Brooklyn College has invited me to NYC, one of the rare speaking engagements where I'm going to be a paid speaker. Before you think that amounts to much, this trip is netting me train, hotel, and $100 for meals and such. In New York, a $100 lasts about a minute.

3:19 pm - Getting in a taxi I hail a cab, and climbing in, tell the driver to take me to the Brooklyn College Library in Brooklyn. I'm running a few minutes late, but I figure I can still make it in time. That's until, as we're crossing the Brooklyn Bridge I hear:

"Brooklyn, I've never been here before."

The taxi driver is in his own manic moment, scribbling furiously on a clipboard. At first I thought it was his manifest, but then I realized he was nuts and this was his scribble pad. This will not be a Portland Taxi Perfection experience.

3:47 pm - Avenue, Brooklyn I have 13 minutes to make my presentation but at least we now know where we are going. The college gave me directions but laughed when I asked how long it would take. So did the taxi driver, but he's nuts. And slow.

Can he be any slower? I think he's stopping on yellow lights! I know for sure that other cars are passing him. And yet he still scribbles.

4:12 pm - A side street near Brooklyn College I've bailed out of the cab. I figure I can run there faster than he can drive. I know it felt great to cuss him out and slam his door so hard kids on the street spun around thinking it gunfire.

I am still cussing his name as dash across streets, asking people here and there where the college is.

4:19 pm "Where is the library?" I yell at the college guard as I jump the turnstile entrance. I am late, sweating, and thinking my chance to speak is passing. "That way," he says with an outstretched hand.

I run "that way" on a curved sidewalk, cool Brooklynites wiz past in a blur of building scanning. Gym, classrooms, ah, the library!

4:21 pm - Brooklyn College Library "Sir, you must exit the building." What? That does not compute. Exit? Why? Bomb scare? What bomb scare? I need to give a speech! Out of my way, please. No, out of their way I am cast. Onto the lawn, in a daze. Panic replaced by confusion. There will be no speech today. No need for the rush, for the push, for the dash.

5:18 pm Speech ungiven, thoughts not expressed, day wasted, I'm on my way back to Penn Station. On the subway.

"Wayan, will you be my best man?"

This was an odd question for me. Both because I'd not been a best man before, but also because I've not been to that many weddings. Yes, I've been to mine, both of them. But I didn't pay much attention to what Sean, my best man for both was doing.

Outside of those two moments of sheer terror joy, I've tended to avoid weddings. I stay so far away from them in real life that Amy stopped asking me to attend her friends' weddings. I don't even watch movies about weddings!

Yet, here is Thomas Lee asking me to lead his. What do you say to a friend you've known since Beijing? Who you helped think of dates for the girl he was dating then, and now is his fiancé? Only one word: "Yes"

The first task, the bachelor party. I've experienced two, both my own. The first one was wild - I was restrained in a leather harness, let loose on London with the Stud Cuz and way too much booze. I don't think I sobered up till the wedding reception the next afternoon. The second one? I was home, sober, by 9 pm.

Just to set the tone for Thomas, and make sure he would be set loose on DC, I sent his friends this bachelor party organizing email:

Hi everyone,

I've been appointed Tom's best man, so I'm arranging his bachelor party for this Saturday night. And you can bet it will be better than mine - when I was home, sober, by 9pm. With Tom, we're gonna go hard and go late - there will be spankings!

To start the night off right, we'll be meeting at the Fox and Hounds at 8pm. If you need sustenance to make it through the night, may I suggest you get there early and eat first - F&H and their sister restaurant next door, Trios, is tasty.

Oh and I'll need three volunteers to help me with party planning. Preferably people with either an extensive leather collection or animal husbandry skills. Best if you have access to a live goat.

We started out with warm-up drinks at Fox and Hounds, telling tales of single and married life. A few of his friends were like I, ball and chained to beauties that gave us great passion and frustration. All of us had the glory days memories of moments long gone.

As Thomas got tipsy, we started to reveal our gifts, and start the challenges. To the dog leash and the blindfold, we added pantyhose and my favorite, the Force Cup.

Bought in an unassuming Northern Virginia CVS, the Force Cup took on a whole other meaning when part of a bachelor party. And that other meaning was clear to all those innocent women who suffered through our night of drunken debauchery.

Innocent women like the dancers at Archibald's Gentlemen's Club. There, with wings on the table, drinks in hand, hot, nubile ladies shook their moneymakers at Thomas. At every other guy there too, until we had Thomas loaded up with a wad of $1's and too much booze.

For the sake of his enduring reputation, let's just say a good night was had by all there. And the last I saw of Thomas, he still held tight to the the Force Cup.

