The Best Shotgun Science-Themed Wedding of 2007!

It's Getting Hectic. . .

2007-05-03T20:36:00.000-05:00

Turning around a wedding in three months started out seeming like no problem. We'd nailed our band, the venue, the cake, the flowers, the dress, the officiant, and the invitations in about two weeks. The problem is that all those people were waiting until two weeks before the wedding to start dealing with the details. I can't tell you how often my phone rings, how many little things there are to make snap decisions on, how constant is the niggling, well constant-ness of the new additions for the to do list.

Yesterday, for 45 minutes between trying to book a new florist (oh yeah, our florist canceled on us Sunday night) and Steve's and my swing dance choreography class for our first dance, I managed to have coffee with my friend Christine who was in town and had exactly about 45 minutes free herself. To my embarrassment, I was on the phone easily 15 minutes of the time, while dragging her around a music store to buy the music we needed to dance to, and only occasionally fitting in a few moments of conversation about the florist (did I MENTION that she canceled two weeks before the wedding?) and the wedding that Christine herself is planning for December.

It's a little nuts.

Steve -- who is living the same overworked life I am, all while actually going to an office job every day, so it's even more busy -- discovered today that he wasn't necessarily going to get much sympathy for his situation. Between his bachelor party to Atlantic City last weekend, the dance classes mentioned above, the shopping for suits, the planning of the wedding music, and on and on, he has tried for a week to get his pre-wedding hair cut, and only managed to fit it in today. His hairdresser is also a friend with whom he plays softball, and Micki kindly squeezed Steve in at the end of what was a hectic day for himself as well.

The appointment was for 5:00. Micki was running late, since the owner of the salon was on vacation and Micki was helping to cover his clients. As Steve waited for his appointment, he witnessed several people lose their cool for having to wait, and one person stomp out in a huff. By the time Steve was finally in the chair, the salon was almost empty with Micki the only hair cutter left.

One woman sitting in a chair nearby was just finishing getting highlights and she began a running monologue vaguely addressed to the people around her.

"I can't believe that I'm not going to be able to get my hair cut. I'm going to have to go to the Hair Cuttery. I've never been to a Hair Cuttery in my life. I think they only do kids hair, but I'm going to be busy for the next 5 days, I'll be working 20 hour days, there's no way I can get my hair cut, and it needs to be done now. I can't believe I'm going to have to go to the Hair Cuttery."

Despite the fact that she didn't have an appointment and the fact that Micki was supposed to leave for the day, he finally ended her speech by saying he'd cut her hair. Instead of being thankful, she just asked: "When will you be finished with your client?"

"It shouldn't be too much longer, but I don't want to rush it, because this is my friend's wedding hair cut," said Micki.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm having lunch with the Queen."

Wedding Books

2007-04-18T18:55:00.000-05:00

Having maligned all wedding books in the New York Times I would like to revise my statement there to say that it's only that MOST of the books out there are useless, or for the hosting-impaired. I have found three books that are really, really good. So much better than the rest of the uselessness out there, that I can't quite figure out how the difference is so dramatic.

These are the three:

This book is divided into types of wedding venues -- the restaurant, the garden, the club house -- and then filled with design and hosting ideas that might go particularly well with that environment. I picked and chose from a variety of sections, but it was filled with concrete good ideas.

This book is only for the crafty -- and those who have some time to tackle the projects. It's 4 or 5 books combined into one, and some of them, for example the included book on wedding calligraphy, isn't as useful unless you already know what you're doing. But the last section which includes how to decorate bridal shoes and make fun wedding party gifts is really good.

After my complaints about lame wedding readings, this book was my saving grace. Every other place I looked was a bust -- and then, lo, I found this book and loved an improbable nine out of ten of each of their readings, poems, and wedding wordings.

Horror Stories #2

2007-04-11T17:40:00.000-05:00

This one came in today from Lili--the fantastic woman who works at the Metropolitan Club as the banquet coordinator. She has scads of opinions on everything, but certainly knows her stuff -- and every vendor in town. She told me the story today of a woman who walked into a wedding, carefully carrying an unwrapped painting. The woman told Lili it was a gift for the bride and asked where she could put it.

"Just give it to me and I'll take care of it," Lili said as she reached out to take the painting.

