Mom is on her way from Georgia right now, to pitch in with all our final-stretch projects. I'm very excited to see the dress she picked out, in her signature green, and to shop for shoes and accessories to go with it. I'm also excited to start chiseling away at many little worries and details, so that can we sail into October with not a care in the world!
Thursday p.m.: Pick up more wine samples. Shop at the craft store for hurricane lamps, floral supplies, wreath forms and picture frames. Discuss rehearsal dinner plans.
Friday noon: The Tasting!!!
Friday p.m.: Squeal with excitement about the food. Bask in the glow. Shop for shoes and accessories.
Saturday a.m.: Final fitting of our suits, meet with stylist. (You heard right: stylist.)
Saturday p.m.: Shop for cake stand (or appropriate supplies to make one). Paint flower pots and practice assembling centerpieces. Get a little drunk, then practice dancing.
Sunday a.m.: Site visit possible. Big breakfast with George Stephanopoulos on the tube much more likely.
I am so happy and grateful that we planned so much so early (and were such pains in the neck to so many vendors), because all these little tasks are just fun.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
The Weekend Only a Mother Could Love
Revised/Tentative Ceremony Music
Working with the brass quintet leader is fun. Starting with some raw ideas, we are shaping a great program together. The music - it is hoped - will suit the occasion and our taste as well as the enjoyment of the musicians. They should have fun, too, right?
Prelude: Three movements from Verne Reynolds (b. 1926) Suite for Brass Quintet.
Procession: One movement from Victor Ewald (1860-1935) Brass Quintent No. 1 in B-flat minor.
Psalm: "Boze! Boze! Písen novou" from Antonín Dvorák (1841-1904) Biblical Songs Op. 99.
Interlude: One movement from Paul Hindemith (1895-1963) "Morgenmusik."
Hymn: "Seek Ye First" by Karen Lafferty (b. 1948).
Recession: Three songs from Charles Ives (1874-1954) Four Songs for Brass Quintet.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Roommates Wanted
Over the last week or so, several people have asked me if I knew anyone who needed to share a room; I of course said I'd keep my ear out. And as I work diligently to play wedding guest matchmaker, I thought I'd open this post up for those who wish to bypass my immensely awesome skills.
So feel free to use the comment section to find your dream hotel-mate....
Thursday, August 14, 2008
My Turn
Emerson left yesterday for his bachelor party, much like I left him last month for Andrew's. I must admit, while I haven't become as stupid as he became without me, it's surprising how quickly the house feels empty, even with the zoo we currently have. It's nice to be able to make a full pot of coffee and know it will be consumed; I so made too much this morning. But that's ingrained behavior for you.
I have been able to distract myself, though, with thoughts of my own bachelor party! Unlike Emerson's mine does not involve hiking up a mountain without electricity. It does, however, involve burlesque. And 80s Night.
I also have like two days to figure out what I want inscribed inside Emerson's ring. He's thoughtful and sweet and I'm a cynical jackass. The only two things I've come up with are "Property of Michael" and "Last Chance For Love". This is causing me more stress than I imagined it would. Maybe I should conduct a Facebook poll...
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Journey to the Mountaintop
In 12 hours I leave for my no-doubt unmatchable bachelor weekend. (I neglected to include the committee in my Groomtourage post! Oops!) The high point (har har) of the weekend will be climbing 4,000 feet of Mount Moosilauke on Friday with some of my best friends.
Most of this trip will involve drinking whiskey and playing poker in a primitive cabin in the White Mountains. However, a couple of other incongruous highlights include catching a "reality chamber opera" called Tim Gunn's Podcast as well as a minor league ball game between the NH Fisher Cats and the Harrisburg Senators. A gay groom's bachelor party has to be a crazy pastiche, right?
As excited as I am about all that, there is one other planned activity that is really making my heart race.
Tomorrow afternoon, I'll be taking our two rings - which have hardly left our hands for two years - to be cut up, melted down, welded, sawed, shaved - whatever it is that the rocking jewelers at Little King want to do. And from two well worn, deeply loved rings we'll have two brand new deeply lovable wedding rings.
I have the inscription for Michael's ring on a post-it note in my wallet right now, I hope it's the right one!
(n.b. Ignore the date stamp on that photo - the picture is actually from Christmas 2006.)
Groomtourage
Marrying is a team sport. (Get ready for more sports metaphors, I'm high on the Olympics right now.)
