Going in, I knew I wouldn't know too many people. I can't really say I "know know" the groom and I am not part of Karen's tight circle of New Orleans homies. I was traveling with my friend Nicole but she was shooting the wedding events and wouldn't be around much. So I was left to my own devices much of the time.
We came in late Thursday night and attended a bridesmaid luncheon on Friday. Nicole had things to do so I hit the road in our roomy Chrysler Sebring in search of a jogging trail. There's nature all around in the South but I didn't spy anyone running along the roads so I followed a hunch and set out for Mackintosh Lake. To my disappointment, there were not any trails at the entrance I tried first. There was a Revolutionary War monument though. My map showed another park entrance and there I hit the jackpot: a one or three-mile loop through the woods and along a lakeside trail. It was a nice run and I dilly-dallied the rest of the afternoon, driving around, seeing the landscape; admiring the wackiness of the person who painted a giant Mickey Mouse on his/her barn.
I was ready to call it a night by the time Nicole came back from wedding rehearsals and dinner but I was talked into socializing at a hotel room with others. It was there that I tasted a delicious, sweet, empanada-shaped pastry that one of Karen's friends imported from New Orleans. It was also there that I was talked into exploring Burlington's nightlife with Karen's L.A. friend Joe, the groom's nephew Mark, and the matron of honor's husband Steve. Nicole went with us to the first bar and for some reason I was perfectly fine sipping on water and being the DD while the men got ripped.
Before we even made it to the bar, Burlington had something special in store for us. Our Best Western was on a slope, and from the parking lot, you could hear the sound of a loudspeaker and hum of a crowd. Turns out that the Chik-fil-a down the hill was giving away 100 vouchers guaranteeing a meal a week from the restaurant. People were CAMPED OUT for this. They rushed the venue at the blow of a whistle and were still in their tents by the time we hit our second destination, Brewballs.
Nicole bowed out of Part II of our Burlington adventure, leaving me and the men: Steve is an attorney in New Orleans and like all good Southerners, could hold his liquor and spin a mean yarn; Mark is from Florida and is only five years younger than James, making him more of a cousin or brother than a nephew -- he too, was a talker; Joe was Karen's landlord for a long time and lived in the main house while she set up show in the "clubhouse." I've been in Joe's presence many times but had my first conversations with him during the weekend.
We couldn't have picked a better destination than Brewballs. It was a well-worn honkytonk that required you to be a "member" to enter. Steve had scoped the place out earlier so we walked in as his guests, and as the doorman said, as obvious out-of-towners. We set up downstairs where two older men played country tunes to a drum machine accompanyment. We alternated between pool and darts, with Steve proving himself to be a pool hustler and Mark entertaining me with his dart tricks. He could hit the dart board left handed; or under his leg; or, my favorite, backwards and upside-down through his legs. Awesome!
The wedding was at a picturesque little church. The groom sobbed as the bride walked down the aisle. It was moving and beautiful. The reception was held at a pretty community center in a senior citizen complex. The band was solid and the party really got started after James sang Led Zeppelin's "Rock and Rock" with the band. You know, "It's been a long time since I rock and rolled....It's been a long time, been a long time, been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time."
And it was a lovely time too.
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