Happy Labour Day to You, the day when all Americans tip minimum wage-earning countrymen and present them with small tokens of appreciation: items such as running socks, boxes of candies, a homecooked snack, a gift certificate to Starbucks (lest one is paying tribute to a barista there already).
Just off a multi-day labour-intensive bout of gigs and now to organizing and shipping and the like.
Amongst other intra-happenings was the apparent journalistic binge of a wedding guest yesterday who sidled alongside me and pounded me for about half an hour with probing and work-related questions. There's usually one of this manly type repped at each gathering - their attempt at engulfment fuelled by the sight of a woman carrying ooo-eee complicated electronics worth more than their cars, dressed well, at their social mercy (they believe). I suss out if they are a smart man or not and then enjoy watching their demeanours change as they realize that they are not talking to, sidling alongside, a complete nincompoop that they might flirt with a while.
So. Yesterday the wedding guest pre-toast decides to approach and I'm waiting for the usual banter to begin and it does. Are you . . . YES, I AM the official photographer. But then the banter plunges deeper as he is a smarter-than-most sharpshooter.
Do you feel like a voyeur at these things.
*Perfect thought bubble, edited, of course, tells this stranger how much I do enjoy a good round of voyeuristic watching.*
But the answer is: In a way, yes. I continue. But don't you feel like a voyeur, as well. I assume you don't know all these people in the room and even if you did don't you enjoy watching them, the interplay.
Yes, he answers, but do you feel like you're intruding.
*Thought bubble answer = I am being paid to be here, to intrude for pay.*
Answer: No, I think we are all in the same situation, all watching and I bet some people here are not that close to the bride and groom, that happens at all weddings, so they might feel as distant or watchful or voyeuristic, in a way, as I.
He's on a roll with the line of questions.
Do you feel like it's cookie cutter, that it's only a job, that it's formulaic.
*Thought bubble = Where's the little lady, go away, go away, where the F are the b&g to get this toast action started p.r.o.n.t.o.*
Answer: All gatherings have a similarity, there's a typology of people. Like, there are the men who are obviously uncomfortable in their ties, who never wear suits.
You can tell all that.
*Though bubble = what are you, fuckin' kidding me. This is the most obvious thing to mention.*
Answer: Yes, I nod to a man in that category. And then there are the people who obviously never go out with their partners/spouses, you can see how little they usually interact socially . . . at something like this they are awkwardly standing near each other.
And on this goes until he thanks Yours Truly for enduring his Larry Kinging.
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Had an interesting conversation with the d.j. at the same wedding last night. He had a rather personal harrowing tale of the heart and we bandied about tales, anecdotes, advice until we ran off into separate directions, to our respective duties.
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There were a few 10ish boys there with not a thought regarding what to do so Yours Truly, in camp counselor mode, directed them towards some good, hearty and healthy mischief such as: sliding down wide wooden banister, dipping fingers into the wedding cake's frosting (I provided a demo), and searching for the venue's secret passageways. And more. Somehow these kids had missed out on the possibilites for discreet good kid times, those heady adrenalized and unbelievably unfettered intra-happenings, not unlike those previously reported by Yours Truly.
Take this with You:
When life gives you happenings, grab onto your own mischief-laden intra-happenings.

Intra-Love.