Wedding season has begun. First out of the gate this year was my young first cousin once removed, who entered marital bliss in a lovely Catholic ceremony in the small western New York city of Lockport, hometown of the logorrheic novelist Joyce Carol Oates and the supermodel cum hemorrhoid-cream spokeswoman Kim Alexis.

As I sat nursing a non-alcoholic beer (I should’ve stuck with water) at the reception I awaited the father-daughter dance, and not only for its poignancy. I have paid attention to these ever since reading a newspaper article several years back that said Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight” was then the second-most-popular song for this wedding-reception custom. Hmm. Unless my powers of literary exegesis have declined, that hit was about a languid, druggy rock star who gets shitfaced at a party and has to be driven home and tucked into bed by his supermodel girlfriend. (Not Alexis, I assume.) It’s about as apt for the occasion as “Everybody Wang Chung Tonight” would be at a funeral. (My cousin’s bride and her dad cut a respectful rug to a fitting Tim McGraw song.)

Pity the poor misunderstood lyricist, whether Clapton or others. Bruce Springsteen........

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