There's a white ghost draping over my Thousand Oaks morning, taking me by the collar like a thick cone of silence. Waking up at 6am is fine as long as you set the alarm for 5am and let me snooze for an hour. Sleepily entering and subsequently exiting the shower is like driving home when you're tired: you emerge afterwards and wonder "Did I just do that?" And then you remember that your subconscious kicks in every now and then to get you through mundane tasks like cleansing one's self and taking the right exits off the freeway. Thanks, brain, for watching out for me.

I did get a few things done yesterday, which not insignificantly includes the procurement of one (1) valid California driver's license. But because all the rest were minor in comparison (I finally returned the tux pants; I meant to do it on Sunday but I discovered that hangover plus turkey sandwich equals long nap), I thought I'd share a little bit from the wedding, which will provide me with a solid week's worth of material.

The preacher reminded me a lot of my father ranting to his teenage sons. Not lecturing, not reprimanding. Just a guy with a thick Filipino accent on a soapbox and an audience. He'd intersperse a "you know" every now and then in the middle of his homily, thereby ensuring that we divulge as much as possible from a study of theological text and enter the realm of full-on fill material. When my father was on one of his rants, he'd do so when the sons were in the living room trying to watch TV. And he'd stand in the middle of the living room where a mirror decorated the wall above the couch on which my brother and I sat. He had this funny way of not looking at us when he spouted off, but rather checked himself out in the mirror more than just periodically in order to see what he looked like delivering his micro-statesman address.

And sitting in the front pew, watching this guy perform the Catholic version of Whose Line Is It Anyway, I came to appreciate the practice my father took in expounding properly. My love of public speech came from him, a common trait for an Asian father to pass to his son (an Asian mother's gift? defiant domesticity).