I was in Brooklyn Heights yesterday on the way to rehearsal with my new Christian Techno band, when I realized I was just a couple of blocks from the chapel where Sluggo and I got married in 1991. Our wedding was such a nightmare. For years afterward, whenever I saw a just-married couple coming out of a church, I burst into tears. Really. If it hadn’t been for my friends at WFMU, I don’t think I could have gotten through it. The other girl DJs and I had an on-air bachelorette party, and Program Director David made a tape of music to play at the little party after the wedding, and Stn. Mgr. Ken arranged to record the wedding itself (which was especially great since we didn’t get any video or photos of it) and then Ken and his wife Hank gave us what I considered at the time to be an insanely generous amount of money (it was more than anyone in Sluggo’s family gave to help us, that’s for sure), and I would name all the dear DJs who were there but then the ones we couldn’t invite who are still mad at us might get all riled up again, so I’d better not. But the memories of my WFMU friends means a great deal to me, especially because everyone else was so completely shitty about the whole thing and it was horribly traumatic and awful. It was also a long time ago. So as I was walking past Pierrepont Street, I thought, you know, it might be kind of nice to walk down there and just peek into the chapel, it might even be a little romantic or something.
I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to get in, but as I walked up I could see that the outer door was a little ajar. I stepped through it, and the inner door was propped open, and I leaned around the edge to look inside (in case there was some kind of service going on or something), and the entire chapel was totally full of crap. The pews were gone, and there were long card tables with mounds of broken junk on them—old analog TV sets and obsolete computers, and air conditioners sitting on the floor—tons of ugly debris. You know I have that little hoarding problem, right? So this chapel of failed consumerism reminded me of my living room: It horrified me, and I ran away. By the time I got back to Cadman Plaza, I was sniffling and feeling like I was going to cry. I have to remind myself that it’s not the wedding that’s important, it’s the marriage. Our marriage has had its rough patches, but overall it’s been okay.
I don't know what I'm going to do about the hoarding thing, though.
Thanks for reading my blogpost this time, and may God bless.