Monday, September 30, 2013



  This is how it works: you work a year towards a church service and before you know it, it's over. This is not my first rodeo. It's part of the deal in doing this kind of work. More dollars are burned than end up in the collection basket. But, that's OK. I'm not bitching. I expect no more. In fact, this morning in the office could not have been more productive. Finally my lawyer Murray (not Milawyer) had good news. We had a majority of votes amongst the congregation of 19. This would allow me to proceed in cleaning the debris and putting a new roof on the 1923 part of the shul structure, before I close the deal. This is any artist's pay off in working without pay- the next project comes along. Time to get back in the gym.

   When I was 16 my father had an idea that his kids needed to be tested and evaluated by credentialed professionals in the field of human engineering. He meant well. If his kids had strengths he could encourage or short-comings he could correct, he wanted to know about it. He was in the office a lot. So the morning after I received my driver's license, after an intense night of celebrating, Mupp, Savage Lynch and I piled in the Old Man's pontiac and headed for Manhattan. I was sick. Savage was hung-over and Mupp was innocent. The night before I had thrown up on the fuzzy pink bathroom rug. I had placed my hands on the sink and the toilet and thrown up between them. Then I rolled the rug up and put it in the washing machine, stumbling back to bed, without turning it on. The next morning I was too fuzzy to even realize that my mother had found the horrible, stinking mess of slo gin fizz, puke-infused fabic in the washing machine and relayed that piece of intelligence onto my father. Good morning!
   What followed was a silent ride, a day of square peg in round hole, what do you want to do with your life? tests and questioning in a musty old upper east side brownstone, by people in lab coats. Turned out both Savage and I had rhythm and I had no fore-thought. This was very true. Why had I not turned the washing machine on? Had I not thought of the consequences of my actions? Did I think that my drunken carousing at the tender age of 16 would go unnoticed? As far as having rhythm goes, just ask Slick. They haven't made a drum machine that can keep time with me. My father took the tests also. They told the old man he should be a stock broker (which he already was). These guys weren't stupid. Satisfy the client.
    At the end of the day, over pizza in Goshen, I got what was coming. My father ripped me a new asshole, grounded me, took away my newly acquired driver's license, lectured Savage and praised Mupp for having the good sense to stay away from us. Mupp was just never caught for whatever mischief he was up to the night before, probably with Milawyer. He dodged that bullet. I took my medicine and moved on. Next.

I guess my point in all this, is no matter how much I resented my trips to Johnson-Oconnor Human Engineering Laboratories, they were absolutely spot on in their assessment of my wiring. The fact that they recognized so easily my lack of fore-thought has lead me to overcompensate for this deficiency all my life. I want, no need, to know what's coming and try my damnedest to plan for it. The fact that I can now work on the shul has assured that my immediate future will be strenuous, dirty, frustrating, expensive, cold, nasty and ultimately incredibly rewarding. I know that. I do have fore-thought. What will I do about all this? When will I run out of money? How long can I keep this ridiculous life style up without going back to the day job? I have no idea. I haven't thrown up on the rug (and not washed it) in many years. As far as being able to keep a beat. Too bad the Old Man couldn't get his money back on that one. Some things you can't fix.    

Sunday, September 29, 2013


  For those of you who weren't at church last night: It started promptly at 8:30 pm. Previous to The Band of All Faiths striking up, and the dollars being set ablaze, I laid " playing dead" in the Lion of Judah cage. This gave me the unique opportunity to attend my own funeral. My eyes were closed but my ears were open. After 20 mins. or so all of you actually forgot I was there. I heard everything. As the band played I PUT A CURSE ON YOU, Sharon Tate and Diamond Dave carried me in on an Army stretcher. Then everybody took their shirts off. I don't remember much else. You should've been there. Opening day is Tues.




