Reverend Rich & the Financial Times

My Larry David had a quintessential day as he loves to say over and over. (Once he finds a word he likes he repeats it endlessly). His best friend Bill got married yesterday for the first time at age 62! For some reason (I think because he was looking through his address book and had no friends with the last name A or B) picked Rich to be his minister.
This was a calling Rich could answer. Think about it: he got to be the man of God, no one could censor him, and it was a new title!
He did it in his usual Larry David manner.
For weeks he kvetched over it...what to wear, whether to hire fiddler (he was inspired by the new TV show Treme) and what to say. At one point I angrily said he was more interested in planning this wedding than ours (which is true). All he had to do for our wedding was bring the flowers and he forgot and sent Bill across San Francisco to get them, delaying our ceremony for 45 minutes and giving me time to think about calling it off.
At one point I asked him what he had written for his speech and he said he would "just wing it." He did download the lyrics and music from the Dione Warwick song in the movie "My Best Friend's Wedding."
On the big day he donned a fedora, his white tux and his dad's white silk scarf from World War II.
Rich did an impromptu stand up act; recalling the first day the bride met my Larry David, declared him a pervert and asked Bill to leave our house. Then he pushed the play button on his boom box (yes he actually had that antique and brought it) and played "Say a little prayer." The guests heroically tried to sing along as the two dogs (Bill and Angela's children) tried to hump each other --a surprise for the parents since animals are both male.
At the reception, Rich wanted to make sure I talked to a Financial Times writer, a neighbor of Billies. He kept pushing me in the direction of a man from Denmark who I was pretty sure was not the right person but I can talk to anyone. When I got away Rich grabbed a huge goblet and filled it with champagne. "Tom (the rich high-tech guy) brought it, it's really good, at least $40 a bottle, drink some!" My honey appreciates my fine tastes even if he can't force himself to pay for them.
Then he shove me again in the direction of Mr. Denmark, assuring me that Bill said he was the Financial Times Reporter. Fortified by bubbly, I did my duty and talked again to the eager Dane.
After seeing his ipod photos of his home in summer and winter though I was ready to call it a day and point blank asked him if he worked for the Financial Times. Even with his accent I understood the word no and walked away to talk to some old friends. Rich was on top of me in seconds wondering why I was not talking to the guy in the blue shirt who worked for the Financial Times. No amount of explaining that he was not a reporter would work.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Rich with his camera, not talking to the FT reporter, but gleefully interviewing his old girlfriend, Bill's sister, on his video camera.
In the end, Bill's cousin gave a toast stipulating that he was not sure the marriage was legal since my Larry David was his preacher.
We argued all the way home about who was the FT reporter, Rich's old girlfriend, and who looked bad..a typical day in the life of Mrs. Larry David.