Thomas Galvin
Purveyor of Fine Pulp Fiction

I'm kind of an attention whore.

Inlet, New York. A quaint little town that occupies about two square blocks in the butt crack of nowhere. Population: 17. 23, if you count the deer. 1,236,472, if you count the mosquitoes. Also, it’s the location of Josh and Katie’s wedding. Here’s a few things I would have tweeted, if any cellular company in the world had ever heard of the place:

Don’t have an address for the church. Giving Google Maps a try. #gpsfail

Google maps: “Good luck. Go find it yourself.” #googlemapsfail

Josh says “get on Rt. 28 and keep going until you find Inlet. Church is on the left.” Sounds easy. #ifionlyknew

On Rt. 28. Just passed Train Wreck Point. That’s encouraging. #notreally

I am in the middle of nowhere. Anyone that tells me I have a pretty mouth gets stabbed in the face. #comegetsomehillbilly

Found Inlet. Church must be close by. #butitscarefullyhidden

Looking for Church of the Lakes. Haven’t seen a lake yet. #thenameisalie

Okay, found a lake. No church.

Found another lake. Still no church.

Another lake. Where is this bleeding church? #toomanylakes #toofewchurches

Maybe these friendly looking motorcyclists can help me. #whatcouldgowrong

Turns out: no, they couldn’t. Also, I think I now lead the CNY Hell’s Angels. #ilookgoodinleather

Okay, this looks disturbingly like Canada. I may have gone too far. #navigationfail

Inlet: 50 miles. Dammit. #iwentwaytoofar

Back in Inlet. Still don’t see the church.

Josh and Katie! Walking out of that odd, church-shaped building! #hitthebrakesreallyhardnow

Wedding rehearsal: already finished. #justdrawmeapicture

Also, I was unaware that you’re supposed to dress up for the rehearsal. #jeanstshirtnoshoes

That last hash tag, by the way, is totally accurate. Yes, I showed up to the church barefoot.

Anyway, I finally made it to the church about ten minutes after the rehearsal was over. Which was actually kind of fortuitous, because I would have blown past the church on the way back if I the bride and groom hadn’t happened to be walking out of the chapel at the exact moment I was driving by.

Inlet has a rather odd collection of businesses. For example, the movie theater is also a video rental place (and they still carry VHS), and a deli. Then there’s Pedals and Petals, which sells bikes and flowers. Yes, at the same time, and yes, in the same building. The Screamen Eagle (which is actually spelled “screamen,” for reasons we were unable to determine) serves beer, wings, and pizza at night, and pies and cookies during the day. So, points for optimizing your use of space, I guess, but deductions for any semblance of logic or order.

There’s a nice little park by the water, where we took the wedding photos (I was a groomsman, by the way, which is why I was around for the photos. It was also the reason I was crammed into a brown tuxedo and a pair of brown Chuck Tailors. The groom has an odd sense of style. But I bet his manager doesn’t accuse him of being gothy, so there’s that. Also, this is a really long parenthetical insertion). On the way out of the park, there’s a mural that reads:

Make nothing but memories
Kill nothing but time
Leave no trace but footprints

This is done in a really colorful, hey kids isn’t this neat style. And it freaks me right out. I mean, “make nothing but memories” I guess I can be down with, but why do you have to insert “kill nothing but time?” I mean, there we were, just enjoying a quiet walk through the park, and you have to go and remind us not to commit murder? Thanks for bringing those memories up. And “leave no trace?” What is this, a ninja convention?

Also, I’m pretty sure the ice cream place was playing the theme to The Godfather.

But the most memorable… um… memory came as we were finishing up dinner. A fiend and I were playing with his three year old nephew. The game seemed to be called “claw at Thomas’ eyes, and then try to drag the string out of his hoodie.” This is apparently the most fascinating game ever invented. (As an aside: kids love me. Whether that means I’m not quite as evil as I let on, or they just haven’t developed a sense of self-preservation yet, I’ll leave for you to decide). A few minutes into this, a little girl walks up and tugs on the boy’s arm. “Um, you can come and play with me now,” she said shyly. “And, I’m sorry about earlier. I just needed some space. You were talking really close.”

She was four years old. And she needed some space. I looked over at my friend and said “that did not just happen.” He shook his head and said “it must be programed into their genetics.”

Anyway, congratulations to Josh and Katie Grasso!