My brother, Nick, married Liz on September 18, 2010, in the little stone chapel attached to the church we attended as kids. I was honored to “attend” the ceremony via a cell phone that Nick had placed in his jacket pocket. Everything came through clearly: the organist playing Bach’s Air on G, the minister’s rambling homily, Liz’s soft giggle when the much-practiced exchange of rings went more smoothly than expected. The phone’s signal held out valiantly for most of the ceremony, cutting out just before the end. I missed the “you may now kiss the bride” part but, really, who needs to hear a kiss through a cell phone?

My brother, Nick, married Liz on September 18, 2010, in the little stone chapel attached to the church we attended as kids. I was honored to “attend” the ceremony via a cell phone that Nick had placed in his jacket pocket. Everything came through clearly: the organist playing Bach’s Air on G, the minister’s rambling homily, Liz’s soft giggle when the much-practiced exchange of rings went more smoothly than expected. The phone’s signal held out valiantly for most of the ceremony, cutting out just before the end. I missed the “you may now kiss the bride” part but, really, who needs to hear a kiss through a cell phone?

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