Wedding Number Six (Or Was It Seven?)
During the past year I've attended far too many weddings. I've wanted to attend all of them, but I'm beginning to wish that my friends and relatives would have spread out their Very Significant Events a little bit.
This weekend included another one. Fortunately, it was a little different from most of them. First, this wedding took place in Chicago. Second, it included recent Polish immigrants in addition to Kristen's relatives (second or third generation Dutch or Norwegian/Swedish persons).
The wedding turned out to be in a Catholic church. Kristen and I were comfortable with the liturgy because our church follows one very much like it. It also included mass, but, only if you happen to be Catholic. We aren't, so we just watched.
They held the reception in a banquet hall named Camelot. I'm guessing that not everybody in the hall spoke English since everything was announced in both English and Polish. The wait staff also seemed to be bilingual.
Unlike the weddings I'm used to, they did not serve punch. Every table did, however, have it's own bottle of vodka, 2 bottles of soda, and a bowl of ice. In addition to coffee cups, each table setting included a shot glass--presumably for those who preferred their vodka straight. During dinner they served white wine.
Anyone dissatisfied with their choices in alchohol at the table could go up to the open bar and order a wide variety of mixed drinks.
The food was great. It included kapusta (similar to sauerkraut), various breaded meats (pork and chicken), sausage, vegetables, mashed potatoes, and a potato dish that reminded me of gnocchi (Kopytka?).
Abby and Rebecca would only eat sausage and mashed potatoes. They spent most of their time with the other children, running from the front to the back of the dining hall.
After dinner, the DJ had everyone stand, hold their glasses of wine and sing a song that seemed to be named "Stolla, stolla, stolla."
After that came the dancing. Struggling to get people up on the dance floor, the DJ tried things ranging from wedding standards ("YMCA!") to polkas to oldies to dance music that I was entirely unfamiliar with--some of which were in Polish.
Some of the people there were really into the dancing and quite good at it. I was not one of them.
One of the DJ's choices particularly amused me. The DJ was bilingual in Polish and English, but didn't seem to notice that he'd included a song that used the single most offensive word in the English language.
In his defense, offensive language doesn't hit you as hard in a second language as in your first langauge. This song told the story of some guy who had lived for 24 years next door to a woman named Alice and never had the nerve to ask her out. Finally she moved away.
This is a fairly typical (even boring) song subject except for one thing--the (constantly repeated) chorus. Here's it is:
ALICE? WHO THE F--K IS ALICE?
The DJ apologised for that one, but not until after it was finished.
Soon after that we left. We weren't offended, but it was 10 pm and we had a three hour drive to get home.