The Slowsky's Tie the Knot

That was easy.

A wild weekend on Long Island ended with Mix and Mel ruling the dance floor in front of family and friends. It was a great time, filled with booze, toasts, food, booze, Boston/NY rivalries, mansions, tow trucks, booze, pictures, more food, booze, party buses, music, dancing, and booze. The fun began Friday night with the rehearsal dinner. On the ride over Fred went into unexpected depth about the value of hors d'oeuvres and how he could eat them all night long. Following a pre-dinner hour of mingling and wine, we were treated to a stellar buffet and speeches from the crowd, highlighted by Cliff and the five senses. Finkel shouted miscellaneous "Mix" and "Turbo" chants throughout. Mix generously handed out Celtics and Pats jersey's to the groomsmen, but put a little too much faith in Da Beef fitting into a large. My Garnett tank is now officially a goal shirt. Our shirts drew some heckles from the restaurant patrons downstairs and the bouncers at the bar following dinner. I knew I was hammered when I felt a sudden need to obtain cigarettes, so TB and I wandered into a town we didn't know in search of a convenient store. On the shuttle back to the hotel, I passed out, awoken by miscellaneous figures poking my stomach. Back at the Marriot, I grabbed a Wall Street Journal for reasons I still haven't figured (I scanned it the next morning for about thirty seconds on the can), and fell on my bed. Two minutes later I realized I was hungry and attacked the Milky Way and Doritos that our hosts had put into our wedding grab bags. 500 calories later, it was time to crash. Big day ahead.

Around 9am TB woke me up, which I appreciated since my head felt like it’d been run over by a locomotive. After attacking the breakfast buffet I took a short nap, and then went to CVS for some cold medicine. With several people arriving at the hotel, it was time to get ready. I looked positively Clooney-esque in my tux and boutonniere, but was careful not to overshadow the groom. After a pre-game drink in the hotel lobby, the party bus arrived for the photo shoot, the inner roof-top of which was covered in neon blue. Cliff passed out Heinekens and Finkel wondered what would happen if we inserted a quarter into the mysterious 1-way window on the back wall. Presumably a light would turn on revealing a stripper. While best man Josh blasted music from the front, I concerned myself with the lack of shine on my shoes compared with the others, but was quickly distracted by Finkel playing the MEAD Staple's button in my ear. His fascination with the toy grew as he placed it near the ears of everyone within reach. With a little help from Ben-Ari, they changed the message from "That was Easy" to "That's what she said," which inexplicably never gets old.

Our eyes widened upon arriving at the mansion which reminded Nir and I of "Surviving the Game." I was reasonably sure that big game hunters inside were going to chase us out into the expansive woods that surrounded it. It turns out the mansion was owned by the wealthy Andrew Carnegie. Upon entering, male attention was diverted by the smoking young brunette overseeing our visit. Despite the inclement weather, we made it out on to the back patio for pictures with a tall drink of water whose word of choice was an enthusiastic “Yes” every time he snapped a shot. Nir's hair kept blowing in everyone's face, forcing those behind him to turn away. The couple of the hour looked disgustingly cute in their pictures. Not to sound too girly, but the Slowsky's truly may be the perfectly matched couple.

On our first picture break Finkel air humped a giant statue of a dog, which turned into one of the best pictures of the weekend. Back inside, he and I got the green light from little Miss Hottie to explore the upper floors of the mansion. The house was filled with stone heads, old pictures, and a ton of bedrooms, where Carnegie undoubtedly got down with his slaves. A huge stuffed dog sitting atop the upper staircase scared the living shit out us. This discovery inspired jealousy on the ground floor, particularly from Blinky who wanted desperately to see it, though security now prevented it. There was however, a sick tiger head enclosed on the first floor that Carnegie himself shot. Finkel and I soon got yelled at by an older woman at the mansion for opening doors we weren't supposed to. Ironically, she caught us right before we were about to check out a mysterious flight of stairs which must've lead to a parade of dead bodies. Sketchy.

As the pictures came to a close, a problem emerged. Our bus driver had parked the party bus in a grassy field rather than double-parking on the cement. Because of the rain and mud, the bus was now grounded in its tracks. Now only a couple hours before the wedding, it was getting dark and we were stuck. I got a call from the crew outside that they needed reinforcement to push the bus. The mother of the bride overheard the plan and seemed none-too pleased. I was terrified at the prospect of falling face first in the mud and ruining my tux. But out the rest of us went anyway to flex and brainstorm. The mansion workers got wooden boards when it became obvious our groomsman muscles weren't going to get the job done. Alan and Joel couldn't believe the predicament we were suddenly in and had to listen to a back-and-forth between the bus driver and mansion boss over who was to blame.

Meanwhile, Ben developed his own emergency when he lost a button off his tux. We all hunched over, our cell phones open facing the ground in an attempt to shine light on an object the size of a ladybug. Surely we looked like idiots. Eventually, a tow truck arrived with the authority of a transformer, which led to another great picture. Despite envisioning the bus bumper ripping the tow right off, it came through in the clutch and disaster was averted. Everyone got back on the bus, tired and hungry, but ready for action. I reluctantly cracked open a Mike's Hard Lemonade (which no other guy was willing to split with me) while the bus driver got us moving, though he came dangerously close to getting us stuck on the grass again.

