1999: Bybee and LaMonte tie the knot

Today's my wedding anniversary. #8. Trying to figure out ways to celebrate by myself. Later this evening, I'm going out with some of my students to a restaurant that specializes in -- get ready for it -- intestine stew. This is a big delicacy in Korea. Because of the language barrier, I suppose I won't be clear on if they're pig intestines or cow intestines. Does it matter, really?

Meanwhile, I've got a Tom Waits song running through my mind. I don't know the title, but it's played at the end of a movie called Pollock, starring Ed Harris (who LaMonte resembles a bit) as Jackson Pollock and Marcia Gay Harden as Lee Krasner. (who I don't resemble, regrettably)

So for now, a little blogging, a little reminiscing. Surely there have been worse 8th anniversaries in the history of the world.

LaMonte and I got married in Las Vegas. Not very literary, but eventually literature will catch up. Oh wait -- Larry McMurtry set one of his novels, The Desert Rose, in Las Vegas. That's good enough for me.

I remember which book I packed along for the 3-day trip. I was in the process of reading Middlemarch by George Eliot. When I started it, I remember wondering which side of matrimony I'd be on when I was finished. Actually, Middlemarch is a bit of a downer to read when you're on your way to the altar -- Dorothea Brooke marries creepy old Casaubon, and the nice doctor, Lydgate, falls in love with Rosamond, who is spoiled and petulant and overly concerned with her place in society.

I like to think about LaMonte's proposal, which occurred several months before the happy date. I'll fast-forward past his asking and my agreeing and drive right into the subsequent conversation:

LaMonte: ...and I've got a date all figured out. April 11th.

Me: How'd you come up with that date? [getting an idea] Hey, how about April 14th? That's the date the Titanic went down! That would be kind of cool, historical, you know.

LaMonte: [ignoring the Titanic remark] Well, the 11th because your birthday is December 11th, so it would be easier to remember that part. And April because I just like April.

Me: But April is the cruellest month. [by now you've gathered that I'm not an easy person to propose to, right?]

LaMonte: What? No, it's not! Who says?

Me: T.S. Eliot.

LaMonte: Who the hell's T.S. Eliot?

Me: He's a poet from St. Louis who moved to England.

LaMonte: Never heard of him.

Me: He's pretty famous. We had to read him in school.

LaMonte: Whoever he is, he doesn't know shit --

Me: Oh, he's dead now.

LaMonte: Excuse me, didn't know shit. April's a nice month.

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LaMonte,

I know if you had to choose between reading my blog and a healthy portion of piping-hot intestine stew, it would be a hard call, but if you do happen to visit here, happy anniversary! I like you a hell of a lot better than I would have liked old Casaubon.

xoxoxo