Not only do you have your primary team-mate (him to whom you are affianced), but you get the opportunity to assemble a cracker-jack squad of specialists. Most of these specialists are creative types, and like elite athletes they must be handled with the utmost level of respect and attention.
Our team at this point consists of no fewer than seven farmers, seven musicians, five speechmakers, four declaimers, three therapists, two DJs, two chefs, two visual artists, two jewelers, a tailor, a stylist, a photographer, a choreographer, an administrative assistant and countless personal advisers.
Working with all these brilliant people is a privilege and a responsibility. One can smooth the path, in a way, by aiming low - that is, making all one's own creative decisions and employing mere technicians to execute them. But, we were dedicated to a "collaborative" approach from an early stage. We wanted each of these superstars to bring his or her own viewpoint, enjoyment and artistry to the task. Consequently, we are engaged in deep, sometimes delicate conversations with each of them.
The newest additions to our team are the brass quintet and the tailor. We have just exchanged our first rally of emails with the quintet's leader, Sandy, having started with a number of outlandish musical suggestions. Her response was very thoughtful and sensitive to our taste - which she clearly understood - and now we have parried with a new set list. Our goal is to find music that they are truly excited to play, because we believe that will bring out their best talents.
Mr. Tabet is our tailor, and he too brings not only a reputation for extraordinary skill, but also a strong viewpoint as to how our suits should look. With his strong but unidentifiable accent and hard but pitying glare, he barks out orders like the tiny Bela Karolyi of menswear. Our bill for his services is a little more than double the money we paid for our suits to begin with! Nonetheless, it is a true pleasure to see his experience and competence, and to know that we have avoided the sad fate of the Ukrainian athletes last Friday. 
You Should Be Dancing - Yeah! (We Should Maybe Not)
Last night was the third of our five foxtrot lessons. On the upside, we have a routine! It involves such colorful elements as a left-end leap, a sway and a bunch of twinkles. Fortunately, the leap does not involve leaping, and the twinkles do not involve jazz hands (or fingers in any way); on the other hand, the sway is much more complicated than it sounds, requiring something called "arm style."
Another upside is that we get to wear our fabulous new shoes. There is mine on the right. Gorgeous, right? Thanks, Nordstrom Anniversary Sale!
So, you may be asking, what is the downside of our foxtrot lessons? Well, we are just terrible. Yuliya, our adorable, sweet, brilliant teacher, will never tell us so, but we can see it in her eyes. Her voice may be saying "Slow, slow, quick-quick!" But, her eyes are saying, "You dance like a pair of lobotomized rhinos."
The other downside is the flop-sweat. Gross, I know. We are guilty of some combination trying too hard, dancing too fast and raw terror. Perspiration is a vicious cycle, too - the more you worry about it, the faster it comes. Do you think Botox is a terrible idea? How about a Karate Kid-style headband? Yes, Sensei!
Friday, August 8, 2008
Labor in the Vineyards of the Internet
Is it possible to get sick of wine? I mean, wine in general and in principle, not a particular wine.
I suppose there are those who have no love of wine, or elevated sensual experiences, or, you know, being alive. I cannot relate to those people. I am certainly not marrying any of them!
In addition to our well-documented quest for the right dinner wine (come over tomorrow for a tasting of the four finalists for Italian White of the Day), we are also planning a wine country honeymoon. So, I have spent many hours - in my predictable, pernickety way - studying all the vineyards and wineries of northern Sonoma and Mendocino counties to lay out an air-tight and endlessly thrilling itinerary.
For someone who lives in his head as much as I do, reading about wine is very enjoyable. It does not compare to direct experience, but the pleasure is not negligible.
Reading about the Vinicultural Areas we'll visit and the neighborhoods within them, and the vineyards of various sizes, various production and farming principles, different ownership schemes - I learned more planning this trip than I ever learned about wine just by tasting (and looking at labels) or studying a book. I learned a lot because I had to make so many decisions about what one could and should experience there.
Now, I have an idea what to look for when we go tasting. I know that in the Green Valley (which is part of the Russian River Valley, which is part of the Northern Sonoma AVA), we'll be tasting Pinot Noir and Chardonnay grown in the coolest, foggiest part of Sonoma. We'll be trying to mentally contrast what we taste with the Burgundian versions of those wines, and looking for the subtle differences among wines produced in a very tiny, somewhat homogeneous appellation.
