Michael Shulman and Jacob Mitchell

This past weekend, Jacob and I flew to Seattle for the second of the three receptions we’re throwing to celebrate our Domestic Partnership (aka, the one for the mishpokhe).  The West Seattle home of my cousins Dianne and Steve Loeb was the ideal setting, as it is akin to a contemporary gallery where you’re comfortable enough to kick-back and eat and drink (a lot).  To wit, the delicious fragrance of mini Croque-monsieur sandwiches and Truffle-oil French fries from Bis on Main filled the air, while guests qui-qui’ed on comfy couches among the original works by Roy Lichtenstein, Andy Moses and Dale Chihuly, and in front of picture windows that dramatically framed the famous Washington State Ferries chugging their way, across Puget Sound.

Happy and Michael Shulman

My brother, Jeff (aka “Happy”), gave a particularly funny toast, that night.  My polar opposite – he’s tall: I’m short.  He’s athletic: I’m anything but. He abhors small-talk and pressing the flesh: I love nothing more.  He doesn’t even wear a watch; while I pile-on as many sparkly accessories as possible – it’s fair to say that with the exception of our family, and a mutual dislike of mushrooms, we have always been very different people.  I suppose that’s why we’re so close.

A reluctant celebrity, my little brother is perhaps best known as one of last year's so-called "November Nine" (the nine players who advanced to the Final Table at the 2009 World Series of Poker).  On more than one occassion, I've been sitting at dinner in the A-Room at Piero's, when somebody would call-out "Hey Shulman!  Isn't that your brother, on TV?"

So, like I said, his toast that night was just perfect.  Since he pretty much loathes public speaking, I’m always impressed by just how good at it he is.  Here, in its entirety, is Happy’s toast to Jacob and me.

“My brother…  The only person I know who would have three wedding receptions, but not bother with something so trivial as a ceremony.

Unlike most of you, I was invited to Michael and Jacob’s first reception, in Las Vegas.  It was a great party, and most of the people there were Michael’s fancy-pants socialite friends.  I asked him if I should make a toast, and he said “No, no; absolutely not.”  I didn’t mind, but I thought it was weird that he kept introducing me as “My driver, Larry…”

Tonight, I’m honored, and nervous, to be toasting my brother.  I’m nervous because, for the first ten years of my life, anytime I tried to speak, Michael would bite me.  That’s why I don’t open my mouth when I talk.  All of this mumbling is HIS fault.

There are a lot of people here who have known Michael his entire life.  Have you noticed how much my son, Eli, looks like Michael did as a child?  And Michael was a beautiful kid.  Sometimes I stare at my boy and wonder: Are you going to bore us to death by telling us the same stories that we’ve all heard a thousand times?  Are you going to set a cabin on fire at summer camp?  Am I going to threaten you with a cheaper college because what’s the difference if all you’re doing is partying?

What I do hope for, on behalf of my son and my daughter, is that they be fortunate enough to find love with someone as kind and tall and smart and good-looking as their Uncle Jacob.

Jacob – We are so excited that Michael has brought you into our family.  Now that the papers are signed, you’re a Shulman (whether you like it or not).  Just like a case of Herpes, you’re stuck with us, forever.

Now, let’s raise a glass to Jacob and Michael!”

I think he pretty much said it all.  Thanks, Hap!