I know it's a cliche, but the Cure's Disintegration may actually be the best album ever. It is such a pillar of angst-rock, and Homesick is one of the saddest songs I know.

In other, totally unrelated matters: have you seen the episode of Seinfeld where Elaine buys George the fur hat? Later in the episode George goes around in his shirt sleeves, no jacket, wearing the hat for warmth.

"It's so good you don't need a jacket!" George says triumphantly.

I have a sweater on that's just like that. It's sleeveless, and I customarily wear it over a white t-shirt with some khakis. And it's so freakin' hot (the tag says it's "100% Superwool!" whatever that is) I need no other clothes to keep me warm on an otherwise chilly day.

And now...

...the recap!

Have I mentioned the Memphis Buffy/Angel situation? Well, I'm sure you fans out there know that WGN, the superstation out of Chicago, quit carrying the Dubya Bee. Now, that doesn't bother me too much (seeing as how I'm not a big fan of Ghetto Cowboys, Gangsta Dad, My Momma's a Ho! or any of the other standard WB programming) but this totally torpedos my Tuesday night viewing habit. I'm totally addicted to Buffy, and even though I've only seen two episodes of Angel and I don't think it's as good as Buffy (but it's still better than 99% of the horseshit on TV these days) I have to see it, too.

So the ABC affiliate here in Memphis picks up all the WB programming, which seems like a huge conflict of interest to me. The thing is, they're showing all their WB shows late at night. All this means that instead of seeing Buffy and Angel on Tuesday night along with the rest of the civilized world Sonya and I don't get it until the following night, when we sit down to watch it on tape.

Though that probably isn't the way it's going to work. Buffy starts at eleven, and I think the Wife and I can manage staying up 'til midnight. Angel, though, will probably be tape-delayed.

Did you care? I highly doubt it. But now you know, and knowing is half the battle.

That pretty much sums up last Tuesday and Wednesday, too.

I have to apologize for my sporadic entries lately. It's just there's so much shit going on, you know? I promise you'll get all the details.

So...um....Thursday! Let's see...I picked up the Wife after work and we went to Goldsmith's to purchase a wedding gift for Jen and James (a set of matched silver-plate nipple clamps and a leatherbound illustrated copy of the Meese Commission Report on Pornography - people register for the most interesting things these days!) and a baby gift for our friend Angie, who has recently spawned a little boy named Andrew. Little sleepy onesie things are always in style with kids that age.

Sonya was also looking for some sort of strapless undergarment to go under her bridesmaid's dress for the wedding. She took this black gravity-defying number with an attached sheer bodysuit into the dressing room but, alas, she did not purchase it.

Driving home, I asked, "I bet you looked damned good in it, though, didn't you?"

Sonya nodded. "Oh yeah," she said.

I banged my head against the steering wheel all the way home. She is a cruel Mistress, that Wife of mine.

So...Friday night, Wedding Eve, and the night of the rehearsal dinner at Jen's parent's house. My friend Mac met me at my house and we rode out to Jen's family estate in the wilderness of east Shelby County.

Mac was originally a friend of James' in high school, and that's how I met him. In the fall of '94/spring of '95, right after we moved back to Memphis, the Wife and I hung out quite a bit with Mac. Then he moved to Atlanta, got married, moved back here and had a kid. Now he's got another kid on the way, and his life has been full of drama for the last few months. In addition to all that, he started a new job last Monday. So the ride out to the hinterland was one long vent session for Mac. I listened patiently. I can do that very well, when I've a mind to.

The rehearsal dinner was a lovely thing, with lots of barbecue and presents for the happy couple - and the wedding party, too! I got a nifty Kenneth Cole toilet kit/organizer thing, which I can't wait to stuff full of things and travel with. The evening was pleasant, even though, David, James' brother in-law (who is an utter waste of air, for those of you who missed the last episode) was there. Let me catalogue all the things I said to David.

• "Hi, brother in-law."

There you go. Maybe James has to stay on good terms with him, but I don't. I don't like him, and I don't care if the whole world knows.

Anyway, Mac pounded down a few beers and we headed back Downtown. We got caught up in the nasty tangle of narrow, rolling residential streets that wind around Jen's parent's house and we ended up having to backtrack back to the house and start over. Now we're driving along the far east end of Walnut Grove Road when Mac speaks up.

"You know, Harold," he said, "I had several beers at Jen's. And I didn't use the bathroom 'cause I didn't know where it was..."

"You gotta pee?"

"I gotta pee bad."

I drove on in to town and stopped at a Burger King on Poplar. I watched with a great deal of amusement as Mac went to the back door, found it locked, and high-stepped it endzone style to the other doors. He got back in the truck a few minutes later.

"By the time I actually got to pee I was doubled over," he told me, "I was tempted to buy something afterwards, it was such a relief."

Mac and I also stopped by the Rite-Aid (I know, Walgreen's is my preferred drug-and-sundry store, but Walgreen's doesn't sell beer in Memphis) and I got the cutest little eight-ounce cans of Bud Light. They're precious. And so little! Not too much beer, not too little. Just right.

Saturday morning I popped out of bed early (with the chronic stiff neck these days the pain usually wakes me up promptly at six-thirty. It loosens up quickly, but I'm still awake far too early) to go check out a garage sale in Cooper-Young. They'd advertised as having Macintosh stuff for sale, but all they really had was an old Quadra and a few accessories. I did pick up a copy of Different Seasons, which I haven't read since the Wife and I were courtin'. So the trip out wasn't a complete loss. And I got to stop by Exxon and get a big cup of that fine Bengal Trader coffee. You can keep your damned Starbucks - the TigerMarts here in Memphis have got a lock on the coffee crowd.