The women reared back and began yelling at her.

"Don't TOUCH it! It's still WET!"

Apologies

2007-04-10T15:12:00.000-05:00

I would like to apologize to Pete and Mo. . . they were the first couple who invited a date of mine to a wedding and didn't invite me, even though they had met me several times. In order to meet the size requirements for their wedding, they chose not to invite any additional people except for spouses and fiances. I did not take kindly to this, since they had MET me after all. This must mean they didn't like me. I took it personally. I think I may have thrown a bit of a fit, and ultimately, I was invited to the wedding. (Though I don't actually remember if the boyfriend in question actually asked, or if I was invited of their own accord once they knew they had room for me.)

There are other weddings, where I did the calling up and asked if I could bring my significant other, even though I'd been invited alone. I apologize to these hosts as well.

I am sorry. I just didn't understand. I didn't understand that each one of you really had thought carefully, long and hard, about just how many people could be there, how much you could afford, and how badly you felt that you wanted to include all your friends and family, but just couldn't do that and invite their dates too.

Which, of course, leads to the next apology. We had to make an executive decision to not write "and guest" on anyone's invitation. It was the only way to make sure we included everyone we wanted to. And I know some of you have been dating people for awhile, and in some cases Steve and I have even met your significant others . . . but, well, we just couldn't make the dates thing work given the size of the venue.

And that leads us to the ending thank you. As sad as I am about how tough it is to fit in all the people one wants, and as worried as I've been that we've had to exclude some people, and as constantly as I go over the numbers in my head convinced we don't have enough seats for everyone . . . I want to say a thank you to you all:

May Steve's and my biggest problem always be that we have too many friends and family around us whom we love and want to have celebrate with us.

Horror Stories

2007-04-05T14:31:00.000-05:00

It wouldn't be fair of me to list the various twists and turns, etiquette contretemps, family negotiations, etc that have taken place about this wedding, because, well, because I love my friends and family and wouldn't want to state anything publicly.

Wait, what am I saying? I'm not stating anything because of COURSE, everything has gone absolutely splendidly and there's nothing at all to tell. . .

On the other hand, in discussing my oh-so-perfect cohorts and experiences to friends who are currently planning weddings, I have gathered a few good stories to share.

My friend Julie's invitations were just mailed to all her guests, including the phone number for the resort where everyone is to make a reservation for the destination wedding. This morning the phone rang very early -- it was a call from her fiance's 92 year old aunt. When the aunt had called the number on the invitation . . . she had been answered by a phone sex line. Really. I'm not making this up. The invitation had two transposed digits and it goes to a phone sex line.
Another woman told me the story of how she and her fiance decided together that they wanted a smaller wedding with under 100 people. Every discussion with her parents-in-law became an issue since they were having to curtail the size of their guest list. Finally her mother-in-law-to-be said exasperatedly, "Remind me why we're having a small wedding again?" The Freudian-ness of the mother not being able to distinguish between her son's wedding to another woman and her own wedding still has her telling the story.
Julie again: She just received an e-mail from the only one of her father's cousins whom she had invited. This particular cousin and her kids were the family with whom the bride had vacationed every summer for years; on the other hand, she didn't know any of her father's other cousins and so hadn't invited them. The e-mail read: "Dear Julie -- My sister hasn't received her invitation yet, so it ocurred to us that you might have her old address. This is her new address. . . " Julie was so stunned that someone else was maknig assumptions about who was invited to her wedding that she has yet to figure out how to respond.
At the eleventh hour, just days before they had to hand in their measurements for a custom made bolero jacket, two bridesmaids sent one bride a joint e-mail announcing that they were sorry but the dress she'd chosen for them simply wouldn't do. They couldn't possibly wear it, and that they were instead looking for other options in similar colors. No discussion, no polite question of "is there any other way we can work this?" or my personal suggestion of "I'm so sorry, but perhaps we shouldn't be in the wedding since this dress is a tough one on our figures." The bride was restrained and her only dig was to point out that had they bothered to tell her this earlier, then they could have saved the other bridesmaids the hassle of paying for the dress already, but given that it was so late in the game it was ok for them to wear a different dress in the same color.

