10-15-2022, 09:03 PM
Dino as in Dean H.
The Big Day arrived, but since everyone involved is sensible, nothing early was planned after the night of drinking. H got up and had breakfast and solitude while I was snoozing. I got a call from Lenny (Leonid) my long-standing, made-from-iron Moldovan co-coach, asking if I was going to beach. H goes to beach, runs into Lenny, I join them a few minutes later after yakking in the lobby with the Groom + Groomsmen (all foil fencers). We’re on the Gulf side, so no waves, warm water. I was wearing shorts, flipflops, t-shirt and gauzy overshirt. Was embarrassed about my “Beach Body” until I took a look around at Florida Man & Florida Woman. Turns out I’m a marketable slab of yeti.
Lunch by the beach, return to the room, dress in “Beach Formal” and we’re off. On a wedding trolley. One of those that are often filled with “Woo!” people. No “Woo!”ing at that time, however.
30 minutes later, we reach the venue. Old mansion converted to a nature preserve. Has it’s own pier and forest. House is on the water. Humid as fuck. A little rain on the drive over, no rain/partial sun for ceremony, rain starts again 15 min after ceremony ends. Rains off and on throughout the rest of the evening. Florida caterers are familiar with the problem, so not really a problem. Ceremony was actually good, setting was lovely, food was…
Vegan.
After burning the venue to the ground and filling the mass graves and sowing the ground with pink tibetan salt, we took the early trolley back to the hotel, where we are waiting for one of my fencing cronies to return nfrom the party so H can introduce me to the late-night Southern ritual of goin’ to th’ Waffle House. If I survive, I’ll post again.
The Big Day arrived, but since everyone involved is sensible, nothing early was planned after the night of drinking. H got up and had breakfast and solitude while I was snoozing. I got a call from Lenny (Leonid) my long-standing, made-from-iron Moldovan co-coach, asking if I was going to beach. H goes to beach, runs into Lenny, I join them a few minutes later after yakking in the lobby with the Groom + Groomsmen (all foil fencers). We’re on the Gulf side, so no waves, warm water. I was wearing shorts, flipflops, t-shirt and gauzy overshirt. Was embarrassed about my “Beach Body” until I took a look around at Florida Man & Florida Woman. Turns out I’m a marketable slab of yeti.
Lunch by the beach, return to the room, dress in “Beach Formal” and we’re off. On a wedding trolley. One of those that are often filled with “Woo!” people. No “Woo!”ing at that time, however.
30 minutes later, we reach the venue. Old mansion converted to a nature preserve. Has it’s own pier and forest. House is on the water. Humid as fuck. A little rain on the drive over, no rain/partial sun for ceremony, rain starts again 15 min after ceremony ends. Rains off and on throughout the rest of the evening. Florida caterers are familiar with the problem, so not really a problem. Ceremony was actually good, setting was lovely, food was…
Vegan.
After burning the venue to the ground and filling the mass graves and sowing the ground with pink tibetan salt, we took the early trolley back to the hotel, where we are waiting for one of my fencing cronies to return nfrom the party so H can introduce me to the late-night Southern ritual of goin’ to th’ Waffle House. If I survive, I’ll post again.
In the Tudor Period, Fencing Masters were classified in the Vagrancy Laws along with Actors, Gypsys, Vagabonds, Sturdy Rogues, and the owners of performing bears.