Friday, September 27, 2013



One last reminder to come to church. The only service of THE CHURCH OF THE LITTLE GREEN MAN in 2013 will take place tomorrow evening at 8pm, here at 143 Old Glen Wild Rd. in Glen Wild, NY 12738. I know I bitch a lot about the lack of enthusiasm and overall malaise when it comes to putting a church together. But when all's said and done, we usually rise to the occasion. Compared to the old days in the East Village, we are true professionals. Back then we were lucky to spend one or two smoked up sessions writing hymns before any given service. Rehearse? Unheard of. But we were young then. And for some reason nobody seemed to mind if we didn't know the chords or words or have any talent. The believers lined up to burn their dollars, just to be part of the scene.
   As the time nears to convene, I check off things to do- paint toe nails gold, safety pin pants, secure ammunition and firearms, get propane for eternal flame......I'm prepared. Is everyone else? I can't help making suggestions for uniforms. Slick"Oy Ve" Druckman always comes up with a good costume. One service he was a kosher hot dog. Another found him representing a mini-van full of Hasidics. My suggestion, to everyone's horror, was shaved head and striped Auschwitz prisoner pajamas. What? Look, it goes with the Jewish theme. Slick looks good with a shaved noggin and PJs are comfy. What's the problem? Next you'll be telling me my theme restaurant names are in bad taste- JOODLES, AL KABAB, JESUS CRISPS. Or maybe just BAD TASTE is enough. Either way Beeks put the kibosh on Schindler's Pajamas. Oy Vey's uniform will be a surprise. Lets move on.
   Next came Sister Nun of Your Business fashion dilemma. The habit always works, but we try not to repeat ourselves. So taking a cue from "Squeaky" Teehoo Frome, who had decided to rock the Little Green Man-son girl wear, Sister NOYB thought Sharon Tate would work. I wholeheartedly agreed. One hot blonde channeling another hot blonde, who just happened to be brutally murdered by a crazed bunch of assholes, could work. But as the good sister delved into the Helter Skelter of those days, the whole thing freaked her out. I can understand that. Yet, instead of going as pregnant, bloody Sharon, why not beautiful, radiant, glamour puss Sharon? Hmmmmm? That could work. Crisis averted.
   My uniform is being pressed as we speak. I'm polishing my medals and loading my gun. The service promises to be a good one. After years of trying to get puppets for church we have scored with puppet royalty- Amy Trumpet Girl of The Bread and Puppet Theater. There's a lot of pressing issues for the church- casino gambling and fractal drilling. I say vote NO on each. Gamblers are stupid and I hate fractals in my water. But that's just me. This is a very head strong congregation of free-thinkers. The last thing I'd want to do is tell you how to vote or dress. We'll settle it all at church. Just remember to bring a dollar to burn. We'll take it from there.  

Tuesday, September 24, 2013



We've all seen them- big bright yellow metal bins, with a swirly global graphic and a website listing Lately they are everywhere. SHOES AND CLOTHES DROP OFF. There they are in the Quickie-Mart parking lot, over by the diner, across from the post office. It's a convenient way to get rid of old long underwear and worn out work boots. Why drive all the way to Middletown to The Salvation Army or Goodwill? I'm sure the clothes go to the less fortunate in the area. Guess again.              
   Usually this would not raise any eyebrows. But, if there's one thing I hate in this world, it's big shiny metal boxes placed willy-nilly around my town. Call me a cynic, but I wondered just who "Planetaid" was?  A little googling and wouldn't you know it, they do not appear to be the charitable organization they profess to be. In fact they seem to have grown out of a Danish cult. It's so convoluted I can't do it justice in one blog. And that's the idea. These organizations have more branches than a stalk of broccoli.  Google PA's leader Ester Neltrup and you'll get an idea of what I'm talking about. Only in America can you put out a big box and have the locals stuff it with dollar bills, no questions asked. Most, if not all, the donated items are either shipped overseas and resold or shredded into rags, sold by the pound to India and remade into clothes by Walmart sweatshops. Helping the poor of the world? Only if you think employing workers to sew 16 hours a day for pennies, turning rags into riches is help. Maybe the Russian gulags housing the Pussy Riot girls have a supply deal with these guys.
   Do not. I repeat DO NOT put any of your unwanted belongings in the yellow bin. There's a little church in Youngsville that you can donate to or Goodwill and Salvation Army are both good bets. If even a fraction of what I have read about Planet aid is true, I would avoid them like the plague. In fact I think I can get one more winter out of those long johns. I'm still a little needy.

Monday, September 23, 2013



It's been a big weekend here in the 'skills. On Sat. it was Teehoo's 18th birthday and on Sunday Sarah "Birka" Budde gave birth to Rocket "Boy" Budde. I know you think that's a blog name. Guess again. I don't know whether the kid will be up for a baptism on the 28th, but we are available. Rocket is his given name. I had nothing to do with it. Blame the parents. That's just the kind of congregation we have here. Rocket, Wheels, Teehoo, Leila....these are the names of the children who will either drop all this foolishness, or bring it forward into the 22nd century. I won't live to see it.

