They are... wed.

Sorry if that sounds anticlimactic, but I was composing a beat poem at the wedding lastnight and that was the last line. Yep, just like Mike Myers in So I Married An Axe Murderer. I didn’t have the guts to get up and read it though, I suck. Perhaps I shall record myself performing it and post it on YouTube...

So yes, Andrea and Joe were married yesterday, it was a lovely ceremony performed by her Uncle (very conversational in tone, I like that) in a beautiful modern church with stunning stained glass, and a singer who could easily join the Canadian Opera Company, and the reception was pretty cool too – L and I sat with the family who weren’t part of the wedding party, we were all very silly. Everyone looked smashing – see, there was a theme (which I only found out on Friday night), and that was Hollywood Glam. Luckily, what I chose to wear was kind of retro 50s so at least sort of went with the theme, but it meant there were a LOT of gorgeously-clad folks! Oh, and I did my nails between the wedding and the reception, in the car on the highway. I sort of rock.

Guess what? I danced! This may not seem like a big deal, but none of them (except L) had ever seen me dance before, I just have never really felt like it, but this time I did. What got me up? Michael Jackson’s Don’t Stop ’Til You Get Enough. And then Play That Funky Music White Boy and Superstitious. And then a slow song, dunno what it was, the first one we’ve ever danced to in our almost three years together. So yeah, great night.

Wait a minute, you’re saying, you danced to MJ? What’s up with that???

Okay, here’s my thing. When MJ died, I refused to gloss over what a whack job he was, just on principle. I mean, let’s face it, we all know how nuts the guy was, and it only got worse every year, but the moment he passed away everyone sort of conveniently forgot about the hyperbaric chambers and the Elephant Man’s remains and the monkeys and never-ending plastic surgery, and went ‘oh, oh, I really did love him, I did, I did, none of that ever happened, blah blah blah’. So I felt it was my duty to NOT do that.

Funny thing though, the more I’ve thought about him, the more I’ve had to own up to the fact that yes, he was incredibly talented. I wasn’t a fan, but I could completely recognize the talent, I mean the boy had magic, didn’t he?

And this week while looking for a dress to wear to the reception (yes, I found one and no, I didn’t wear it, I ended up wearing something I already had, thank you) I heard Don’t Stop in a store and found myself singing along quietly, and realized that I had, in fact, always liked this particular song, and had been in denial about it. So this is me sharing that.

Also, lastnight I decided that the real Michael Jackson isn’t actually dead – much like Elvis in Bubba Ho-Tep (watch it, it’s awesome), MJ traded places with an impersonator, maybe just after Thriller came out, you know, when he was still relatively normal, and went on to lead a normal life, while the impersonator when totally nuts. That’s what I’m choosing to believe now, it makes me happy.

Oh, on a side note, how insane was that storm on Thursday? I mean it, how insane was it? ’Cos I missed the whole damned thing, I was inside the Bay downtown the whole time (yes, dresses) and you can’t see outside from in there. That was Mother Nature’s happy birthday message for my Dad I guess? Anyone have pictures?