"What would you like to drink?"

Here, I was treated like a friend versus a customer. Note that I don’t have a real complaint against Economy Plus - I find it as bearable as any seat on an airplane, all of which are too small, too close together, and too high in the sky to make me at ease.

But Jimmy, my purser on this IAD to PDX trip, really made my frequent flyer miles upgrade worth the 5 E-Upgrade coupons I traded in for the privilege. After that first beer, the vodka tonics started quickly and never stopped till we landed. I had them right through a real dinner with real metal silverware.

Okay, so maybe not a "real" meal, but the food was hot and was free, unlike the $5 snack boxes of the cattle class. And best of all, we got dessert! I went all out with a full ice cream sundae with whipped cream and both chocolate sauce and caramel.

Now that is the swank way to fly - tipsy, full, and happy!

With my glass full of hops, my mind on malt, I learn that I'm about to have a three-day weekend. Its President's Day and I'm in Portland. What to do? Where to go? I know - a Brewpub Roadtrip to Vancouver! And not as in Vancouver, Washington, but Vancouver as in Canada!

At first, I was tempted to make the five-hour road trip to Canadian brewing heaven solo. I wanted to go that bad. I figured this might be my only international trip in 2008, and I didn't want to miss the chance to cross another border.

Its not that this would be my first trip to Canada - I went to Montréal with my family long ago. But this would be my first trip as an adult and I was excited. Both because I'd heard it was a beautiful city, filled with amazing sights, but also because it is another bastion of good beer.

Luckily, I was saved from a long drive alone by Brett, of Portland Brew Tours. He leapt at the chance for a roadtrip, especially a beer-focused one. So at oh-too-early on Saturday morning, we pointed the Zoom! Zoom! north, dropped in a selection of tunes, and became Twenth-Century motion.

In our movement, "sped" would be a relative term as the road was not East Coast quick. Left-coasters drive a bit slower, and the farther north we went, the more relaxed they were. Not the state police though. From many an overpass or curve they were all in hot pursuit, but not of we.

Brett and I made it to the border easy-quick, only to be greeted by long and slow. It took almost an hour to transverse into Canada, through the greenest no-man's land I've ever crossed. This was not Cambodia by any means. Still, I was dismayed to see a dirty storm grate marking the actual boundary.

Anyway, on we drove, through gray fields and overcast skies till an urban gym opened along the skyway. It was Vancouver, Canada, and she is beautiful. Nestled in a bay with majestic peaks all around, dwarfing a good attempt at Hong Kong vertical living, the city was a shocking display of industrialization this far north.

It was only when I realized that this was Canada's main Pacific port, did I understand how a Canadian town could be so big. I forget that Canada is comparable in per-capita wealth to the United States, if only 1/10th the population. With the urban buzz, it felt like most of that population lived in Vancouver.

But enough about the city, on to the beers!

• VBC Brewpub Tour - Granville Island Brewing
• VBC Brewpub Tour - Dockside Brewing
• VBC Brewpub Tour - Yaletown Brewing
• VBC Brewpub Tour - Steamworks Brewing
• VBC Brewpub Tour - Dix Brewing

Returning at the appointed hour, we went on the world's shortest brewery tour. Granville only brews small batches at the brewpub, its major production facilities are elsewhere. Still, we had a fun viewing of mashers, hopers, and other assorted empty steel containers until the real fun began - beer tasting.

With six little beers in front of us, Brett and I shared tasting tips and tales with an assortment of Canadians and a token American couple. Quickly, the topic turned to politics and a favorite quote was heard:

"I don't think you'll have a problem with a woman or black man for a President. You have a retarded one now."

With the beers gone, and yet more brewpubs to sample, Brett and I bid our farewell to the Granville Island Brewery and headed out for the next brewpub adventure: Dockside Restaurant.

Again, we got a taster of beers, this time six or eight unremarkable and tasteless beers. Wait, there was a taste to the pilsner - it was foul! Now it could've been just a bad line or the actual taste of the beer, but neither Brett nor I could finish the schooner.

We did have a good chat with a couple planning to get married. I told them about my recent nuptials and gave them tips on wedding activities. I hope they had as much fun as Amy and I.

Not having much fun ourselves, Brett and I split Dockside, for the next brewpub, Yaletown Brewing.

Sadly, at first we were denied seating by Yaletown. Seems they require a food purchase if you want to drink beer in the restaurant. Full from breakfast, we declined and were seen to the bar. For our troubles, we got a free round, quickly cooling our frustration and making the beer taste even better.