But back to Teehoo's birthday. The kid's friends are all off at school and she was stuck with Shewho and me, celebrating turning legal. Back in my day the drinking age was 18 in NY. Because we started bar hopping around 16, we never made too big of a deal over turning legal. By that time we were regulars. No sense shoving it in the bar owner's faces, the fact that we had been partners in crime for two years. But these are the days of MADD, DUI, ID and consequences for all parties who dare party in public. They'll be no bar-hopping. In private? That's another matter.
    So while the pink dinosaur cake was being frosted by Shewho, Sat. afternoon, Teehoo and I took off to check out The Last Weekend in Masten Lake. Periodically, someone (outside of Hasidim) gets the idea to bring Brooklyn to the mountains. ATP famously rocked Kutsher's with Iggy a few years back. This time it's a three day camp for big kids with sock hats at Camp Lakota. The flyer stated up front- NO SMOKING, NO ATMS, NO PETS, NO TWEETING, NO CLIMBING OF THE CLIMBING WALL. Where's the bar? Teehoo and I stayed long enough to press some flesh with the organizers, get out of the way of the tie-dyers and leave without having someone paint our faces or slip us some Molly. I'm all for hipster, downward smell the dog fun, but.........artchery?
    Back at the house, Shewho had called Sister Nun of Your Business to come to the party. Lucky for all of us she was available. Forget Dr. Baloonakiss, pony rides, or bouncy castles. You want to entertain your 18 year old (male or female) call 1-800-PARTYNUN. She'll come to your house, eat dinner with you, sing Happy Birthday, bring gifts and when the candles are blown out on the pink dinosaur  cake, it's "Lets Get This Party Started". The only thing missing was a puppy and a pick-up truck. Sister NOYB was the dj and bartender. Half a bottle of good rye whiskey into the evening and the tu-tu hadn't even come out yet. Gladiola sword fights, the spilling of the beans and "what's under your shirt?" are just a few of the party games in this nun's habit. By 3 am, I had to crash, my face hurt too much from smiling. Just before dawn Sister NOYB and Teehoo curled up on the rug and went to sleep like exhausted dogs. I'm sure Shewho and I are bad parental units. Would I have been able to party like that with my mom at 18? No way. It took us 'til I was 19 to tie one on together....without a nun in the picture. Now lets go get you that tattoo. HAPPY BIRTHDAY DARLIN'.      

Wednesday, September 18, 2013



If there's one thing I've learned over the years- you can never explain enough. I know I've already gone over all the themes to the upcoming service of the CLGM. Still, people are confused. Is it a cult? Who's St. Sebastian? What's voodoo got to do with anything? Why can't you pick one theme and stick to it? Answering in order: Yes. Patron St. of the military. Nothing. It's not that kind of church. In all this over explaining one thing has gotten lost- what do we wear?
    Even though there it is in big italic letters FULL DRESS UNIFORM, nobody seems to have read it. This service was originally scheduled for the week before Halloween. Because of a previous commitment  Tricky made to migrate to Cali to work in the eye medicine fields, trimming bud, we had to move it up. The usually no-brainer for the congregation to show up in costume was lost. So, let me lay it out for you.
      At some point in almost everyone's life we are forced to wear a uniform. Catholic school girls are put in those extremely short plaid skirts, bent over the desk and paddled gently by angry nuns as......where was I? Oh yeah, uniforms....Look in your closet. I bet you got one. As for myself I'm pulling out my old 'Nam army uniform. When I was over in the shit, I rarely had an opportunity to don the dress greens. Crawling through the jungle with battle ribbons and shiny medals made one a little too much of a target. But I know not everyone has a military background. For you civilians it can be anything: boy scout, prison guard, brownie, private school, cop, nurse, convict, etc.
   Far be it from me to tell anybody what to wear. I got in trouble last week for even suggesting the supermodels should stick a feather in their caps. I'm only trying to spiritually guide, not dictate.  As always wear what you want. It may be a little chilly in the sanctuary, so I would suggest dressing warmly. Just like standing and singing the hymns, we all have to participate. We may subscribe to a show-biz theology, but if you don't look good, we don't look good. Get in the spirit. Service is a week from Sat. 8pm 143 old glen wild rd. Glen Wild, NY 12738. You have your orders.

