Last night we went to a wedding banquet for the brother of Ilene’s tutor. It was part Adam Sandler in The Wedding Singer, only with more fireworks and screaming loud V-pop, and part like any other large family wedding you’ve been to. Armies of amped-up children in party clothes, greasy banquet hall food. The room had a runway running down the middle to the stage. An M.C. brought on a series of entertainments, including a group of ballerinas in red tutus who performed a routine to disco music and then danced around the bride and groom, who then poured champagne in a large decorative tower of champagne glasses while fireworks shot out of it. But no champagne was actually served. Same with the cake.
As always, Ilene and I were the subject of a lot of attention, and we’re finding that every social engagement breeds two more. Our table mate invited us to tour his ice factory and see the seaside in Vung Thu (which was a major embarkation point for Americans 40 years ago.) Ilene has two offers to have ao dai sewn for her to wear at the other weddings we’ll presumably be going to. I managed to find pants that fit at a local shop, but I miscommunicated about the length of the hem so I look like I’ve outgrown them. Since the only socks I brought are white gym socks, I resembled Thriller-era Michael Jackson.
