Brother of the Bride

A little aside: Slumdog Millionaire won 8 Oscars including Best Picture, as expected, Heath Ledger won best supporting actor and the Lakers escaped Minnesota.

I never wanted to be a celebrity. I want to live a life of being well-known without being the toast of the tabloids. But as I woke up on the 22nd of February 2009, I was a bit scared that there would be some type of scene from The Graduate where the lovable loser steals the bride away while locking out the rest of the crowd with a cross, or a scene where the altar blows up as the bride and groom escape, from Mula Sa Puso (From The Heart).

Thankfully, my worst fears were not realized on Sunday. Before the wedding, I went on a pre-wedding lunch from MCDonald's. I had a Angus Third-Pounder Deluxe, some fries, a few nuggets and a Filet-O-Fish. Yes, I was THAT hungry.

I took a drive across Terminal Island and around the Palos Verdes Peninsula with my parents, and we went to this place called Wayfarers Chapel. It's a nondenominational place with views of the ocean, the cliffs of the peninsula, Catalina Island, and a grotto full of trees.

In my barong tagalog, I took plenty of photos with my cell phone. My older sister, in her simple bridal outfit, my new older brother, and the bridal party (including my good friends Linda and Chanda, supervisors at my job with Maritz Research).

There was a feel of Kenny G's "Silhouette," and I thought, "I feel out of place. They are playing some porn groove jazz, and I am in a Ramones mood. They're thinking 'Silhouette' and I am more like 'Blitzkrieg Bop' and 'Cretin Hop'! Yikes!"

When priest at the chapel made it official, I pumped my fists in celebration and let out a whoop and a holler. Now, even though this was a church, I felt that I had to get that out.

After the ceremony, we went to the Reef restaurant for some dancing. My sister and brother did their best to impersonate Dancing with the Stars. They needed a bit more practice, but the effort was there. Afterwards, I made my speech, wishing the two of them all the best on their journey, even asking the crowd if they are picking Slumdog Millionaire to win Best Picture.

I visualized the entire speech and the reaction. It was as expected. A loud "Kampai!" resonated from the crowd. The rest of the night saw my sister and brother get cash pinned to them, some cake and prime rib, and a few glasses of wine and a flute of champagne on the side.

That was the most alcohol I drank ever in one day. My sister had her first sip of sake. She felt a bit tipsy, and that was expected. I like my onee-chan when she is drunk. She looks cute when she is sloshed beyond inhibition. It's true.

The rest of the night was consigned to dancing, drinking, break dancing, more drinking, running around tables, watching the little boogers get down, some air guitar, electric and cha-cha slides, still more drinking and more photos. Near the end, I asked Mike (the name of the DJ) if I can look at who won Best Picture. It was Slumdog, and I let out a huge barbaric yawp after finding out.

And that was pretty much it. The next day, both my sister and brother went off to the Bahamas for some honeymoon kinkyness.

As for me, I prepared for my Accounting exam.

The dilemma of the garage door

We own a garage door called a LiftMaster. This replaced the old door that was there when the previous family was there. I believe this door was installed about a decade ago. So we've had this for a while. It has withstood the neighborhood tagging and has protected our Toyota Corolla and Honda Accord that we own, a few household tools, a Piugnose guitar on the rafters, a Hop-on-Pop doll, and other random trinkets. A few days ago, like many things, the garage door needed a serious checkup. The LiftMaster looked as if to say, "I need a checkup, members of the family!"

I had just got out from a shift ay my new job at Maritz Research. As I was getting ready to go to bed after a long day at Keller and the office (and watching Hawaii beat Fresno State in basketball), I heard some activity outside.

So I went down to the garage, thinking that someone broke in to steal property from our house. Turns out it was just Mom and Dad, heading back from rehearsal for my older sister's wedding. And Dad was trying to figure out why the garage door wouldn't open.

Now, I will be honest here: I haven't the slightest clue, aside from the "wear-and-tear" theory, about why garage doors fail to open when they normally should when you press a button. So I checked Yellow Book for companies that repaired LiftMasters. Later that night, I would advise Mom to look into calling the companies that fix these types of doors.

Meanwhile, me and Dad spent about a few hours observing the inner mechanics of the the LiftMaster. Now, one of the finniest things about the door is when it when the cable (I am assuming it's a bacle issue...later on, it would be confirmed is not working, it tends to elicit a loud "THUD!". For some odd reason, I got a laugh from it-a really huge laugh-as me and Dad tested the switch. We got it open once by lifting the hinges, but that's about it. To further complicate already depressing matters...would you believe it...the LiftMaster light went out.

"Maraming problema dito say bahay," said Dad. "There are many problems in this house."
"It's the Bedlam house," I said. "A cycle within a cycle. A brilliant idea. And this moment is brought to you by the Bedlam on Baltic Avenue. Visit the BEdlam online at bedlamba.blogspot.com Bedlam on Baltic Avenue. There's always something going on down there. So, and progress?"

He was still looking at the cable through a flashlight.

We spend a few minutes more, trying in vain to fix the door. I knew that the door was going tot hud again. When it did, I broke down in laughter.

Exasperated from failing to get the job done (hey, you can't fix EVERYTHING, okay Dad? Let it go.), he closed to door on me, as if straight out of a cheesy scene where door is slammed shut.

"Do you want me to lock the door, Dad?" I asked as I got out.
"Yeah," he said.
"Hey, we tried our best. And come on, I couldn't help it. The sound was too funny."
"Thats not funny I'm trying to fix the door, and all you can do is laugh!"
"We tried, okay? Let it go."
"You're crazy. A crazy guy." I'm crazy and funny. He's just funny and stubborn. That's where I got my angry genes from: my Dad.
"That's why I take my medication, Dad. That's why I take my medication."

Res assured, LiftMaster, we will get a Doctor to repair that cable. But it was painfully cleae that the garage door would be out of commission for a while.