Saturday, September 14, 2013




  For all of you who are sick of poison gas and Lindsay Lohan's mother's drunken hi jinx, rest assured that it won't last that much longer. Soon we won't care about anything other than wind direction, temperature drops, fronts coming in (and leaving), snow, rain, and the almighty rut. Opening day of bow season is two weeks out. A couple of days after CURSE CULT church will find me in one of my seven stands, hung between here and there, listening, watching, straining to catch any movement or light reflection in the woods. Today I went to check on three of the closest stands.
   But first, lets update BAND OF ALL FAITHS personnel changes. The other night, as I was bitching about Tricky Travis being MIA to Ray Gilkey (the cat) I absentmindedly switched on the organ. As if on cue the cat jumped to the top of the organ and then walked down the key board. The thing groaned obscenely as Ray trod across the keys. He wasn't that bad. Hell, at least he showed up. I asked him to play AMAZING BAG. Ray looked at me and meowed like a bird. Ray Gilkey (the cat) used to be Ray Gilkey's cat Boots. The organ used to be Ray's organ. I'm sure there was a glimmer of recognition in Ray's bones (as well as ghost). Sadly the cat could not play that well and we are still forced to accommodate Tricky's erratic schedule. The good news is that we now have a new bass player -Greg Hard. Every bass player we've ever had has been called Greg. What's with that?
   Last night we were finally able to convene rehearsal and the organ promptly broke. Cat sabotage?  Other- worldly intervention? Dust? Who knows. In any case we now have no C cords. I'm no musician, but I'm sure we can probably work around this. How important can a C be? The more pressing issue is that we have no up on the altar talent. What happened to this performance art congregation? Give me some lip-syncing, a rant, Christ, stand on your head for fucks sake. This is supposed to be a community. I got one puppet lady I met at my brother's wedding and she hasn't seen the hymn words yet. She may bolt. You think you can burn your dollar and just sit back and let us entertain you? Think again. I'm telling you, you thought we sucked before? We suck worse....and we're rusty. I promise this will be the worst church ever......if you all don't step up. You know who you are.

The stands are all in good shape. I saw tracks, and jumped a few deer. Lets get this church over with so I can get in the woods and relax.       

Thursday, September 12, 2013




Anyone who is thinking of starting a religion should pay attention. Sure there are things to take into account when establishing a belief system that calls into question more traditional forms of faith based organization. When do you stand? When do you sit? What sort of headgear do the functionaries wear? Are there dietary laws? What dogma, doctrine or canon is written down? How much do you burn upon entry to the sanctuary? All these things are very important. But, one of the most important decisions you will make in your attempt to compete with "the big 3", is the selection of an organist. It's right up there with the diameter of the stripper pole. Ex: CLGM 2 1/2" OD. Let us spin.
    When the CLGM was founded in the winter of 1986 in NY's East Village,  the choice of an organist was a no-brainer. Jerry Lee Dublee Weems Willie Williams, guitar player for PURPLE GEEZUS was the only person I knew who could find his way across a keyboard. I bought a $50 Casio and Willie slid behind the "John Dillenger Memorial Organ". I know I shouldn't speak ill of the dead, frustrating as it was to have a sleep all day, vegan, dread wearing, bull jizz drinking, sickly, brilliant genius playing guitar in your rock band, try adding church organist to his duties. Like the collection basket, it is impossible to hold a church service without an organist. The battles I faced with trying to get JW to rehearse the hymns, or just show up to the services are legendary. But, once the "rock me" button was hit and those boney fingers danced across the ivories, all was good. The Little Green man was in his heaven and we were safe in his bosom. Alas Willie is now gone. He is sorely missed by all.

   The second incarnation of the CLGM in Glen Wild found us forming THE BAND OF ALL FAITHS. The integral vortex of the band? Once again- the organist. Without even trying, in walks the dread wearing, impossible to reach, cud chewing, garden weed smoking, barefoot vegan, Jerry Williams channeling, string bean, brilliant genius- Tricky Travis. I must've done something very bad in a previous life to deserve such punishment. What is it with fucking church organists? It's enough to make one turn atheist. I can flatter, cajole, whine, plead, threaten, whine some has no effect on this guy. He doesn't have a car, yet when it comes to rehearsing he always seems to be in another state. How he gets there is anyone's guess. It's two weeks before CURSE CULT and we got nothing. The be all you can be mantra is no longer uttered. We have a couple of half finished hymns a clarinet player about to give birth, no drummer- "Scott Jarvis will no longer play in public." and a new bass player we've never met. So don't expect much. Forget the piano player. Shoot the organist.          

