The Wedding - Part II: I didn't tell anyone except what's his name

From Marc Sotkin, Wednesday, December 16, 2009

As Boomers, we’ve all had those moments when we can’t quite get the memory to kick in. It’s like that guy said…you know the one…from the movies…what’s his name…English guy…he married what’s her name…a couple of times…the actress…from Cleopatra. Damn. I’ll get it.

Look, if I ever greet you with either “Hello, Dear,” or “What’s up, Pally,” or my old standard, “Hey, how ya’ doin’?” - I apologize. It means my memory is experiencing technical difficulties. I’ve lost your name. They could hook me up to an IV of straight Ginko Biloba and I wouldn’t remember it. It happens to all of us. Well, there may be good news. No, not a cure, but an unintended consequence.

I think as a generation, as time goes on, we may tell less lies to each other because we won’t be able to remember the details of the little stories we make up. Example: As I told you last time my friends Joey and Angela DeMateo are planning a wedding for their daughter Rosalie and there’s a disagreement about how big the wedding should be. Angela wants a huge wedding at the Plaza Hotel in New York. It’s sixty thousand dollars, minimum.

Like any good father, Joey secretly offered Rosalie ten thousand dollars to elope. He made me swear I wouldn’t tell anybody about it. I told him I didn’t want to get in the middle, but he reminded me of the time that I told him that I was dying my hair and made him promise not to tell anyone. It’s true. I dyed my hair for a while. But it seemed like people were always asking me if I dyed my hair. So what was the point?