I know that in the Dry Creek Valley, which is also part of the Northern Sonoma AVA, we will be tasting a lot of Zinfandel, the flagship grape of the area, which takes on an especially balanced and elegant character here due to the unusual combination of cool temperatures and bright sun (there is relatively little fog). We also know that in addition to Zinfandel, many producers are taking advantage of the climate and soil to produce Bordeaux- and Rhone-style wines.
I also know that we're visiting the one winery with a really good-looking owner.
And, I know that Route 128 between our B&B in Healdsburg and our oceanfront cottage in Elk is the Boulevard Champenoise, with sparkling Pinot and Chardonnay being tasted on both sides of the road, amid orchards and sheep pastures. I think that we should schedule our legal California wedding to take place on the same day that we guzzle a maximum amount of Anderson Valley bubbly.
All these words about wine remind me of the numerous studies that prove that expectations about a wine - or beliefs about its price - radically effect the way we taste it. I don't see that as a problem, necessarily, because it means that a good part of oenophilia is mental, and I can enjoy that part right here at my desk, whenever I please.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Philately Will Get You Everywhere
Emerson recently posted about how the post office is making our lives miserable. Briefly, our reply card is a post card and thus requires only 27 cents of postage, but the post office only makes horrible, ugly tropical fruit post card stamps valued at 27 cents. Tropical fruit, while nice, does not "fit" with our invitation, which has more of a, well, let's just say non-tropical feel.
So after going so far as to calling the post office to find out if they were planning on issuing any other 27 cent stamps in the near future, we realized we would either have give up and put on a first class stamp or come up with another solution. We, of course, came up with another solution since when it comes to the matrimonial-industrial complex failure is not an option.
One of us (probably Emerson) had the brilliant idea that, while first-class stamps today may be 42 cents, they weren't always. At some point in U.S. history, they must have been 27 cents! So the solution becomes simple: Find out when that is, travel back in time and buy up one hundred 27 cent stamps! And by "travel back in time", I mean look on eBay...
Well, it turns out that the U.S. never had a 27 cent stamp before 2008; but back in the early 1990s, during the introduction of self-adhesive stamps, first class postage was 29 cents. And that was close enough for us.
Our second mission was to find an acceptable image that would work stylistically with our invitation. In the early 90s, there were so many wonderful varieties of stamps to choose from! Ducks! Thomas Jefferson! Eagles! More ducks! Squirrels! Wood ducks! Hearts! Various Olympic sports! We ultimately chose a stamp that went very well with our evergreen motif: a pine cone!
Our third mission was to find a seller, or sellers, who had 100 of these stamps from 1993, un-used, at a reasonable price. A book of 29 cent stamps is valued at $5.80 and a book of 42 cent stamps is valued at $8.40. So as long as we kept the price under $8.40 a book, we were spending no more than our most expensive 2008 option, which was a regular old Liberty Bell stamp. And unbelievably, we succeeded. Some guy in Michigan had 5 books of pine cone stamps from 1993 and he was selling them for only $7.50! And with a "bulk order" we only paid $1.00 for shipping! Score!
Grand total: 38.5 cents! To mail a post card. Because the idea of putting a kiwi on my beautiful reply card was so horrific that it gave me nightmares for a week.
And this is to what the matrimonial-industrial complex has reduced us.
UPDATE: Over drinks last night, Emerson pointed out that there were only 18 stamps in the books that we bought, not 20. That actually brings our total per stamp price, after shipping, to 43 cents! So I guess we didn't win, except insomuch as we refused to kowtow to the post office's cruel choice of stamps and ended up getting exactly what we wanted. And if you really stop to think about it, it was only an extra dollar over first class postage, and only $16 more than post card rates. And that's only like half a table-cloth!
It Is Cordial, and It Is on the Way
There's no turning back now . . . invitations are in the mail! They are coming to you complete with carefully selected ink and paper, obsessively guarded design motifs, potentially confusing artwork and 1.4 ounces of pure love. Oh, and vintage postage stamps. But more on that in another post!
Click through for a sneak preview of what you'll find in your box on Saturday.
The surprise visual theme is evergreens - specifically longleaf pine and rosemary. These plants are not only symbolic (in a rather obvious way) but they can be associated with each stop on our journey, from New Hampshire to Fire Island to the Shawangunks to the Piedmont. Thanks again to our geniuses, David and Anders, who - by creating such a fantastic invitation - have set expectations very high for everything else!
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Well, Would You Look at That?!
We have already previewed the cool, stylish, eminently helpful info sheet that will be enclosed with our invitations. Those bad boys have since been redesigned and vastly improved (thanks, Dave!) and are headed by FTP to the offset printer as we speak.
