What I'm Thinking When I Should Be Writing A Recap Of My Wedding

Sometimes, I think about all the people who graduated from Harvard over the past 10 years, and how they've all had automatic access to better jobs than me, and I get depressed, but in a way that usually ends in giggles.

The other sad thing that keeps occurring to me is the seemingly endless futility of certain sports franchises. The ones that have simply sucked forever like the Lions and Maple Leafs and Pirates and Clippers and whatnot. Sports journalists always exaggerate these woes, trying to put them on the opposite epic scale of the heroics they create wholecloth from the spectacle of playing games. But really, these franchises are just sad little businesses that put out a mediocre product and still stay afloat thanks to a bizarre combination of monopoly and easy parochial marketing. They're like local banks that charge high fees, or shitty Senators who never face a serious electoral challenge, or run-down ghetto grocery stores that sell canned food and wilted celery because they're the only ones on the bus line.

Most books (as in >50%) aren't worth reading, and most manuscripts aren't worth turning into books, which means most words aren't worth writing, which means they aren't worth thinking, which makes you wonder what we're all trying to communicate to each other all the time. On the flip side, if all communication is valid, then what's with all the snobby losers who think most books aren't worth reading?

If there were five seasons instead of four, for which part of the year would you create an extra season? I'd put mine between Fall and Winter, and I'd call it Allergies.

I think animated GIF backgrounds are the natural result of nobody creating a font for pre-teen girls who want to dot the letter "I" with a heart. That energy had to go somewhere, and now MySpace is paying for it.

I've never been to a reservation. I technically may have driven through one or two, but I've never stopped inside of one to experience whatever flat mirrored reflection of culture lies within them, even though a Native American way of life would be more foreign, interesting, and exciting to me as a tourist than, say, France. Today, I was looking at the wall of cigarette packs at H-E-B while waiting for my mother-in-law to check out, and I started thinking about how people buy cigarettes on reservations to avoid taxes, and I pictured an adobe building not unlike a jail in an old Western, with a cage behind the service counter, and in that cage just stacks and stacks of unmarked, unbranded, unboxed cigarettes from floor to ceiling. I pictured sad, wrinkled white people buying them in bulk, by weight, and the world-weary native scooping armfuls of them into plastic produce bags then dumping the results on a grocer's scale. I pictured the apocalypse. I pictured all these cigarettes being discovered by a desert survivor. I pictured a world in which civilization was survived by little bundles of cured tobacco, and I suddenly wanted to quit smoking forever. We'll see how that goes.

People used to know something about farming, and now, nobody knows squat about it. I wonder if the wordless, one-step-per-page Ikea instruction booklets are a direct result of nobody ever having to build a simple fence or dig a square ditch.

I read somewhere on the Internet that we wouldn't have cell phones if we hadn't been illogical enough to want to go to the moon. The space program is to blame-praise for so many modern conveniences. But good thing we scrapped Mars, eh?

There, now that's all off my chest, Larry King style. Stories and pictures of the weekend will unspool the rest of the week, and then we'll never dwell on this wedding business again. It feels odd to continue the narcissism of the day after its conclusion, but also it feels impossible not to stay on stage and say "I AM GROOM HEAR ME ROAR" forever. I think three days or so is a decent compromise with you people, no?