Do you, High Falutin, take this Nostrumite?

.
Las Vegas is, I guess, the wedding capital of the world. The thing is, it's not just quicky elopement weddings, which you would expect, a Britney type, spur-of-the-moment, find-me-an-Elvis-impersonator-with-a-JP-license-fast type of affair. (For the record, btw, I counted 3 EPs during the trip: one straightforward, one seven-year-old and one pretending to be a statue.) That's what I would have expected: The Wee Kirk on the Strip, with topless bridesmaids. But in fact, Vegas is a perfectly normal (in the American sense of the normative) wedding destination. Countless venues capable of handling hordes of revelers. If they can take in Comdex without batting an eye, imagine how well they can handle your special dream day! Easy transportation from around the globe, hotel rooms as far as the eye can see, plenty of Elvis impersonators with a JP licenses. You can't walk through a single casino in the entire burg without getting knocked over by three or four brides in full white-veiled regalia, each with some purple sharkskin-tuxedoed Gobo in tow, both often belting down a three foot margarita special as they head for the penny slots, trailed by a fog of the bride's minions in complementary orange organdy.

It was the perfect place for Odelie and the Mite to tie the knot.

Of course, the reason for Vegas was, indeed, accessibility. Odelie's immediate family is in Georgia, with the extended soeurs et cousines et tantes in various Paris suburbs, plus at least one branch in Milan. The Mite's folks are Californians, while most of his friends are Bostonians and New Yorkers. I guess they could have as easily done the deed in Atlanta, but the Mite feels that one Emory trip a year is enough for anyone, and Odelie is pretty game for an Episcopalian minister; I mean, let's face it, she did just marry the Nostrumite.

The wedding was at the Bellagio, which is pretty classy. The decor is simulacrum Italianate (as compared to the Venetian's simulation Italian), all the gamblers wear shirts and shoes without needing signs on the doors to remind them to do so, and the food (at least as this affair was catered) was to die for. About a hundred of the nearest and dearest were in attendance, split fifty-fifty between rels and buds. A live band of some true quality was running the proceedings (as if it should be hard to find a musician in Las Vegas; the only difficulty was selecting which other musicians they should be imitating, but in this case, they were just plain musicians—they must have come in from LA). Dancing till the wee hours, the champagne flowing like champagne. You would have liked it. When the festivities flagged, you could mosey off and toss a few sheckels into the video poker machines. (I should have had a wedding like that, except when I got married, I think Bugsy Siegel was still running things. Speaking of which, in my family, the difference between men and women is that men throw away their money gambling with great abandon while women stand around looking over their shoulds saying, "You know, you're just throwing your money away." This is not to allude to a specific difference between men and women—I'll leave that to the people running Harvard—but merely to point out the general dialectic of my existence outside of the debate universe.)

Anyhow, when all was said and done, the Nostrumite was in a state of permanent elation, I would hope at least untill the honeymoon is over. He and Odelie headed off to the Caribbean, while the assembled horde headed back to its various origins atwixt California and Milano, and the Menick clan proceeded on its journey through the southwest. At some point while still in Vegas we saw O, rode the NY NY roller coaster, and got injected with Borg nanoprobes, among other Vegasian pursuits. From then on, well, we'll get into that tomorrow.