Against all odds, we finally made it to the North Ritz Club. We rehearsed walking down the aisle with our partners, though the height order was perplexing. The shortest, Nir and Blink were back-to-back in the middle. BJ, who at one point was asked to be best man, was fourth. I became convinced that Mixer's primary agenda was to keep me at least three bodies away from Finkel, who would've undoubtedly had me laugh throughout the entire ceremony. The Rabbi leading the service was all business, warning the gum chewers and flustering the bride's sister when he called her out for chatting. We drank some champagne and watched the Meixner's (wow, first time I’ve used that) sign the Ketubah. Melissa Penn was the official witness. We next headed upstairs for pre-wedding drinks and snacks, and took turns recording our thoughts into the video camera. Nir was so rattled by the experience had to re-record his message with nobody watching. In a truly baffling decision, Turbo went for pasta with marinara sauce, holding a plate over her white dress, though friends were quick to cover her with every available napkin in Long Island. Finkel sat in a corner chair like Michael Corleone, surveying the room. Blinky inexplicably started bleeding through his shirt sleeve, and Big Al and Sandy stood smiling over everyone. I was starving by this point, but wisely steered away from the food for fear of farting during the ceremony.

The service itself was a great success, despite Nir pinching my ass every five minutes. And I still say we all should've run in to Van Halen’s "Right Now." Mix, it would've been the ultimate crowd pumper. The bride and groom's parents were collected and proud. The room was filled with friends and family who were privileged to witness the traditional Jewish glass breaking ceremony, as Mix promptly proceeded to miss the glass altogether. Cedar B's baby, Cedar B's. Seriously, could the Slowsky's look any cuter together?

Finally, it was party time, or food fiesta '09 as I quickly came to think of it. Upon entering with a girl on each arm and hair longer than either of them, Nir was mistaken for a woman. The spread was ridonkulous, with more appetizer options than I've ever seen at any event. The highlight was definitely the duck wraps, followed by fried calamari, thinly sliced lamb, and the ever-reliable mozzarella sticks. Also notable were the martini glasses filled with sweet potato and onion strings, which went straight to my thighs. We next moved into the main room. Mix and Mel brought the house down with their entrance, surpassed only by Josh's Chris Rock-like toast, featuring an amazing line about the Israel birthright program trip being beloved by Jews because it's free. It could've been offensive had 80% of the room not been Jewish, but the man knew his audience.

As I hit the dance floor, I couldn't help admiring Turgel, who smiled so wide you'd think he was witnessing the merger of music and movement for the first time. His joy was contagious. Fink and Jefe dominated the centers of dance circles, with the latter seemingly wanted to prove he could jump higher than any other white guy in the room. Meanwhile, I came dangerously close to shattering the wedding sweat record. Fortunately, there were several excursions outside to break the exercise struggle. However, I have to give props to Mix. I'm not sure he missed a single song all night. We had a brief scare when during our "That 70s Show" trip outside, strangers approached us from the darkness, creating anxiety. But it just turned out to be the bride's cousin, who was enjoying his own "Harold and Kumar" break with his wife. He quickly joined our happy circle. On a later fieldtrip, Finkel came through huge with cigars, and we got some great group shots.

For dinner, Da Beef ordered da beef (ba dum ch), a wise decision if ever there was one. It was ridiculously tender. Back on the dance floor, I had to un-tuck my soaking shirt, which must've been spraying everyone as we rocked out to Journey's "Don't Stop Believing." I'm pretty sure I got the girl standing behind me. Sorry Ada. Other highlights included "Sweet Caroline," "Footloose," and the surprisingly poignant Shania Twain hit "Forever And For Always," the Slowsky's wedding song. Random observation of the night: The hottest mom from our high school years is undoubtedly STILL the hottest mom today. It defies all logic.

As the Turbo-Noses (that’s mine) cut their wedding cake, Mix pulled an unexpected sneak-attack frosting smash, blasting Mel in the face. Well-done sir. She reciprocated, while I wondered to myself why they'd waste so much quality frosting. After the last dance, friends mingled and smiled several exhibiting difficulty standing. As we boarded the shuttle bus back to the Marriot, the driver disappeared, prompting Brad to generously offer his driving services. It’s the thought that counts.

All things considered, the weekend was a huge success. The next morning I was hurting, and searched for Advil, though a shower, coffee, and loaded omelet soon cured me. Nir, Jennie, TB, and I surveyed the dining room looking for free-loaders trying to sneak a free breakfast. The host kept security tight, though the miscellaneous black couple in the corner seemed suspicious. I don't recall seeing them at the wedding. With reports of snow in Pennsylvania, we hit the road ASAP, breaking the 8 hour drive only for gas and snacks. That night on the couch, I excitedly started playing with the MEAD's button. It took about five seconds before I accidentally erased Mel's "That was Easy,” much to TB’s displeasure. As punishment, whenever the button is pushed it now announces
"Zach Sucks!"

Mazel Tov Mix and Mel. Tear it up in Hawaii. You deserve it.