For those of you who cannot wait a week, or those of you who won't be getting an invitation (sorry - we're just not that into you), Organic Gardening magazine has published a two-page round-up of cool spots in the now-hot town of Durham, NC! It even features our wedding site and caterer . . .
I don't know whether I should be sad or happy that this is 90% identical to what we'll be sending out. It does have the effect of making us look particularly uncreative. Then again, we did produce our thing first!
Also, our maps will be far more useful. These cartoony schematic maps make me a little crazy. If one were navigating town in a helicopter, rather than a rented car, they would do some good. And it's not just magazines that fake the maps - chambers of commerce across the country are doing the same thing. Let me just say, our Cape Cod "map" caused us more than a negligible amount of heartache.
And, maybe it's not Organic Gardening's mission to do so, but they have missed an important part of Durham culture - even for the casual visitor - by failing to mention baseball at all. One of the very coolest things about this town is its devotion to the Bulls, which far outstrips its support of the Blue Devils.
Parting Gifts
I hate terrorists.
Oh, I'm sure some of them are really nice if you get to know them before they blow something up. And certainly their mothers' probably think they're sweet. But those adoring maternal types might think differently if they realized how their terrorizing children are mucking up my perfect day. (You'll see why in a minute).
Now as many of you know, one of the customary wedding-y things is to give a little thank you for trekking all the way out here and buying us a place-setting gift to all of your guests. A sort of thank you for playing, you've been great sort of dilly. These are usually a) edible, b) emblazened with the couple's name and date, lest you forget who they are or to send them an anniversary present, c) breakable, or d) all of the above. Emerson and I, not wanting to be left out, have been agonizing over what to give. Weddings we've attended have had everything from candies, to flower bulbs, to custom beer bottles. But unless you own an engraving company that makes wedding trinkets, the cost quickly increases.
Plus, we have a pathological desire to be different.
And since everything else in this wedding seems to be homemade, why not the parting gift? We weighed our options and came up with, what I think is the coolest idea ever. Recently I've taken to pickling (hey, everyone needs a hobby). I've pickled everything I can get my hands on at the farmer's market and as far as edible, inexpensive, DIY gifts go, you can't go wrong with pickles! A mason jar, a cute hand-written label, a little raffia around the rim and voila! All you need is some fresh produce and penchant for boiling vinegar and you've got yourself a thoughtful, unique, and useful gift.
Except there are terrorists.
Since nearly everyone is flying and with the airlines getting all bitchy and beginning to charge for checked luggage, we're betting that a good number of guests will not be checking any bags. And since some jackass terrorist somewhere got the bright idea to hypothesize that he could make a bomb out of mixing liquids, guess what you can't bring onto a plane? Pickles. Which are floating in a sea of liquid.
So instead of spending the next 72 days slaving over a hot stove making pickles and jam that people are either not going to take or going to take because they are polite but will leave in the hotel room or are going to take but have them confiscated by the TSA, I'm going to bitch about how much I hate terrorists and their imaginary, hypothetical, unrealistic plots to destroy us, and the irrational, infantile, pointless steps our retarded government is taking to make me "feel safe" when in reality all it is doing is inconveniencing me and RUINING MY PERFECT DAY!
Friday, July 25, 2008
No Wonder Postal Workers Go Crazy!
We are shopping for stamps. Our reply card - because we are pennywise - is a postcard.
Our postage options for this item are:
Tropical Fruit
or
Bighorn Sheep plus American Clock.
VS. 
+ 
Why, Postmaster? Why? We would have settled for a plain American flag, or a white rectangle with a number on it.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Of Vase and Pens
I may have announced already - and somewhat triumphantly - that we are past the "planning" stage and entering the "execution." (The equivocation is intentional.)
It has actually been rather difficult to write entertaining, interesting and meaningful blog posts during this phase. It's hard to imagine that anyone would want to hear about our quest for the right flower bowls (footed compote or tole basket?), choosing the right pens for addressing invitations (brown ink - fine point - but not too fine), or yet another disquisition on matching shoes to belts (although - I GOT 'EM!).
This final phase is what separates grooms from Groomzillas.
One, of course, wishes to measure one's neuroses against others'. In this way, one could detect a "norm." There are virtually no friends, colleagues or (certainly) mothers who will ever tell you to your face that you're being crazy or - likeliest of all - annoying. I find myself wondering, "Is that a phony smile? Or are my envelopes genuinely fascinating?"
