So much finality in this weekend. The Politician is married, I'm leaving Appleton for good, and I probably won't see many of the Lawrentians from the wedding for months or years or ever again.

And yet it doesn't feel serious. Not anymore, now that I'm a hundred miles away from the Gesu chapel and its heaping helpings of Catholic-style solemnity. No, right now I'm just in Trever, never mind that the Deathtrap is full of luggage and furniture, and I'm hanging out with Jubb. Same-old…

In case you didn't know, dear reader, I was a groomsman at the Politician's wedding. It won't be the last time (I've got brothers) but it was the first, and it was weird to be involved in some of the behind-the-scenes stuff. Wedding rehearsal. Then there's a dinner after the rehearsal, with speeches and gifts for the people in the wedding party

The rehearsal dinner deserves some special mention. We had drinks on the patio beforehand, where Jubb and I got to know two of the other wedding party members, the Subcontinental, a groomsman, and Yonderboy, an usher. Both withstood the best efforts of my famed evil eye, though I did have to publicly fault Yonderboy for using "yonder" incorrectly (as a substitute for "here") back at the engagement party last summer.

Those guys had fancy stuff, bloody marys and gimlets, but for some reason I kept ordering Italian beers. The "darkest beer in the house" was a red (read: I'm a beer snob), but at least the labels were nice. Each bottle was a cunning, or perhaps unintentional, parody of a German bottle. Ugly rat-faced men in green outfits. Some sort of vague mayoral powers were used to grant me booze, as I had forgotten my ID at the hotel.

Inside there was good food and oration. The Politician gave books to almost everyone in the wedding party; my sources tell me it had taken him all of 15 minutes to find the appropriate gifts, which he introduced with brief speeches. Jubb, an ardent paleoconservative and a menacing usher, got a copy of Liberwocky for being the Politician's only conservative friend; I was placed Under The Grammar Hammer.

Then there was a party that night in the hospitality room, apparently Jubb and Yonderboy, who by cosmic coincidence is also clearly Jubb's soulmate, finished all of the beer.

Lawrentians started coming out of the woodwork right about then. Ben and Zack drove separately from the Cities, presumably because they hate each other, and my excitement to see them was only partially attributable to the fact that Ben had brought me a CD with the only episode of Firefly that I haven't seen.

Breaking who-knows-how-many unspoken rules, the bride's little sister and I spent a while trading secrets from the bachelor and bachelorette parties. A poor bargain, as I can't remember what I learned anymore. A few words is all... On the plus side, apparently many of my supposed secrets couldn't withstand a rigorous bridal fact-check.

I learned the next day that I had grossly misinterpreted a conversation about the Politician's stomach. Whoops.

After a bit of mingling I left early and went back to the room to read myself to sleep. Ben, who had to drive to Chicago the next morning for reasons too complicated to describe, was trying to read but I thought he was trying to sleep and I was keeping him up with my own reading.

And raving. I read Henry Adam's "A Law of Acceleration" in my essay book and was bored. Bored to a blind rage at the dead man and his crummy writing. And suddenly I stopped talking and decided to turn off the lights and go to sleep.

The next day we did not go Frisbee golfing as anticipated. The Hilton in Milwaukee is the worst fancy hotel I've ever been to — no continental breakfast, a shortage of toilettries, fees to use the waterpark — but someone anticipated this particular lack and there was breakfast. And later, lunch at the mall.

And then the Politician got married. I was pretty nervous, and when the time came, if it came at all, the words of wisdom I'd imagined I might say weren't there. Someone told, reminded, him that he was getting married and that seemed prettymuch the long and short of it. My bridesmaid and I expertly walked up to the priest, who whispered something I thought was hilarious. A little snatch of compliment, I can't remember how it went.

That priest. The whole weekend I seemed to be saying inappropriate things in earshot of the priest. I'd be talking about something and then the Subcontinental would whisper "priest" as if I'd broken the last taboo — I have neither the inclination nor the vocabulary to say anything legitimately scandalous, mind you — and I'd get all flustered. Flabbergasted. I'm lapsed Catholic, after all, and know where the line is.

I swam through the whole church service, remembering every little detail from those years and years of masses. I don't believe in any of it now, so I had to make some choices about what level of observance was respectful and what was lying, and I opted not to sign St. Peter's cross (yes, I first heard of it on "The X-Files," so I lose some points there already) after some consideration.

I'm told I laughed a lot. I remember suppressing yawns, a bad habit from my altar boy days, and looking over the altar at the Politician, who was an endless source of amusement during his wedding. When the time came for us to witness the marriage vows the groomsmen were several paces away from our mark; I'm counting that as the "one mistake" every wedding is supposed to have.

We went right to the reception, the Politician's ultimate theme party. The big table was tall, I felt like a pharmacist. More speeches and some other traditions with which I was unfamiliar. My bridesmaid and I rocked the house for the Grand March.

Dinner was served buffet style ("Look at your friends!" tittered the Politician's wife when the Lawrence table raced for the food), the mashed potatoes in martini glasses were a hit. Talked to the Politician's brother, who I think has grown on everyone over the past year, and made a lot of trips to the very back, where Jinx had no doubt foredoomed the Lawrentians to sitting after her behavior at Carry-Out's wedding, to talk to the group there.

There was free beer and wine, but my "Open bar, dude!" reference had none of the resonance of that time in Hawaii when Kittel and I rocked the refreshments.

Oh, and there was dancing. The Politician's dance of seduction (did you know they throw the garter to the men?) was awesome. Best dancing ever, but it's one of my worst pictures of the night.

Besides all the one's with Nora, of course. Her eyes always turn red.

I ended up dancing not so often. I guess I don't like it as much as others. I danced the most with my landlady, who knew maybe three people at the reception, but had difficulty explaining to the Lawrentians that I was not hitting on my landlady.

I sang along to Garth Brooks' "Friends in Low Places," which I think used to be my favorite song. I didn't hear anyone being snobby about the country music, that was refreshing. But probably I just wasn't listening hard enough.

At the end of the night the couple drove away in a carriage, another nice touch. I had to get a ride home after both Jinx and I were declared unfit to drive Jubb's car, and after scooping up Yonderboy, who I had maybe encouraged to drink several drinks more than he could handle but let's hope he doesn't remember that, some helpful bridesmaids whisked us back to our hotel.

Finding Jubb's car the next day was not easy; he'd walked home and left it in the parking garage, but no one knew quite where. Eventually we managed, and after a brief detour to the present-opening I drove us home and rushed to unpack before the Politician returned to what is, except for a temporary grace period while they're on their honeymoon, no longer my swinging bachelor pad.