So I went back home and then we turned right around and went to Palm Court, the scene of the upcoming exchange of vows. It's in Overton Square, and was an ice-skating joint once upon a time. It's a weird, cool kind of place, with high windows, exposed metal beams, a ring of balconies and lots of potted palms. The perfect place for the happy couple.

After a quick run to Burger King to feed and hydrate the troops I was off. As best man, I was functioning as sort of a utility player/free safety/general gopher. This meant I got to run after

• Ties for the groomsmen and father o' the bride (the bride wanted Windsor ties, not Euro ties. I dutifully fetched. I still don't understand the difference.)
• A pair of wingtips for myself (the bride wanted wingtips, not shiny patent leather. Again, I have no idea why. Still, I got mine for twenty bucks at Payless. Good job, Harold!)
• A bunch of fresh rosemary. (Another request from the bride.

  "Why does she want rosemary?" I asked James over the cell phone as I stood in line at the Kroger in Bartlett.

  I heard conversation on the other end. "She says read your Shakespeare."

  "I got a motherfuckin' degree in Shakespeare," I shot back, "and I don't know what she's talkin' about. Why do we need rosemary?"

  The answer was some obscure line about memory in Hamlet. I guess it plays up the differences in how theatre people read drama as opposed to literature people. I rememberedit after it was explained to me, though.

  "I've read Shakespeare, too," James told me, "and I don't know what the hell she's talkin' about.")

• Fat markers (at Office Max) and a staple gun (Stewart Brothers Hardware)

I took my groaning load of crap back to the Palm Court. I gaggle of cake-making ladies were working on the cake while James and Andy (another theatre person and friend of the family and all-around good guy) took care of a few details. While James wanted to stay and oversee, Andy and I persuaded him that it was time for him to leave and get ready for the festivities. Andy stayed to make sure no stray children came through and ran their grubby little fingers through the cake.

This precipitated a frenzied dash back Downtown, where I dropped James off at his apartment and went to mine, threw a sammich down my throat, took a shower and ran around gathering all the items on a checklist Sonya had dictated to me from the Salon, where Shawn was manipulating her hair. The last thing I put together was the Groomsmen's Stash, a little cooler full of those tiny Bud Lights. I figured they'd be popular.

James' tuxedo was, for the most part, at Palm Court. He did have his pants, though, and before we left he put them on, along with a tighty whitey undershirt and his suspenders. The overall look was very old-man-at-the-gas-station.

So we get back to Palm Court. Mac is there, and he and I go to the bathroom to change clothes. I tell you, all those layers of finery are hot as hell. As Mac put it:

"We're sweatin' like whores in church."

It was true.

As I was leaving the bathroom I passed Jen, looking more than a bit frazzled. I gave her a beer. She appreciated it.

I went down on the floor and spread my little beers around, carrying my little cooler everywhere I went. I did my part to make things better, I think.

Eventually everyone got into their snazzy clothes, and the man took some pictures. Then Jen went into director mode, lining us up and telling us our cues.

There was a bit of worry there, just before showtime. The minister was late. I mused aloud if they would show highlights of other weddings during the preacher delay. Sonya advised me to shut my mouth before the bride-to-be shut it for me.

The originally intended minister didn't show up, but a last-minute replacement minister did. And we were off.

The wedding party got to walk in to Seasons of Love from Rent. Jen and James walked in to a Duran Duran song, which was an artistic triumph on Jen's part. The ceremony itself was short, simple and moving.

Then there was a very large party.

Some scenes from a reception:

• Shawn ears perking up at the first notes of Cities in Dust. "I've never heard Siouxsie at a wedding reception before," he said.
• The happy couple dancing to that song Adam Sandler sang to Drew Barrymore in The Wedding Singer.
• The two singers feeding each other cake and smearing it all over each other's faces, since the bride and groom had failed to do so.
• The bride drinking champagne straight from the bottle.

About midnight the few hardcore revelers left (including the bride and groom) finally left. Sonya and I said good night to them at the elevator. I think we acquitted ourselves admirably in our best man/matron of honor duties.

Oh yes, I promised some people I would write about my friend Christie's first college roommate. I doubt this girl is reading this thing, but if she is: congratulations, Belinda! You're famous!

You see, Christie's first roommate was a girl named Belinda, a senior. This was a reason for suspicion immediately. At UCA, freshmen and sophomores lived in the dorms. Upperclassmen moved off campus. If they were cool, anyway.

This is not the weirdest thing about Belinda. Besides being an exceptionally hefty girl with a bad haircut, Belinda had a sore on her ass that had to be cleaned and bandaged daily. Sonya summed all this up neatly Saturday night:

"She weighed four-hundred pounds, had two assholes and a mullet!"

Crude, yes, but absolutely true. My friend David (who was, unbelievably, once married to a girl) insisted that I write about this. So there you go.

Sunday was positively anticlimactic after such a busy weekend. I took all the tuxedos back to the tuxedo place and went to West Memphis to see the family. Last night Sonya and I went to the Castle to visit with all the freaks and beautiful people (and beautiful freaks). If you're in Memphis and like the spooky music I can't recommend anything better to do with your Sunday nights - the music was really good last night. The highlight of the evening? A Tainted Love/Dead Man's Party/Dancing With Myself triple play. And the people are really cool, too.

You know what the Wife and I did tonight? We went out and got a pair of vinyl pants. See? We're already cooler than you.

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