It is the beauty of the blogosphere, I suppose. No one will read these ramblings unless they are truly amazed (or worried?) by the involuted decision-making apparatus of this groom's addled brain.
To summarize: this week we finalized our invitation design, ordered envelopes and a return-address stamp, bought pens and ink, picked up our SHOES, paid the deposit for musicians, booked bachelor party travel, rescheduled our dance lesson and stared glassy-eyed at the shelves of a craft store.
This is life in the minutiae lane!
A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Chuppah
It's not just beautiful in principle that Massachusetts allows all loving, committed couples to get married. Massachusetts also has Cape Cod, which is arguably the most gorgeous place in the USA for a wedding.
Last weekend we attended our first two-groom wedding, and it took place at the Heritage Museum and Gardens in scenic Sandwich. Andrew and Ethan are true-blue New Englanders, and I would describe the Cape as a setting custom-made for them. (I would not describe Cape roads as custom-made for Michael behind the wheel of a convertible Mustang, but that's a story for another day.)
I'll admit to being a little nervous about going to a gay wedding for the first time. My fear, I suppose, was that I would see people treating it as a "pretend" wedding, which is a fear I have about our wedding. In my anxious mind I hear patronizing voices say, "Aw, isn't that cute." There are still some people close to us who hesitate to use the W word, preferring to say, "big day," or just "event."
I was not just relieved but thrilled to see that my fears were unfounded. The wedding was absolutely authenticated by the grooms' obvious and total devotion to one another. There was no one who wasn't swept up in the feeling.
Michael read a surprisingly poetic passage from the Massachusetts Supreme Court decision known as Goodridge, the decision which made marriage equality a reality in that state. He couldn't quite keep his composure (he may kill me for posting this picture), but that turned into a lovely moment, with the grooms and their attendants and all the congregation feeling the power and liberation that had been achieved. There was nary a dry eye.
The reception was among the most fun I've yet enjoyed. Again, it was the grooms' total joy and love that gave the party such festivity. I am still glowing, five days later. The emotional pinnacle was Ethan's father's toast, delivered with an unrelenting catch in his voice - I believe there were more tears than champagne in my glass. What I experienced reinforced so strongly that a wedding is truly an act by and for families.
I feel as if we've crossed a threshold now. Not only are we on the inexorable Black Diamond slope toward our own wedding, but we've witnessed first-hand the institution we desire so much to join. It just occurs to me now that Andrew and Ethan are my new role models! They are not the first to blaze this trail, but for me they are my nearest and favorite exemplars. What a privilege it is to follow their steps.
Thanks to Jen and her mad skillz (and her magic camera) for these snaps!
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
A Little Soft-Shoe Gentle Sway
As you may have gathered, we are not having a traditional wedding. Well, let me rephrase that: we are having a traditional wedding in the sense that we are retaining all the important elements of the marriage rite that connect us to our religious and cultural heritage. We are not retaining a good portion of the frivolities that come with the matrimonial industrial complex such as cake cutting, wedding parties, DJs with microphones and the chicken dance.
However for some reason, which neither one of us can remember, we kept the "first dance". Probably because it truly is a first dance, since Emerson and I have never danced together. Ever. That's not how we roll.
But nothing we do is ever easy. Our song is not a Bryan Adams pop ballad; it is Gershwin tune from an obscure 50s movie musical starring Bob Fosse, so two dudes swaying back and forth with their hands on each others' hips like they're dancing to "Yesterday" in the gym at their junior prom ain't gonna cut it.
Enter Yuliya...
Last week we sucked it up and laid out a hunk of cash to Yuliya, a Ukrainian baby doll who is going to teach us how to Foxtrot and choreograph a little routine for us. It'll be like if Pasha danced with Dmitry, only if Pasha and Dmitry were ten years older, 40 pounds heavier and didn't know how to dance. If we were in front of the judges, Mary Murphy would be like: "The way you're moving into your moves like your fall-away split pivot over-spin into your throw-away? Is it working for me? No, it isn't. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to kick you off the hot tamale train."
Anyway, as you can imagine, there are, um, problems. Mostly with Emerson. First of all, I know a thing or two about Dance. I took ballroom dance classes in college and used to go salsa dancing in grad school (read "used to go" as "went once"). Emerson, on the other hand, has two gigantic left feet. So with my loads of experience and Emerson's lack of talent, I am a natural choice to lead.