Sunday, September 8, 2013





Thursday, September 5, 2013


   For me (and millions of others) it started with Blogspot and Myspace. Here was a quick and easy way to get art, writing and music out to an audience of like-minded individuals, "friends" if you will, within a format that was a breeze to navigate. No more paying to have someone host your website or even trying to get published. One could write, or for a time even record live over the phone (this blogspot option is no longer available), hit a button and publish worldwide. There was no money in it. But at least it didn't all sit in the closet. It was a new world.
    Then came facebook. By the time fb was on my radar, I'd already chilled on visiting the Myspace page. I still blogged regularly, but found Myspace a dusty corner that smelled of cat piss. I closed the door. My more hooked up friends said I should try facebook. I resisted...then relented. I'm as weak as the next guy.
   It was love at first sight. Immediately I trolled my more famous friend's pages for "friends". Sending requests out, I waited patiently for their acceptance. If it was not forthcoming I felt a pang of rejection. If I gained a new friend I felt joy. This was the beginning of the emotional roller coaster that is fb. Say what you will about Mark Zuckerberg, he's a fucking genius. Has anyone ever received as many birthday cards as they do fb well wishers on a birthday?  I started mining all my artwork, past and present, posting it on my page and waiting for a response. My first "like" was a sweet kiss of validation.
    As time went by I linked HWS to my fb page in order to make it easy for people to click on a new post and read it. No fuss. No muss. Unlike a lot of people, I did not use it for family contact. I love my family and see enough of them, without watching every subtle change in a gurgling baby's demeanor  on a daily basis. I wanted to use it to reach people I would not normally have access to on an egalitarian level, ie. Artfags. When I bored of posting I would comment. I tried to be pithy, and opinionated. It wasn't much of a stretch. The comment is like writing a haiku. Get to the point and move on. Sometimes I "liked" something. It was all groovy. Then something happened.
    The genius of Zuckerberg is he knows how to fuck with your wiring. Skinner and Pavlov have nothing on him. I began to check fb obsessively to see how many "likes" and/or comments I had collected on my posts. If I had no likes on a particular posting, that I thought was worthy of great praise, I questioned myself. Was I wrong? Did I suck? Then, one day, I was unable to access my page. I received a WARNING! that one of my vaginas or titty pics. was offensive to my "community" and I was being punished for 24 hours. OK. I can do the time, but what exactly was my crime? A few months later it happened again. This time I was informed that I had two strikes. Three strikes and I would be removed.

   This 3 strikes and your out rule was the beginning of the end for me. It was like learning the hot girl you think you are in love with is actually a racist, who was stealing the rent money. I began to question if this relationship was a healthy one. Then one morning, I started making steps towards severing my ties with facebook. Even this was not easy. It took two weeks to delete the page. At first it was tough. I missed arguing with Kenny Schacter. I missed the "likes". I felt isolated. Was the party still going on without me? Was I even missed? But, like finally getting away from the racist, you begin to see that she wasn't really that hot. In fact with a little perspective you can see how ugly she was on the inside. To all of you who think she broke up with me. You're way off. I left on my own. And I feel sooooo much better about myself. I am a good person.    

Wednesday, September 4, 2013



The CLGM "Joint" Chiefs have met and asked me to explain the themes of the upcoming service. Confusion in this area can lead to collateral damage and refugees streaming across the border into Rock Hill and Woodridge. In order to avoid this, I will try to lay out in clear language our reasons for military intervention at this time. Lets take the themes one by one.
   Saint Sebastian, as most people know, is the patron saint of archers. If we look back at a few of the archetypes swirling around the CLGM we find "The Green Knight" and later on the legend of Robin Hood. Add to this the fact that the service is two days before opening day of bow season and my suggestion is for all supermodels to don the little green short-shorts, stick a feather in your hat, string your bow and be ready to shoot the flamer arrow at St. GNJohn on the stripper pole. A lesser known fact is that St. Seba is also the patron saint of the warrior class. Here's where the "Full Dress Uniform" comes into the mix. ACHTUNG! Start polishing your buttons.
    We may have been at war for the past decade, but ask any high school kid where we are fighting and  eyes will roll, the buds will stay in the ears and they will just shrug. A war weary nation? That's a phrase that politicians use when they want to vote against funding another bomber. When's the last time you saw a flag draped coffin or for that matter a general on TV? If we are at war i guess nobody on our side is dying. It's only within the last couple of days, with all the debate on Syria, that we see some scrambled eggs and epaulets decorating the uniforms of the men (and women) sitting behind the politicians. Military drag is back....just in time for church. Be ready for white glove inspection.
    The next theme is "Voodoo Doll". This should be self explanatory. There isn't a person out there who doesn't have one or two stashed in the underwear draw. Personally I have a whole trunk of them. It looks like a sea bottom covered with spiney urchins. Feeling some pain in the bottom of your foot? You know who you are. As far as translating this to churchy dress-up, I would suggest babydoll or Furry wear. The Cardinal Tristan Epic has Red Fox Pajamas. Don't forget the pins. He's quick. Be prepared for a chase.
   And finally we have "Curse Cult". This brings "Osti de CLGM" into the mix. A rough translation is fuck the church of the little green man. A couple of new rituals will be introduced. "Curse for a Beer" is  one. Some people can cuss like a sailor and make it sound like music. This is what we want to encourage. Also, curse can be taken a variety of ways- "monthly curse", "I put a curse on you", etc. We all know what a cult is. This is also appropriate for the dress code. I think Teehoo is going to rock the simple shift and sweater "Brownie look" of the Manson girls. Bloated corpse of the People's Temple is also a nice way to go.