Friday Afternoon Details

2007-04-03T10:23:00.000-05:00

For those of you wondering what on earth this "afternoon of games and merriment" thing is on your invitation for Friday, I figured I'd give a little detail.

As everyone who lives in the U.S. and has ever watched television knows, even the most independent, feminist women have certain fantasies about their wedding day -- even if they deny it adamantly. My fantasies have never tended towards the ponies or the princess-y (though I have to admit that wearing a tiara has always sounded like a bridal requirement to me) but I have always known that I wanted a fun rehearsal dinner/day ahead of time. I like the idea of everyone getting to know each other before the wedding. I like the idea of elentybillion toasts. (Start working on yours now!) I like the idea of a casual, relaxed day to get you in the mood for the wedding weekend.

So! When my friends Karen Zacarias and Rett Snotherly went to a destination wedding several years ago where there was a "groom's challenge" the day before the wedding in which guests played games, matched wits, and generally goofed off, I knew I wanted the same.

We have three hours set aside for the traditional -- i.e., three-legged races -- and the less-so:

love-poetry reading contests
found object art contests
Steve and Karen trivia games
and the finale: a Karen and Steve head-to-head "Newlywed Game" with questions posed by you

We'll also have some simple crossword puzzles and other sitting games too. It will all be in a lovely backyard (or under a tent if it rains). Kids are invited. Food and lemonade will be served -- and we can't wait to see you there!

Wedding Readings

2007-03-26T16:57:00.000-05:00

So you know what's NOT easy? Finding love poems or readings that are not too mushy, or not desperately preachy about how hard it is to stay married, or not just generally lame. I have bought several love poetry books thinking there would have to be something in a book with a hundred poems that would do -- but no. Of the poems that aren't too Hallmark-y, half are secretly about longing for someone else. The remainder are often quite good, but, ahem, too sexy for a family audience.

The good news is that all this searching has helped me find a list of poems for people to read during our Friday afternoon games day for the Love Poem Reading Contest, where the sexy might sneak under the wire and the too-saccharine might be amusing. The bad news is that I still don't have any great readings for the wedding per se.

I leave you with a good Ogden Nash poem that exemplifies the problem of finding something that's not a cliche. . . and still makes you smile at the end anyway.

Geniuses of countless nations
Have told their love for generations
Till all their memorable phrases
Are common as goldenrod or daisies.
Their girls have glimmered like the moon,
Or shimmered like a summer moon,
Stood like a lily, fled like a fawn,
Now the sunset, now the dawn,
Here the princess in the tower
There the sweet forbidden flower.
Darling, when I look at you
Every aged phrase is new,
And there are moments when it seems
I've married one of Shakespeare's dreams.

Bridezillas

2007-03-22T13:02:00.000-05:00

Several years ago an unnamed woman I know surprised me by being much more attached to various decorations and dress protocols in her wedding than I ever would have expected given her typically anti-typical nature . . . and I remember thinking to myself "Hmm, when faced with a wedding, apparently EVERYONE becomes a bride."

I like to think I'm doing alright at refraining from becoming a crazed bridezilla, with adamant needs and expensive tastes, but I was reminded of the above sentiment when I went in to have a manicure this week -- something I haven't done in several years -- and found myself at the front desk making appointments for hair cuts, facials, massages, manicures, and pedicures pretty much every week between now and May 12. Apparently we all have our bride-crazed weaknesses.

As I stood there going over my calendar, I flashed to an afternoon when I was 7 that I had not thought of since . . . well, perhaps ever. It was the afternoon of Dad and Amber's wedding. Amber, her mother, and I were all getting our hair done at Elizabeth Arden. Amber was also getting a manicure -- something I'd never heard of or seen before. But I knew right then and there, that I simply HAD to have one. It simply wasn't fair that I hadn't been signed up for this too.

I threw a crying fit, as only a 7-year-old can get away with, and Amber's mother took the logical, but thoroughly ineffective route of trying to reason with me. "I'll give you a manicure as soon as we get home," she said. But I wasn't having any of it.

I cried and stomped and cried some more until that manicurist decided to stay late, past closing time, to give the brat a manicure.

All of which is to say -- that while I think both Steve and I are managing to stay calm about this whole affair (Hey, we're letting the wedding party wear whatever they want! I mean, how low maintenance is that?) -- if I ever do seem to be demanding . . . a) I'm sorry and b) aren't you glad I've matured since I was seven??

