FUNBURNT

Nominally I came down to Tortola - a rocky outpost in the British Virgin Islands - as a groomsman to witness the holy matrimony of one of my better friends, Woods, to a more than equal wife, Ryan. But this being my first Caribbean weekend since...well...I was conceived (Puerto Rico: July '73), there were plenty of other items on the agenda, and I planned to pack a few of them into six days. Armed with some SPF 15, an old OP shirt, a semi-clean Simpsons towel (reads: "D'OHHH!" as a crab bites Homer's ass. I won that baddaddy at the Kentucky State Fair), Tevas I hadn't donned since a Widespread show at Red Rocks and the latest John Grisham novel, I flew down to St. Thomas, caught a barely seaworthy ferry to Tortola and set up camp at Lambert Beach resort. First on the agenda was to lose the pallor. Often described with the backhanded compliment: "pasty but tasty", I decided it was more than time to bring back the caramel that colored me in my younger days. And what goes better with a tan than ferment-fueled stupidity (I'm looking at you: coed from SMU in Panama Beach, circa spring '95)? Nothing. Thankfully, I found my hotel room (shared with said fiance) was packed with Carib beer and 151 Bacardi Rum to wet my mental Slip n' Slide. With liquor and lotion accounted for, it was time size up the competition. For I don't know how many weddings, but definitely every wedding I've ever been to, my college and/or high school friends have constituted the group that rocked out (said in best Sebastian Bach tone) more than anyone else. Some weddings it's been an absolute rout; their 16 seed to our 1 seed. Other weddings have seen a closer fight (Greensboro '97). But when it's all said and done, and the last passed-out bridesmaid wakes up in the utility closet, we've won. And by 'won', I mean partied harder. Fratty? Sure. But I don't shirk nor poo-poo my responsibility to kick it up a few notches at a wedding reception. I look at it like this: weddings are an underworld run by gangs - albeit more cordially dressed - and I want to run with the Warriors (Ed. - worst metaphor ever). My addition to a wedding can't be understated. I'll provide references if need be, such as the guy who's forehead I accidentally broke a shotglass over in mid-kareoke (Tone Loc's "Funke Cold Median, if you must know). If I were a wedding planner I'd secure my services first, worry about a band, minister and available VFW Hall later; although booking yourself has to be some sort of conflict of interest. Being a male wedding planner, on the other hand, has to be some sort of pathetic. So after unpacking I moseyed on down to the Lambert Resort Bar and ran smack into hometown hero Darran. We hit the bar, and before you knew it, I was swandiving into my third Bushwacker. It was all good...or what I can remember. But that's just - "what I can remember". After that third Bushwacker on the first night, I don't really remember anything for the rest of the week. I mean there are bits and pieces ..."I do"..."Marco...POLO!"..."Even money says the taxi driver grinds with her"..."I'm not sure who let the dawgs out, but if by 'dawgs' we mean drunk grandmothers, I think that would have to be their family"..."I couldn't understand a word she said. Must be the sun poisoning talking"..."No really, I'll call you when I get back to L.A."..."Did she just give a toast to a geographical location instead of a person? Jesus!"..."I bet you could hookup with the backup singer. They love white guys."..."Is this some of the Baha Men's earlier, edgier stuff?"... and that's about it. The whole damn thing was a blur. I think after spending a whole month a sub-freezing NYC temperatures + a heaping of liquor + a d0llop of bikinis + a teaspoon of realizing that I was actually a lot more sober than some of the 50+ crowd - some serious riptides = no short-term memory whatsoever. When I got back, I took a look at the photos, and had no recollection whatsoever of any of them. So I emailed all the involved parties and asked them to send me back any memories. Below is what I got back: Jay (Woods' best man): "Man, I think I'll look back and always think, why didn't Modest Mouse ever tour the B.V.I.? Their morose lyrics and those good vibrations - it would have made magic. Oh, and I won't forget just how damn good we look in our suits." (Ed.- Preach brotha. About the suits that is.) Darran (barely invited): "Nothing was worse than going to a wedding and realizing 'Either I shag the backup singer of a cover reggae band or I make sweet, greedy love to the dessert tray.'" (Ed. - Darran molested that dessert tray got molested in ways Michael Jackson can't pronounce.) Tito (brother of Jay, and my wedding MVP): "I'll tell ya whut. Malibu and Coke (Ed. - I think he meant the soda) is for p)$$)@#s! I mean you're in the islands for a few days, show me a little something. Oh, and if this guy thinks I'm working the sails, he's a bigger idiot than Darran." Rick (Ryan's college friend): (Apx. 3:30 am) "Darran, I think you are smoking out of the wrong end...eh, whatever." Katie (Ryan's college friend): "One night back at the Zinger Lounge (Ed. - her villa) I tried dancing with Kenny next to the trampoline but all he wanted to do was talk about golf carts and Dr. Dij." (Ed. - Weird. I never even saw a trampoline down there.) Daddy (good college buddy): "Oh man, there were so many good memories. But when that 19 year-old girl broke down the pool bar door at 2 in the morning and we played drunken Marco Polo while drinking the booty. That was heavenly." Rita: "Grellan made me dance ballroom-style to Steel Pulse. It was awkward, much like himself, but even in his Cole-Haan shoes I could tell the kid had moves." (Ed. - damn straight.) Maria (Ryan's college friend): "Back in New York I work with special effects. You know, making people look all gross and stuff. Too bad we can't do the reverse for Darran's sunburn. (Ed. - Amen.) Treat (Woods' college friend): "Eh, marriage. Been there. Done that. Bought the t-shirt. But getting drugs delivered by catamaran. That was both novel and highly entertaining." Woods (fiance-cum-husband): "Just seeing everyone. I am so glad that they could make it down. I'd also like to thank myself for not being surly. I know all of you appreciated it. (Ed. - Yes, yes. We did.) Oh, and back to that point about winning every wedding I've been to. Well, that streak is over. I never thought it would end, but it did. But then again, I never thought I would hookup in college, and that happened (just kidding Mom!). We got our asses kicked. I can't even chalk it up to us getting old. We got run ragged by people our own age. We came down with our Spring Break game. They came down with their Springer Break game. Just that simple. But it sort of makes sense. Our rivals learned their chops at St. Lawrence University. A nice lil' liberal arts school in UpUpUpstate New York that sees 14 days of sunlight a year, and probably 11 days of non-fleece jacket weather. They had nothing to do but party inside for four (or six) years...and it showed. So my hats off to you: Maria, Will, Rick, Katie and those who names I drunkenly forgot. You win! Until the next time Jeff gets married. Oh man, that was bad. I'm sorry...and still drunk. Damn you Bushwackers!