A Noose for Your Finger
C March 22, 2007

This article represents the fulfillment of a promise made more than 15 years ago on the playground of Starr Elementary School, next to the swing set, following a particularly invigorating game of nut-ball.

It was there that one boy promised another he would make him the best man at his wedding, and the other reciprocated.

Did I mention they did not like girls at this point? I’m not sure what their conception of a wedding ceremony was, or who they imagined the bride might be. Presumably, that was less important than choice of best man.

Anyway, 15 years passed, and one of those boys met a yucky girl and decided, what the hell, if he would have to put up with them anyway, it may as well be one he could tolerate. The other boy stayed true to his word and prepared for the sacred duties impressed upon him.

Unless you are stupid, you have by this point figured out who the two boys are. Considering the target demographic of this website, the former is a distinct possibility. Therefore, I will make this as simple as possible:

Chris Zasada is getting married.

By the time this article is published, he will have tied a noose around his finger. Then the obituary of his single life will be published in a newspaper and he will begin searching for a domestic mausoleum in which to permanently incarcerate himself. Before 2011 dawns, he will have walked down the plank.

Chris can’t come out and play. His wife won’t let him.

If I seem negative in any way, it is only because I am taking to heart the persona of terminal bachelor, which a thing like this seems to require. Life needs its ying and yang, and while Chris bathes in the radiance of marital bliss, he needs to see someone sitting in a dark corner with two or three girls on his arm. That way we can each devote a tiny patch of brain cells to envying the other, and natures balance is restored.

Trust me, we’ve been doing it for a while.

But I don’t want any of that to indicate in any way that I am not 100% happy for him. As I mentioned, and I’m sure he will take no time mentioning, he has been officially dating Christy for six years, and I expect he has been in love with her longer than that. This is by no means unexpected. In fact, it is overdue.

For Chris, I have a level of esteem I don’t think I will ever be able to explain to him (I would like to think it works both ways, but it makes no difference either way). We have known each for long enough to have had ups and downs, which I think makes the true mark of how deeply you know someone. But for the past five years, it has been nothing but up; he is my best friend.

Unfortunately, and I’m going to get serious for a moment, American culture has made men so insecure and ashamed of being anything less than “macho” that heterosexual men have difficulty expressing any kind of emotion at all, much less to each other. It wasn’t the same in ages past, and it isn’t the same in other countries, and in truth I feel we’ve lost something for it. The truth is I struggle with it myself.

So I’m not going to say anything to embarrass myself. What I am going to say is that I never had a brother, but I’ve known Chris for so long that he seems as close to me as a brother would be. I will say that the entire reason I am moving back to Toledo once I get out of the military is more than a little because he is there. I will say that I look forward to seeing him when I can, and that I respect him.

But as much as I respect Chris, there is one person I respect even more, and that is Christy. Christy has voluntarily chosen to take charge of this hulking mass of primitive instincts and immature obsessions. She knows about his vast collection of anime, not to mention his online porn. She’s seen him fight with sticks, shoot his friends with Nerf guns, then spend all night talking about events that haven’t mattered since middle school.

She knows he’s 24 and lives with his mother. No ugly facet of his personality is in any way hidden from her, and she has seen him at his worse. He isn’t the smartest, richest, most successful or best looking person in the world. He isn’t even the best looking contributor to this website.

Perhaps there is still time for Christy to safely escape…

Yet in spite of all these things, Christy is committing herself to wake up next to his hairy ass, in some cases literally, every morning for the rest of her natural existence. It’s a dirty job, but somebody has to do it, and Christy can think of nothing she would rather do.

And for that, Christy deserves more applause than I can sustain.

Still, in case I did not say it clearly enough before, I think they are both insane. I personally could not imagine laying roots in one house and one girl when the open road is still out there. Some nights I may starve, and other nights I may feast on caviar, or lasagna, or sushi, but at least I’m not eating the same Hot Pocket every day for the rest of my life (a quietly insightful metaphor I developed for sexual relations).

On the night of his reception, I will drink enough to require a ride home, and I will not be bringing a date. But then again, life needs its ying and yang.

Obviously, there is more that I could say, but I would just be telling Chris things he already knows. I have been mentally preparing my toast ever since it occurred to me I would have to make one, and I fully intend to make all these comments, vulgar and otherwise, in front of his gathered friends and family.

I can think of nothing I would be more honored to do.

I love ya, man.