Today I "graduated" from physical therapy. My last session in their gym. They gave me a free t-shirt and printed out a black-ink-only graduation certificate.

Therapist: Congratulations. You graduated. You don't have to come back.
Old Black Woman: I wish I didn't have to come back.
Therapist: I know Jeanine, but you're going to be here a long time.

The Wishing Tree from our wedding. (Have I mentioned this yet?) Guest were invited to write well-wishes, encouraging words, or just funny little notes and put them in red envelopes hanging from this tree. The plan is, every year on our anniversary, Sarah and I will open and read two.

Unless we're dying, then we'll probably just open all of them. "This one says, 'Have a long happy life together.' Oo... ironic."

I think the whole Wishing Tree idea evolved from Money Trees, which, and I could be wrong here, might be a Chinese tradition of putting money on a tree for the bride and groom. So, what I'm saying is, there's a small chance that there's a check in one of those envelopes that we won't discover for half a decade.

The thought crossed our mind that after the planned toasts at the reception, we could open the mic up to anyone who wanted to say something. We have a lot of smart and funny friends and family members. Why not? Plus, who wouldn't want even more people to say nice things about them.

But, we couldn't think of any way to announce it that didn't sound super self-indulgent (even for a wedding), and there was already a lot of talking (especially for me) so we didn't do it. We'll probably never know how many great impromptu speeches were lost.

Today, after 39 years as a head coach, 26 of them at the same university (all of which were winning seasons), 598 career wins, and one national championship (that was also a record-setting undefeated season), my father announced his retirement from coaching.

Apparently, when my sister, Julie, told her sons that their grandfather wasn't going to be "the coach" anymore, Ty cried. So Dad called him on the phone to cheer him up and explained that they'd still get to go to the games. "But now I'll be able to come up into the stands and sit next you."

With a little help from our year-end bonuses and our first joint tax return... our wedding expenses are now all officially paid off.

Most Saturday nights after Whirled News Tonight, the cast ends up grabbing some drinks and food at the diner next to the theater. We've flirted with branching out and going other places, but the majority of the Saturdays over the last half decade, that's where we've been.

Tonight, midway through the night, a drunk woman stumbled into the diner, sat at the bar behind us, then swiveled around on her stool and started talking to us. And she seemed to... sort of know us. And we realized she used to be a waitress there.

And then she preceded to go around the table naming the things we would normally order. "And you, where's your coffee to go?"

The more time passes, the harder it is to remember any of it. And not that much time has passed. Maybe I should have blogged about all of this stuff much sooner after the ceremony, before it all started to drift away.

One of the saddest losses is Sarah’s grandfather’s toast. Neither of us can seem to remember beyond the fact that he made fun of the gong.

Sarah: I remember the feeling of it. But there were a lot of historical facts. I don't remember those. It was really awesome.
Me: What was the feeling of it?
Sarah: That it was funny and that he's funny, but our funnies are different funnies but that that's okay and we both think the other is funny.
Me: I remember it as feeling… wry.
Sarah: Yes, fine. Wry. I don’t know what that means but I agree.

We have video of the ceremony. And one of Sarah’s uncles told us a while back that he shot a video of the toasts, so we may get a copy of that eventually, but, “I didn’t record Pa’s speech. I don’t know what I was thinking. So, I don’t have that one. Maybe… someone has it? I don’t know who, but maybe?”

Maybe.

I think (although I could be wrong) that as of today, all the pregnant people at our wedding (even the not quite far enough along to tell anyone yet ones) have had their babies.

My sister, Julie, and her husband Matt (Tate). Tom and Steph (Max). Marc and Odette (Arthur). Sarah's friends Markman and Jenny (Emily) and Joanna and Bart (George). And this evening Joe and Shelby had their baby (Joseph Crash).

Here's a picture of Tom's sons, Sam and Max. I've known Tom since the fifth grade. And we lived together in college, watching 'The X-Files' together. And now he's old enough to have a son who's old enough to hold his little brother.

I love this picture by the way, think it's hilarious. Sam looks like a little Tom, and I can only imagine that this picture represents some of the frazzled anxiety that comes with being a new parent.

Sarah and I keep passing the same miserable cold back and forth, one of us sick, then the other, then the other... and I'm beginning to suspect it's going to be like this for the rest of our lives.

As I mentioned before, part of my work day, these days, is to post funny things on the You Don't Know Jack Facebook and Twitter feeds, and occasionally to answer what questions I can, hopefully in an amusing way.

