Love and scandal are the best sweeteners of tea. —Henry Fielding

24 February 2004

This evening...

I went to the wedding in Riverside of my sometime-friend Gareth, who is a particularly brilliant fellow.  The wedding was outdoors (bad choice) and the colors were a lovely deep red and the usual black/white combination (nice choice).


There were few flowers (budgetary concerns, I suppose, which is fine), but the flowers they had were very nice--red, and exact matches to the colors in the groom's tie and the bridesmaids' dresses.  The bridesmaids looked about 15 years old (odd).  The bride was stunning in a cream satin dress... I appreciate the cream, since she is after all pregnant, which no one mentioned, thankfully.  But the cream really was very beautiful, and she looked very happy.  The veil was white and pretty, the only white on the bride.


No mention of god during the ceremony, but references to Greek Wedding, San Francisco, I Corinthians 13, and Hamlet, for some reason.  To be fair, the Greek Wedding reference was  segue into the idea that the Greeks "had 3 different words for love."  They really had quite a few more, probably more like 5 or 6, but the 3 were sufficient enough for the discussion.  It got me thinking... for the Greeks, there was eros (erotic love), fileos (or however you spell it: brotherly love), and agape (pure love/god's love, etc.)  As discussed previously by, these hold no distinction for me!!!!  How ridiculous to have so many names for what is for me the same fucking thing!  If these 3 words are different, they are damn confusing.  The English got it right... they're all a part of one thing.


I actually feel kind of sick.  I watched Pieces of April (what a piece of shit).  It came out on video today, and was the very last of the Oscar movies I needed to see...  Patricia Clarkson was good, but no better than last year when she got robbed of a nomination for the wonderful film Far from Heaven.  Then I read Act I of Fat Men in Skirts the last of the Nicky Silver plays in this book.  Funny shit.  Maybe Nicky Silver will be the next play I direct.


I might puke.  I wonder why I feel so gross. Bleh.