Attended a dear friend's wedding last evening at the Horticulture Center's greenhouse in Philly's Fairmount Park, near the famed Japanese house. The ceremony and reception were held in the cathederal-esque greenhouse, brimming with lush tropical plants and giant desert succulents. It was a lovely ceremony, and the bride had the most wonderful dress, made by her friend: the skirt was a series of layered strips of what I think was silvery white silk, chiffon and/or tulle (not sure), cut intentionally to delicately fray. Towards the bottom, the dress gradually took on more greys, silvers and laces, very lovely. The top was very minimal, with a swooping neckline. ( Just to show I do indeed have some well-adjusted friends here and there, here are some photos. )
Now, to address a long-standing question: does Whimsy git down? I've always thought that being from Appalachia and growing up near Philly should speak for itself, but I will belabor the inference by saying yes--although I pick my moments. Last night's doings is a case in point: the reception took on a fairly robust head of steam after everyone had their dinners, drinks and canolis (from South Philly's Termini Bros.). A monolithic block of funk and soul crashed through the glass roof, and brought all comers onto the floor. Being a Philly crowd, they knew that this clearly called for a classic Soul Train dance line, wherein the crowd forms both sides of a 'promenade' and individuals take turns one-upping each other, strutting their stuff down the walk. A robust young man (who I suspect was a gate crasher) started things off by advertising his fitness as a mate with a well-executed back flip and sundry come-hither man-moves. This was followed by a heavier, older gentleman who brought a more humorous tone to the proceedings by taking out a comb, grooming his hair theatrically and striding in time down the catwalk. A nice tongue-in-cheek, old school gesture--obviously a lover of the Soul Train aesthetic.
This was my cue. I employed some old r&b footwork to the head of the walk, then dramatically produced a small moustache comb from my pocket, and gave a few brushes to much laughter and applause. I then did my best ankle-busting pimp float down the lane, and grabbed another drink.
(My congratulations to Ryan and Missi.)
~W