We're in the New York Times!

2007-03-12T16:58:00.000-05:00

As anyone who has ever planned a wedding -- or anyone who has a friend to whom they listened for even two seconds on the subject -- knows, there is always a pull between what the bride and groom want, what their parents want, and even what their friends want. (I know of more than one case where a best friend never spoke to a bride again, because they didn't invite the right people, or didn't take their suggestion on buying the right dress, or, okay, in one case because the friend had just started dating the bride's recent ex.)

A minor example in our case was whether Steve and I wanted to send an announcement into the New York Times about our wedding. It was a parental suggestion, and not something we cared one way or the other about -- the subject was brought up once and we really haven't thought about it again. Until I came up with a brilliant way to circumvent the whole issue. . . just get ourselves interviewed for the New York Times wedding pages instead!

To read our brilliant comments on the subject of wedding planning in the March 11 issue of the New York Times, please read this Field Notes article from the Weddings and Celebrations section.

Don't Try This at Home

2007-02-20T16:28:00.000-05:00

Ever tried taking a diamond engagement ring through airport security, onto an overnight flight, through customs, onto a cab, high-speed train, another cab, to a hotel, into a safe, out of the safe, into a ski jacket, onto a ski lift, onto the slopes, down the slopes, up again a few times, and onto a woman's finger in 36 hours? Not so easy, I assure you.

The whole caper began quite innocuously with a plan, a plan to propose to the woman I love. The execution, however, well...therein lies the tale.

Like a good boyfriend, I of course had no idea what style of ring Karen liked. So I turned to 'the other man' - her best friend, Noah. While he dug through boxes of books looking for a note Karen scribbled years ago in a drunken haze, detailing her 'perfect ring', I took a crack at it myself and made my way to the Tiny Jewel Box, the one jewelry store I knew she loved. The three or four rings I noted seemed nice, her style.

A few days later, I returned to the TJB with Noah, my sister, Jennifer, and a credit card. Noah unleashed the note. Nothing like what I had picked. According to the drunken scrawl, she liked 'simple design. BIG ROCK! Square cut'. I had chosen 'elaborate design, SPARKLY PEBBLES, brilliant cut'. Shifting gears, I made a decision on an Asscher cut diamond in a simple U-shaped setting - that allowed you to see the whole stone - and a smooth band.

A couple weeks later, and one day before leaving for the ski trip, I had the (heretofore) uninsured Ring in hand and a few more moths flying out of the wallet. Let me tell you, nothing says 'easy mark!' in my DC 'hood than a jewelry-box-sized lump in the pocket and a quick step in the gait.

At the airport the next day, despite my protestations, the TSA security guard made me put The Ring through the X-ray machine. Now, call me crazy, but do women have to put their hands through the X-ray machine? Why do men with small jewelry boxes get singled out? Ponder, please. Despite the anxiety of being away from The Ring for 7.2 seconds, the guard gave me a wink and a 'nice job on the bling.' I felt ready for the 6 hour flight.

Onboard, the inside jacket pocket was checked every 2-3 minutes. I slept, Napoleon-esque, with my hand under the jacket. I'm sure no one noticed.

Finally in France, I was whisked to the Gare d'Lyon and onto the train down to the region Savoie with Karen and her parents. Upon greeting all at the train station, none suspected or felt the small, hard lump in the coat pocket.

In the hotel at last, I discovered the room's safe and its tendency to squeak when opened or closed. As it was positioned inches from the lavatory, I would have a helluva time accessing the thing any time Karen was in the room with me, which was basically every moment. Plans were made to 'huh, here's this safe again, cool' or 'oh wait, forgot my shoe. I'll be right back.' I knew the flimsy excuses couldn't last long. It had to be Day 1 that this Thing was distributed to the correct recipient.

Day 1 arrived, The Ring in ski jacket (removed from safe when Karen was washing her face), skis on feet. Plan: make our way to the top of one of the lifts where it would be sunny and warm and crowded with people and local photographers snapping touristy shots. Down on knee I'd go, box would be opened, people would ooh & ahh, Karen would tear up, photographers would go ape-s$%^, we'd ski into wedded (well, at least engaged) bliss, perfect plan.