Right about now, Brett and I realized that we had almost exact opposite tastes in beers. Brett loves hops. He may even eat them straight. I prefer more malt, and love me chocolate porters. At Yaletown, I had a wheat beer with lemon and Brett went with the Yippee IPA .

To our great horror a pair of cougars sat at the table next to us and ordered Bud Lights. While I have no issue with older women on the prowl - I enjoyed a few in my single days - to do so with a "light beer" changes the spectrum from fun to sad. I wanted to buy them both a stout!

Yet I refrained, and soon, with empty glasses in front of us, Brett and I left for the next inebriating treat: Steamworks Brewing

I fell in instant love with the espresso stout, a dark, chocolaty, coffee beer that both woke my taste buds and my mind. Brett, ever the hops man, went with the IPA and was equally impressed. Both beers embodied the majestic scenery - both, distinctive, memorable.

While we were savoring the brews, the server convinced us to taste the yam fries. Salty, sweet, with a dab of oil, they were the perfect accoutrement to the beers. Sadly, she couldn't find me a Band-Aid for my blistered feet, but by the time the second espresso stout disappeared, I didn't care anymore.

Steamworks was the best Vancouver Brewpub Tour stop for me, easily beating all the rest, combined. Regardless, we had one more brewpub to visit: Dix Brewing.

First, every beer was all hopes, his favorite. Then, the master brewer was just hanging out at the bar and Brett bonded with him over a long, very beer geek conversation. I swear they were even comparing hops grown on different sides of Mount Hood.

Then, the brewer went down to the kegs still cooking and brought us up sample tastes from the schwartzbeer not even for sale yet. Brett's brown beer was his favorite of the trip, and with the poutin - fries with gravy - he was fat and happy.

I was content with a lighter beer than my normal choice, it being the only non-hoppy alternative. I did enjoy the Saint Louis ribs, and so we both rolled out of Dix, and ended our Vancouver Brewpub Tour, quite content.

• The Official Amy Ross + Wayan Vota Slideshow brought to you by Bill Crandall.
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Growing up the surfer in Vero Beach, Florida, these were words that held my imagination on many a tiny swell day. They were mysterious visions of aquatic power from magazines or moves. Places in far off Hawaii that I dreamed about, but yet, never thought about visiting.

Hawaii was just a little too far off the map for me. Costa Rica was closer, Europe more intriguing. So the North Shore was left undiscovered, until now. After Amy and I tired of Honolulu, the Vegas of the Pacific, we escaped to the sleep, surf Mecca of Oahu's North Shore.

There we found a refreshingly local scene. Sandy beaches divided by wild rock and reef outcroppings, relaxed Hawaiians happy for a swell and a beer. And I joined them, both in the beers and the surfing.

Knowing I am not a Florida surfer boy any more, I started out at Waialua Bay, surfing what looked like easy wedges from the shore. In the water, I realized these were Pacific freight trains of power and speed. Walls of water literally barreling towards shore. Past my limits, I shoulder hopped smaller waves till exhaustion.

The next day, I took on the much easier swell at Haleiwa Beach Park. At 35, I am now longer as fast or nimble, and the smaller, easier swells were a relief. The rights were short drops, the lefts long lines, and the mid-week crowd friendly and small.

Down at Bonzai Pipeline, the scene was much different. With the first decent swell of the winter surfing season in full effect, the water was black with swarming surfers. Steps from the shore, sheets of clear blue Pacific Ocean leaped into the sky, propelling a mix of youth and sea towards a beautiful sandy beach.

Kinetic art at its best.

Vegas of the Pacific. That is my impression of Honolulu, a place like Las Vegas - full of hype and glossy history that feels tired and cliché by the light of day.

Yes, you can play Rambo, shooting live ammunition with pistols and rifles at an indoor gun range. Japanese women are rumored to see free love on weekends of passion. And there are enough bars filled with hope and booze to make things happen. But does anything? Really?

Maybe it does, maybe there are risqué moments of illicit passion, but only for those either from Tokyo or Topeka, where this city in the vastness of the Pacific is far enough from your hometown that you can get a little crazy.

But for the world-weary traveler, Waikiki Beach was played out long ago. It could've been a contender back in the 1960's, when there was more of a beach and it wasn't shipped in from California in a vain attempt to stop natural erosion. Or even more so in the 1940's, when it was a booming military depot, or earlier when it was very exotic.

Now, with its plastic feel and Bud Light crowd, Waikiki was a freak show I tried to avoid. I took Amy to long drives outside the tourist zones. To Ono Hawaiian Foods for tasty lomi lomi and Kalua pig, or over the hills to Kailua on the windward side of Oahu.

