Angelica Houston just unveiled her eighteen inch Stonehenge.
“No one knows who they were or… what they were doing. But their legacy remains… hewn in the rock of Stonehenge.”
I’m watching “This Is Spinal Tap” for at least the two hundredth time. With less than five weeks until my bachelor party, this VH1 Classic moment seems more relevant than ever.
When I was sixteen-years-old, my ideal Friday night was pretty simple: a parentless household, a six pack of Michelob Dry, and a copy of “Spinal Tap” on VHS.
“There was a Stonehenge monument that was in danger of being crushed by a DWARF!”
I emailed my groomsman, Sibby, this afternoon. We were correspondin’ about blue suits. As in, the kind in which I’m gettin’ married. Fun stuff. It’s a long way from whatever it is we used to talk about when we were sophomores. Something to do with Pink Floyd and skinny joint I weaseled off a co-worker at the video store, I think.
Anyway, my brother and father put the bachelor party weekend together. It’s the weekend after MTV’s Video Music Awards which, all things considered, couldn’t be more well-timed. It’ll be like getting shot out of a Roman candle; all of a sudden, we’ll be at 10,000 feet.
We’re spending the weekend in Breckenridge, Colorado. Which is kind of perfect. Years ago (It must have been 1992), when I drove cross-country for the first time, my Uncle Stan took me there for the weekend. I had just turned twenty-one, so the Brew Pub held strong sway. As, I suppose, it will for my bachelor party.
That’s currently about the extent of plans, though. About fifteen of my closest male friends and family will be there. Beer will be comsumed. Perhaps someone will play a guitar, or put one of the two hot tubs or five decks in our rental to good use. It’ll all be PG-13 (for strong language) at best. I don’t really care, so long as my pals are there.
In fact, I’m celebrating (as it were) something of a bachelor party this very night. Abbi’s in the Midwest on business. So I’m eating frozen pizza, swilling Harp, watching “Spinal Tap.”
Truth is, I’d rather Abbi were here.
Still, after a day like today, my bachelor party is something to look forward to. As Paul Westerbergh would say, I can’t hardly wait.
In the end, I’m just hoping someone will say something like, “Enough of my yakkin’. Whaddaya say? Let’s boogie! “
I’m bettin’ on Sibby.