That bwessed awangement, that dweam wiffin a dweam

"Fine. I will be there. But I will not dance!" -- Worf.

So, Tommy -- my roommate, that is, not the Pinball Wizard -- is getting married in July. Go figure.

I especially loved the nonchalant way he delivered the news, too.

ME: Hey.
TOMMY: Hey.
ME: How's it goin'?
TOMMY: It's goin'. So, yeah, I'm getting married.
ME: ...?

I don't know. Me, I'd be a little more energized in my delivery. There'd be an exclamation point or two in there. And perhaps some italics, for emphasis. You know. "Hey, I'm getting married!" That's me. I'm an excitable guy. As those who work with me can attest. (Of course, that's usually anger. But hey. Still, emotion finds its way into my voice much of the time. That's all I'm sayin'. Anyway, moving on...)

The low-key presentation leads one to believe that he isn't happy about this. But that doesn't appear to be the case -- it's just another extreme example of Tommy's extraordinary ability to remain laid-back at all times.

I'm trying to remember a single time in the years I've known him, in the two years we've lived together, that I've actually seen him high-strung about something. Seen him agitated, angry, running around and yelling and stuff. But I'm completely drawing a blank. Even devastating, earth-shaking stuff, he just keeps that same room temperature. It's possible I'm forgetting something -- you guys can help me out? Anyone? Anyone? Steve? Trebor? Bueller? Anyone?

I'm not entirely convinced it's a bad trait, necessarily, it's just kinda...odd, is all.

This is the part where I say something nice about Tommy's bride-to-be. And I would, without hesitation. Except, I don't think I've ever met her before. Thanks to our Chernobyl-the-morning-after decor, Tommy has wisely kept her far, far away from our apartment. But I'm sure she's wonderful.

(A voice rises from the back. "Hey, she can't be any worse than--" Thank you, sir. Thank you. No need to go there. Let's try and keep this civil, shall we? This is a happy occasion!)

So, yeah. July 8. Mark your calendars, bitches, 'cause if you're reading this and you've met Tommy, you're probably going to get an invitation. Yes, even you.

What the hell does one wear to a wedding, anyway? I've never been to one.