I knew the bride when she used to...

...dance to some inventive tunes at her wedding reception.
I worked today, listening to dub reggae as I drove to Galena, Ill. for the unveiling of a statue of Julia Dent Grant, the first lady of President Ulysses S. Grant. With an enormous head like a Peanuts character (think: Lucy Van Pelt, age 60), the statue's unveiling sent a chilling shudder down my spine.
The second, chilling shudder down my spine came tonight, when I accompanied Jill to a wedding of two people I don't know.
Jill knew the bride, at least. I had no idea who ANYBODY was, apart from Jill's relatives sitting at two of the three dozen or so tables.
Then, the so-called "wedding reception DJ" got to "work."
He played EVERY clichéd song from EVERY Dubuque County wedding reception (except, oddly, Sweet's "Little Willy," which he must have forgotten at his home -- in his parent's basement).
Sorry if I sound unusually bitter, but the DJ's lack of creativity was not only APPALLING, it was ALARMING.
A robot could have thrust a CD of all those songs into a stereo and achieved the same result. Or one of our cats. People only danced when they became too drunk to care. That's not a true party. Not where I come from.