Day 1: cold and completely shrouded in fog. Couldn't see 10 feet in front of you. I fell, face first, on the 2nd run - because I couldn't see the big mogul 10 feet in front of me. Heart in throat and snow in nose, I quickly checked The Ring box for any dents, abrasions, or missing rings. None found. All is well. The day wore on, no sun, no proposal. Lower down the mountain it was snowing, but who wants to get engaged at 3,000m when you can get engaged at 4,000m!! Higher up, the fog was primordial.

On the lift to our last run, the fog was so thick the cable disappeared into a gray void a few feet behind and in front of us. One or two voices could be heard in the distance. Were they below us? On the next car ahead? Was it us speaking? We couldn't tell. Off the lift, I decided, this has to be it. Karen's tired, skiing is useless. I am NOT going through with another day of room-safe shenanigans. About half-way down the route , we stopped to get our bearings, though none could be found: we were skiing through gray pea soup. I also couldn't hear any voices. Other than the one saying, 'Do it NOW. It's now or never. Or, at least...tomorrow.'

Heeding the voice, I removed the skis while Karen turned away, finding the trail markers. I removed The Ring from the jacket pocket and said, romantically, 'Hey, come over here.' I got down on one knee, on the side of some snowy mountain in southern France, enveloped in fog, not a soul for miles, as far as we could tell. Not a voice but mine asking Karen if she'd marry me.

She said, 'Oh oh, honey...what are you do- Holy ___ look at that ring!'

We skied down through the fog, back down the mountain to our warm, cozy room with an empty safe, and a new ring, firmly ensconced after a long journey home.

How We Met (Thank You, David Foster Wallace)

2007-02-15T18:14:00.000-05:00

It was a long-standing joke within my book club that I wanted to meet someone who had read Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace. If you've seen the book, there's a good chance that if you picked it up, you put it down just as quickly. It's 1200 pages long -- the last 200 of which are footnotes, those really annoying kind of footnotes that you actually have to READ to make sense of the story -- and it's a bit of a Joycian or Pynchon-like stream-of-consciousness ride.

Ten years ago, I read it in conjunction with a guy I was occasionally seeing at the time. A week after we each finished it, we stopped speaking to each other -- and so, for the next decade I searched for someone, anyone, who had read the book in order to discuss it and try to understand what the hell the whole thing had been about. I was, however, at a disadvantage, since one of my main questions about the book was whether it was even any good. Was it worth reading? So I couldn't honestly look at any of my friends and say, "Please read these 1200 pages, you'll be SO glad you did, and then we can talk about it."

Prospective beaux turned out to be the easiest targets. I'd mention it casually to men on first dates and they'd say "Oh, no problem, I'll read it!" and invariably they'd come back a few weeks later, slam the book down, and tell me that, sorry, I actually wasn't worth wading through all that denseness. One such guy was Mike Frizzell -- a guy who told me I wasn't worth the pain of Infinite Jest, but we ended up good friends nonetheless. He was in my book club. And the whole club knew that if ever, ever they met a guy who had read the tome, they had to send him my way.

One day in January of 2005, Mike was driving Steve -- whom he knew only casually -- to a group ski trip in West Virginia. Steve just happened to be reading, oh, Pynchon, in the back seat of the car. Mike said "You should try some David Foster Wallace for something really incomprehensible." And Steve said he'd already read Infinite Jest. Mike practically stopped the car. He looked into the rear view mirror -- and well, he said something indelicate about the ease of his friend Karen's virtue in the face of meeting a guy who'd read the book.

To me, Mike only said he happened to have met a physicist who had read Infinite Jest -- and then, despite my nudging him, took another 9 months before he managed to actually introduce us at a Halloween party.

The first words out of Steve's mouth when I met him were: "Yeah, I read it. I'm not really sure if it was worth it, though." And there it was -- the answer I'd waited for for ten years. No discussion needed. He summed it up in 5 seconds. Done. Our conversation really only lasted another three or four minutes.

Thankfully, Steve was standing outside as I left the party, and I handed him my business card without thinking much of it. And thankfully he called (surely NOT because of Mike's comment about my virtue, but because of my scintillating conversation skills). And thankfully we went on a date and had a fantastic time. And thankfully here it is a year and a half later. . .