There, I introduced Amy to snorkeling, thrusting her boldly into the cold, clear ocean to hyperventilate as she swam around a windswept cove. Later, we went to Hanauma Bay, where the water was just as cold, but the sights more colorful. She saw a good selection of tropical fish flashing brilliant colors - amongst the tourist throngs I tried not to drown.

Sadly, with the numbers of ignorant visitors to Hawaii, I was surprised there were even fish left at Hanauma Bay. Its once teeming reefs were long ago destroyed, leaving algae to coat the rocks for a handful of fish to feed on. I try not to think of how drastic the change, and how intense the destruction, of this once pristine bay or I might break down and cry. Or go back and bitch-slap every insolent tourist.

It was good for them, and me, that Amy and I soon left Honolulu for the North Shore of Oahu.

Because it rained every day we were in Kauai. In fact, Mount Wai’ale’ale, in the center of the island, is the wettest place on earth with an average 460+ inches of rainfall. Knowing that, I expected a tropical rainfall pattern - steamy heat all morning with a hard downpour every day at 4pm. Such was not the case.

Kauai does not have a typical tropic rainfall pattern. There isn't a large landmass to aggregate heat for an afternoon shower. Instead, the volcanic ridges in the middle of the island are so tall and so sharp; they physically scrape moisture from passing clouds. In our week in Kauai, I never did see the peak of Mount Wai’ale’ale, it was always encased in clouds.

Back down on the beach neither Amy nor I saw a full day of sun. We experienced random five minute bursts of sun, clouds, rain, clouds, sun, rain, sun, and clouds due to a constant trade wind blowing "trade showers" across our honeymoon spot.

For me, it wasn't that big of a deal as I was out surfing. Reaching back to my squandered youth, I rented a longboard and hit the waves with renewed vigor. Enjoying the long rides of Hanalei Bay, I surfed every day until my arms were jelly and my belly was wax-rashed.

For Amy, swaddled on the beach in a sweater, or when it rained, hiding under a rattan mat, the hot sun never quite compensated for the cold rain showers. While I surfed, she suffered, and when I finished, we both would scour the island for a sunny, calm, and warm beach.

This we finally found at Secret Beach, which, like the name suggests, will have to stay that way. It was the only secluded yet warm and dry spot we found on the entire island. And it was way more relaxing that the Na Pali Coast "walk" we attempted one rainly morning.

The upper northwest coast of Kauai is a jagged escarpment of sharp cliffs that drop from mountainous heights to crashing surf. A truly stunning sight made all the more breathtaking when your sliding along a slippery and rocky trail several hundred feet up, alternating between sweat and chills as rain showers and baking sun tag-team the heavens.

While Amy and I decided to take a short walk quickly, dressing in running shoes and shorts, others were both more prepared in full hiking gear, or woefully out of their element in full length skirts or all white attire. Even at our skill level, we had a few spills and will never quite wash out the Kauai's reddish-brown mud.

Life was not all bad, though. We did have views of stunning beauty, meals of surprising freshness, and people with remarkable kindness. Kauai is the garden isle in its natural and human wealth.

In that photograph I saw a dream, a vision of a life I wanted to live, a moment I wanted to see with my own eyes. Yet, I never thought it possible. I did not have that wealth, and I did not know that bride.

Until today, January 12th, 2008, my wedding day. Today, after months of planning, weeks of preparation, and days of stress, I saw that joyous bride. That father filled with pride. That crowd of wealth and stature.

Today I saw that image, I saw that moment in my own life. No. I lived that dream! It is my life now.

It is my bride, Amy, who walked down the isle on the arm of her father, Don. It was our friends and family, a crowd of wealth and stature in our lives, that cheered her passage into matrimony.

And it was to me that Amy wed. It is to me that she is bound. And it is me who now has a whole other vision, dream, image in my mind. I now see Amy Ross Vota, head back, mid-laugh, a moment of pure joy. My new bride, radiating happiness, as she danced through our wedding and reception.

Now, with all the powers vested in me, as the author of this website, Belly Button Window, now 11 years old, I present to you, my loyal readers, the life, the vision of: Mr. and Mrs. Wayan and Amy Vota, husband and wife:

More photos of our wedding can be found here and here.

Its Saturday that is our real wedding ceremony. Its January 12th that we'll proclaim our love to closest friends and family. It is at 7pm that we'll be truly wed.

For we have the belief that marriage does not start with judges, cannot be enforced by courts, and will not be constrained by paper. Marriage comes from the heart, flows through community, and returns as a bond most public.

And here is a public proclamation of my feelings these moments before being a groom yet again: