Recently I got suckered into a Vegas wedding (not for me--I was just a guest). Normally I wouldn't go anywhere near a wedding--especially since I don't believe in myths like love and marriage. But this wedding was too much to resist. Not only was it gonna be in Vegas, I was also assured I could wear my tuxedo t-shirt (I can't think of a more formal, perfect occasions for a tuxedo t-shirt than a wedding).

But since it was a wedding, the last thing I wanted to do is remember it (actually, the last thing I wanted to be was there in the first place). So I did what everyone does when they gotta go someplace they don't wanna be: I got liquored up.

I'm not gonna give you numbers because, frankly, I don't remember. But I'll tell you this much. I knew I only had an hour to get drunk before the wedding, so I devoted myself to it (it's remarkable what one is capable of when they put their mind to it). Shots followed wine coolers; wine coolers followed mixed drinks; mixed drinks followed shots. One would think I was prone to vomiting based soley on the amount of liquid I chugged. Twenty minutes later I was buzzing like Aldrin and well ahead of my target goal.

Unfortunately, things didn't go as planned. When we got to the chapel, there was a slight delay in the wedding (no one got cold feet...but the Elvis impersonator was running late from an earlier ceremony). Bored and drunk, I decided to walk around and found myself in the gazebo of another ceremony. I was only there for a few seconds--but long enough to watch the guy who was supposed to be videotaping it run into the parking lot.

Before I had a moment to process what happened, the husband-to-be said "Can you film us?" Still drunk and unsure what was happening, I looked behind me to see if he was talking to someone else.

"Me?"

"Yes, can you film us," he asked, picking up the discarded video camera. He put the camera in my hand before I had a chance to respond.

I felt like Kirk Gibson being called off the bench only instead of the World Series, I was in a wedding. At least that's what I woulda felt like if I was sober enough to feel. Unfortunately, I had so much alcohol running through my veins at that point I could comfortably claim that my blood was thoroughly disinfected.

"Yes, I can," I said gracefully handling the camera. "And today is your lucky day: I happen to be a professional cameraman for a television station." What I didn't tell them is that I shake like a rattlesnake and can't do much of anything without a tripod.

Despite the odds being staked against me (a completely terrible camera, poor dexterity skills, and me being completely drunk off my ass), I shot the wedding of a lifetime (not the ceremony: my cinematography skills). I was great--bouncing from Hawaiian priest to dashing groom (I tried not to get the bride on tape 'cause she was too ugly for television). I bobbed. I weaved. I panned. I trucked. I was like Spielberg--only I earned my degree at Long Beach.

At least it felt that way--but people have been known to overestimate their abilities when intoxicated.

When the ceremony was complete, I posed for pictures with the priest, groom, and even the ugly bride. They were happy to be married--but I think they were even happier that they got me to shoot it. I thought about giving them my card afterwards, but even in my intoxicated state I realized the last thing I wanted was for these folks to be able to contact me afterwards.

While I frequently claim that I'm a victim of some of the worst luck in the world, there's something else that could only happen to me--stuff like this. Ask anyone who knows me and they'll all say the same thing: "only Siknerd could end up being the video photographer at a wedding for two total strangers." The drunken part only adds to the story.

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