Last year this time, I was busy looking over my shoulder in Venezuela, walking briskly through the dilapidated Caracas neighborhoods of the poor and the neglected, and getting a crash course with the AP on all-things-Chavez. (Hugo, not Endy) The words "Connie" and "Mack" and "Republican Congressman from Florida" came up from time-to-time.

Fast forward a year and I'm talking to Connie at a shnazzy restaurant in God's Country East, cheerful sunny views of the Santa Rosas and a Tennis Garden in the backdrop. Life's funny sometimes. (Mack on Chavez: "He's a bad guy." ...)

In other news Nameless and I hit Boozemyer's wedding reception this Saturday on the God's Country beach. Open bar. Giddyup. At the actual wedding up in Montecito a few weeks ago, Booze told me not to worry about a speech/toast. But as Best Man I collected a few thoughts - just in case.

Well sure enough, Momma Boozemyer was not having a speech-less reception, and next thing I know I'm on stage telling stories of us hitting the back of each other's heads as hard as we could in the back of Global Science class our freshman year of high school. The accoustics in that classroom were amazing - you really had to be there.

(And as I spoke on, the account of our early mid-class UFC experiments suddenly explained a lot to Booze, me, and pretty much everyone else in the room about our combined intelligence.)

The art of the wedding toast is tricky. It's a lot easier to crash and burn than to succeed, and I've always looked forward to the Best Man toast as a golden opportunity for some pure unintentional comedy. Now, the joke's on me. Anyways, it reminds me of a great This American Life episode that closed with the world's worst wedding toast. (Search "Say Anything") Here's the text, but it works better with audio. Enjoy.