The Albuquerque Alternative

Ours is a small wedding, but nonetheless, all manner of hell has been unleashed in this final week of preparation. Don't expect too many posts on this weblog - I can barely find time to skim the news each day, much less come up with any astute commentary.

My intended and I are constantly surrounded by attendants - buffing, waxing, applying various forms of skin treatments using rare tropical fruit and space-based laser systems. Our administrative staff flutters back and forth, grilling us with questions about the guest list and the langoustine soufflé - and my security detail has proven themselves particularly inept, accidentally firing tear gas at a group of curiosity-seekers who gathered too close to the estate.

I was going to write this post from beneath a heap of beer cans in a motel near the airport highway in Albuquerque, after a 48-hour time period during which I freaked all of the way out, ate a handful of trucker speed, and took a Greyhound though the American night, scaring everyone off my bulging, menacing eyes.

There are still a few more days to go. This option may still be pursued. Anything could happen. More updates as time permits.