I can't exactly say that I'm "proud" of the exchange in this picture, I mean, it really does just boil down to me teasing a foreigner (and giving him some disappointing news at that)... but... I just couldn't resist the perfect storm of joke set-ups in his original post.

This came in the mail from my most avid blog reader. It took me a few minutes to remember what she was referring to.

Thanks Mom.

Pretty much the entirety of Allie's toast: "I can't give a speech as funny as Arnie, but I can give one that isn't as long."

Here's something I do remember. Because of the whole, women standing with me, men standing with Sarah, groomsmaids, bridesmen thing... there were definitely jokes about who should compliment who on looking beautiful.

Which was then followed by, "Ah, he took my joke."

What does it say about marriage that we've started using this Tiffany gift bag as an extra trash can?

One of the exercises I do at physical therapy is the Stool Scoot. They wrap about 10 pounds of ankle weights to the bottom of one of these doctor's stools and I sit on it and, using just one leg, pull myself all the way around the gym. Extend leg, set foot down, pull myself forward. Extend leg, set foot down, pull myself forward. Like most of the exercises it starts off very easy but then gets harder and harder.

While pulling myself around the circuit of the gym, I tend to imagine than I'm trying to get away from a serial killer. You know, I've been tied to chair and can only use one leg to escape. Extend leg, set foot down, pull myself forward.

I mentioned this to some of the people that work there. They were mildly amused, but didn't laugh. Maybe they don't like being associated with torture horror. Which is fair. I did later notice one of the receptionists testing one of the stools out, possibly testing out the scenario.

Anyway, that was the thought I shared. I also thought that "Stool Scoot" sounds like a euphemism for diarrhea, but i kept that one to myself.

This is a horrible admission, but... I don't really remember much about the toasts. Neither does Sarah. I remember them being wonderful and heartfelt and funny, but... very little of what was actually said.

In our defense, it was a busy day.

Since I already seem to be in self-promotion mode this week... hey, why not come check out The Welcome to Your 30s Boys, an improv show I do every Tuesday at 10 at the iO Cabaret with Young, Steve and Shad. I've been having a great time doing these shows, even though it's traditionally a pretty slow time slot, so the crowds are a bit smaller than I've been spoiled to have for some of my other shows.

Come on by and watch us do scenes that usually subtextually about all four of us worrying about getting older. What could be more fun on a Tuesday night?

In case you haven't bought the new You Don't Know Jack yet (and why haven't you, jerk, it's pretty damn cheap), there's now a two episode demo available for Xbox 360 (and coming soon for PS3).

Hell, even if you did buy the game, it's worth downloading because the two episodes included are completely different from any of the ones already included in the game. So, it's a bonus. Plus, downloads and good ratings help keep the demo visible online, and will hopefully help bump up sales.

What does it say about marriage that I've started using our Unity Gong to hang laundry?

I was talking with some married friends about how to manage expenses as part of a married couple.

Me: We keep track of our individual expenses and then once a week or once a month, compare and see who owes who what, but we're thinking about changing it.
Friend 1: To a method that's less like you're college roommates?
Me: Well what do you do?
Friend 1: Us? Oh, for us it's a fucking free-for-all.
Friend 2: My wife keeps track of everything. And then we have a tight budget. She tells me how much of our money I can spend.
Friend 3: We have a pool of money. Although my wife also has an emergency fund in case she ever has to leave me.
Me: What?
Friend 3: Just in case something crazy happens, like, if I get hit by a bus and my personality changes. It is a little weird. I mean, I don't have anything like that for myself.
Friend 2: You better watch out.
Me: If you get hit by a bus... there's going to be a period where you're different. Two days in is she going to cash out and take off?
Friend 3: It is a little weird. I mean, I don't have anything like that for myself. Should I have something?

I've been doing physical therapy for my knee, a couple times a week. Nothing too difficult or painful, just time consuming.

The therapy staff is very nice, making a point to ask me about my week, even if there's not much to tell. Asking about my improv shows. My job. Things I'm passionate about but don't necessarily know how to talk about easily.

Physical Therapist: (behind counter talking to one of the assistants as I walked in the door) Arnie.
Me: Morning.
Physical Therapist: I was just wondering about you... how many of the thoughts that you have during the day, would you say you never say out loud?
Me: Um... I don't know... it varies throughout the day.
Physical Therapist: Okay.
Me: Although, I suspect you think I have more thoughts than I do. Plus, I'm not much of a morning person. I guess I talk more later in the day.
Physical Therapist: So we should get you in for some evening sessions.
Me: Maybe.

