Wedding Services

Tonight I met a fire-breathing reverend:  the subversively mainstream-appearanced wife of the lead singer in the punk band  (let’s face it-  there are places where wearing a gray dress with matching pumps is an act of aggression, and a bar called Otto’s Shrunken Head is one of them).  There was some debate as to whether or not the band was really a punk band:  I say-  musically sound; attitudinally suspect.  Sure there was some flipping off the audience, but I felt their hearts weren’t really in it.  And they were just so chipper.  (The band that followed, in contrast, played their set with a dead rubber chicken spiked on the mike  (chicken available for choking.))  Perhaps the fact that the second guitarist in the punk (or nearly-punk) band was absent- recovering from a fire, could be seen as an added bit of street-cred.  (I checked.  The fire-breathing reverend denied all responsibility-  but liked the serendipity of a burn-victim closely associated with a fire-breather that as I left, she was considering changing the story of how his injury occurred.)

All of which is a really convoluted way to get to today’s really simple New York lesson:  apparently, to become licensed to marry people in all five boroughs is hard.  It involves a fee and a long line.  It is unclear at this time whether fire-breathing involves additional bureaucracy.  However, if you require fire to be ejected from the mouth of the official presiding over you as you exchange your vows (in the five boroughs), I can put you in touch.