn out.

Because I am who I am, and do things the way I do them, I wasn't able to get a hotel where everyone else was staying. Instead, I was across the freeway, in what turned out to be a very nice hotel itself. The groom was at first disappointed. But when pressed, he seemed more concerned that I wouldn't't have as good a time being located so far away. I assured him, I would be okay and it wasn't really that far away really.

The weekend was upon us, and the groom, the best man, and myself would spend Friday night preparing for the weekend. I heard stories of their childhood, of their strong bond, of the times when things got rough, but how the friendship meant more than any disagreement could.

The best man was a great guy. He and the groom had known each other since childhood, and the evening was spent eating, drinking, drinking, and then to top it off, a little more drinking.

While the moment wasn't mine, and I had already committed myself to making sure the groom had a great time, I was pleasantly surprised that the best man was so nice, sincere and welcoming.

The weekend was more of the same. While we may have looked like a gathering of frat boys on a reunion weekend, we didn't act like frat boys ... well maybe we did a little.

But, for me, the most amazing thing was how great each and every member of the group was. Not only were the groomsmen in attendance, but so were friends of the groom who wanted to share in giving him a proper send off to marriage.

And, all the while the groom, while having a great time, made certain that everyone clicked. This was a rare time when nearly all his male friends would get together, some who had never met, others who were long time friends. And he, the groom, was steadfast in his resolve to make sure no one felt left out.

In the midst of drunken card playing, he would lean aside, and ask if I was having a good time. I assured him I was. As was everyone else.

Many of the guys in attendance were married, some were single, and a vast majority were Ph.D's. I couldn't believe that these young "kids" were doctors. Especially the way they all drank.

But doctors of philosophy I guess, makes sense that they would expand their horizons by trying to determine which of the myriad choices of alcohol would go best with grilled beef. Or Doritos. And the groom was no different.

While he opted out of a Ph.D. program, I was surprised to learn at one point that he had been accepted to Harvard and several other Ivy League institutions. I always knew he was smart. But he never made anyone feel they weren't as smart as he.

At no time during the weekend did I ever feel like I was anything less than a long time friend to the guys. And a week or two later, when time came for the wedding, we all clicked as if we had known each other forever.

Toasts were made, and perhaps the most moving for me was the grooms father. I take him as a man who isn't regularly demonstrative with his emotions, but the love for his son and his new daughter was obvious. His toast included a thanks to God that his son was surrounded by so many good people. Good friends who he knew would help him in his new journey as a husband, and eventually father. And always as a friend.

And, true to form, the groom made a point to make sure everyone was okay, having a good time and enjoying themselves as much as he was.

And something I had always known had made itself so very apparent that wedding weekend. With all the groomsmen, all the bridesmaids, all the family and friends. It was really the groom who was the best man!

His wife and his friends and I am very lucky to have him in our lives.