The other part of it, though, is that there's a lot of counting involved in my physical therapy. Do fifteen of these, break for ten seconds, do fifteen more. The therapists are rarely intrusive, but when they do take a moment to chat me up, I'm usually desperately trying to keep track of where I am.

"So, do you have shows every week?" 4,5,6... "Uh, yeah, every Saturday and then, uh..." ...7,8... "Tuesdays..." ...12,12,13...

Is this a common skill that I lack? Counting and talking at the same time? Because it's hard. Harder than any of my actual exercises.

And I had this thought when the therapist asked me about how much I share during the course of a day, but I didn't say it. I just kept it to myself. So, she may have a point.

Sarah put the Mulder action figure on her night table, so one day while she was gone I replaced it with this Scully figure that I also found amongst some of my old stuff.

Sarah: Scully!! But... what happened to Mulder?
Me: I don't know. It's a mystery.

Sarah used tape to put an "X" on her bedside lamp, I guess as a signal to any possible informants.

We decided to have a "sweetheart table" for ourselves. Just a little table for the two of us. We knew it would be a crazy day so thought it might be nice to have a little time to check in with just each other while we ate dinner.

And then we accidentally placed it on the way to the buffet. So... every one of our guests had to walk past us on their way to get food. It turned into an accidental receiving, most guests feeling obligated to stop and talk to us, holding up the line behind them. Hello. Hello. Hello.

Several people complimented us on it. "What a great idea." But it was an accident. Sort of stupid. Sort of great.

By the way, another wedding tip that's probably obvious to everyone but me: sheet cake.

You have a cute, but small little official cake, and then, behind the scenes, big, cheaper-to-make sheet cakes from the same ingredients. Smart.

Before the cake cutting Sarah said, "Do not smush cake in my face. Do not." She didn't have to tell me twice. Or even once. Cake face smushing isn't really my style. I never had any intention of doing it.

But, looking at this picture, I feel like it captured the one millisecond that I half-considered doing it.

Cleaning out boxes in the closet, I found this old Mulder action figure I'd bought long long ago. Since Sarah has been getting into the X-Files now for the first time, I surprised her by leaving it on her pillow.

Sarah: MULDER!!

She's really reaping the benefits of my old college nerdiness. I wonder if I still have that 'Songs in the Key of X' CD somewhere.

The reception was scheduled for maximum efficiency, and I appreciated that. Getting our obligations out of the way in big chunks, freeing us up to have more "free time" during other portions of the night. It made sense. It worked.

But it also kind of didn't at times. Make sense at least. Like cutting the cake. We enter the tent. We dance. We cut the cake. Very efficient. But also, in retrospect, kind of strange. Why are we cutting the cake before dinner has even started to be served?

Cut the cake. Feed it to each other. Everybody cheers. Okay... and... bye bye cake, see you in an hour or so.

Mom and I dancing to 'I'll Be There' by the Jackson 5.

Now, 'I'll Be There' is 4 minutes long, easily the longest of the official wedding dance songs. Longer than 'Ugly Love.' A lot longer than 'What a Wonderful World.' I almost didn't pick the song for that very reason. Too long.

Not that the mother of the groom dance wouldn't be special, but the third dance in a row that people have to sit and watch shouldn't be that long, and I knew that my mother, not one to seek out the spotlight, wouldn't want to be up there for that long.

So, I told Nick, graciously DJ-ing, that he should fade the song out halfway through. Two minutes of dancing.

I'm pretty certain this picture captures the moment, about three minutes in, that my mother said, "You told him he can fade the song out, right? He doesn't need to keep playing it," and then we both glanced over at the music set-up to see how much longer this was going to go on.

We danced the whole four minutes.

Sarah enjoying a Guinness out of a belated wedding gift.

Two crystal drinking mugs from Tiffany's from Sarah's friend Verni.

Sarah: That's what he always gives. Every wedding. And it is pretty awesome. He knows when he swoops in with that big Tiffany's box in a BIG BLUE Tiffany's bag, women flip out. And I hate to admit how awesome it is. When he brought it into the restaurant, all the ladies there were like, "Who is THAT for?!"

Sarah and her grandfather dancing to Louis Armstrong's 'What a Wonderful World.'

This was the first part of the day that I got to sit and watch, which was nice.

This is what I'm looking like these days. Sarah keeps asking me when I'm going to shave.

I want to say, "Spring," but I usually say, "Soon."