So, there you go. I hope I've made clear our reasons for intervention at this time. I hope we can stick to the themes, not spill over the border, and obey the Geneva convention. Lock and load. There's less than a month left before we invade. Go to the range. Shoot a quiver of arrows and lets all get our twerk on. Piece in our time.        

Tuesday, September 3, 2013




  It may say "Baptisms, Weddings and Funerals" on the sign by the road, but weddings are not my favorite activity. Sure, I've been to some great ones, and even had a couple of my own, but overall I find them a big waste of time and money. Recently I was at a party talking to a really charming Gay fellow, discussing gay rights. "Going in the army, getting married and adopting kids?" he questioned. "Avoiding those things wasn't the only reason Gay looked good to me......but it sure didn't hurt." These days, equal rights to indulge in all these institutions are a big deal to a lot of people- Gay and straight. So when my youngest brother Duke informed me that he was planning a big wedding on the coast of Maine, on labor Day weekend, I didn't immediately reach for the party pants. Marriage? LABOR DAY? BUGFUCKNOWHERE, ME. ? Oh man. I'm soooooo excited.....
    But, a brother is a brother and there was no way I could bow out. Shewho and Teehoo were hyped to go and I, in all good conscience, could not be the party pooper. We piled our crap in Shewho's car and headed north. I have no cell phone and my eyes are too bad to even read a map anymore, so it fell to Shewho to be the navigator. When we got off the highway in Me. we were completely at the mercy of the little blue dot. Shewho knew better than to turn on "the voice".  Every time we missed a turn Shewho caught it and I reacted. I hate being lost. It's a control freak thing. I admit it. I can be a real asshole when I don't know where I am. But we got there in spite of me.

   The coast of Me. is just like you'd expect. The rock beaches are shrouded in an ocean caressing mist, that eventually lifts to reveal such beauty it can choke up the most hard assed, jaded New Yorker. OK. Maybe this wasn't so bad. Duke and his betrothed Becky are a great couple, with loads of great friends. Add family from both sides and you really can't go wrong. They said their vows ankle deep in the ocean as gulls circled and seals wondered Whatthefuck? By the time we had gathered under a white tent, with the mosquitoes as big as the gulls, I was beginning to change my mind about weddings. A couple sang a hauntingly beautiful acapella version of a Georgian ballad to the new marrieds and the toasts kept coming. Could it be that I was wrong about weddings?
   After an 11 hour ride home in bumper to bumper traffic and torrential downpours, my newly acquired attitude regarding nuptials has wavered.....just a bit. I heard on the radio that someone has developed an app. to detect incoming bombs, for the big chunk of the world's population that has to worry about being poisoned by their own government or killed by our drones. Even I'd have a cell phone if I lived there. So why not develop a "marriage app." ? From proposal, to guest list, to gift registry, to wedding band, vows, party, honeymoon, first fight, etc., this all could be done on line. Loved ones could follow the whole thing on Youtube from the comfort of their livingrooms. I haven't quite worked out how consummation would play with Grandma and Grandpa, but it's still in the early planning stages. It's a hard choice- drive for days to party hard, cry my eyes out, argue (and make up) with the woman I love, laugh, dance, get drunk with Teehoo, hug everybody, toast my new sister-in law and hang with almost my entire family.......or get a cell phone? I guess weddings are here to stay.