L, M and I went to a wedding this afternoon. Which doesn’t seem all that odd, until you know that the bride wore white, and so did the bride. And if you didn’t know about the web of other relationships between other members of the party and the guests . . . though trying to sort that out is more than I’m ready to take on. But it was a nice wedding.
EXCEPT . . . I was startled to the point of being shocked during the præludium when the pianist started a chord sequence I’ve known for years, but always in very different circumstances. The piece he played was “Makin’ Whoopee,” a Gus Kahn-Walter Donaldson tune from 1928, which ends up with the couple in divorce court and a judge “who thinks he’s funny” ordering the poor shmuck to pay more in alimony than he makes in salary. If there is a worse omen for a marriage than to have that song played at the wedding, you’d have to go a ways to find it, and whoever picked it either had a very sick sense of humor or no taste at all—or maybe both!
Some pewter-lined CDs cut the tarantella through a stop bath. Fnord.
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