But all of you astute readers out there are saying "Wait a sec! If you lead, doesn't that mean Emerson has to follow?!" Oh yes, boys and girls. It does. And I'm not convinced Emerson has followed anything in his life. Instructions. Directions. The clearly marked trails in the woods. Yuliya is not convinced either. We're trying to practice our one-two-quick-quicks and he's dragging me around, looking over his shoulder, paranoid that I'm going to dance him into a chair. And I just might do if he continues to be such a bad dancer.
So if we survive these dance lessons which are clearly a metaphor for our relationship vis a vis trust, control, communication and compatibility, we will have an awesome first dance. If not, one of us will clearly end up dead.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Why Get Married?
It's not uncommon for us to be asked why we are getting married in North Carolina. From friends and family as well as strangers. I suppose the reasoning goes, why get married if the government doesn't recognize it; if it isn't legal? Sometimes the question is a little more crass - why get married if it doesn't really mean anything?
Most people don't get asked that question. They'll get asked, why are you marrying so-and-so? Or why haven't you two gotten married yet? Or, do you plan on getting married someday? But not, why get married if it's pointless?
As a result, I have had the opportunity over the last five years to think about marriage a lot, which has required that I make explicit what most people intuitively understand about marriage, but never examine or articulate. Despite this silence, there is something about marriage that makes us want to go so far as to amend the Constitution over it.
This is a good opportunity for me to try to explain, for you and for myself, exactly why Emerson and I are spending so much time and energy and money on what a majority of the country sees as nothing but a big party. So.... why are we getting married?
Because marriage is important.
And contrary to what you might hear from the ironically named Focus on the Family, it is not important because of babies. Certainly babies are a key component but when you want to create a family you don't start from scratch, building one up de novo, just like GM doesn't reinvent the wheel every time they design a new car. I already have a family and so does Emerson. The second we get married, though, we have created a new family, not from the mysterious ether of our love, but by joining our previously independent families together.
The family really is the basic building block of society; just look at any of the numerous European interbred monarchies and you can get a glimpse of why uniting two individuals unites whole swathes of people. And that is important because we are fragile organisms. We need other people to survive. If something happens to one of us, we are not living in a vacuum, a happy unit of two charging against the world. I no longer only have the support of my family, but his family as well, which is, of course, no longer my family and his family but our family. And that support is not really optional. Families, unlike knitting clubs and drinking buddies, have a binding responsibility for one another.
That is how I view marriage. Marriage is responsibility. And not just for us to be responsible for each other but for society to be responsible for us.
And the reason that we are getting married, even if it doesn't "mean anything" in North Carolina, is that marriage is not a private matter between two consenting adults who should have the right to do whatever the hell they want. Marriage is a public affair. We certainly don't need a marriage certificate to tell the world that love and care for each other, or that we plan to spend the rest of our lives inseparable. Spend three minutes with us and I think you'll figure it out.
No, we are getting married because we are asking for you to be responsible for our union. And that's an intuitive thing. If your best friend tells you he's breaking up with his girlfriend, you'd be curious and maybe a little concerned but it's his life and it isn't working out. But if he tells you he's thinking of divorcing his wife? He better have a damn good reason. Emerson is not my boyfriend. And we want you to know that.
For the rest of the world, society is ready to jump in and do just that, and that's why we have both civil and religious marriage. But Emerson and I don't have that formalized support. Our community (in the form of the State of North Carolina) won't offer that to us, but that cannot and will not stop us from asking for it. If it can't be from the state then it will be from our own community of family and friends, and before God (and on a goat farm).
We are also not forging a new path, creating something new and different and revolutionary. What we are doing is deeply rooted in tradition and in the human psyche. And as we are asking society to take responsibility for us, we in turn have a responsibility to enter into marriage. Marriage is so vital to human society, so vital to the kingdom of God, that we cannot allow ourselves to be given a free pass from that immense responsibility. The "benefits" we would get from legal marriage are of little importance when you compare them to pleasure and sacrifice and comfort and responsibility of entering fully into the most ancient and sacred of human traditions.
Emerson is not my boyfriend and he is not my partner. But I cannot truly call him my husband until that promise is witnessed. The wedding rites will not be created fresh to fit our particular wants precisely because marriage is not something that we desire; it is a necessity. And it is not within the power of the government to deny us participation in that rite because it transcends the state as it transcends us.
And that is why we are getting married. Well, that and the kick-ass party.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Brassy
So, since we got engaged . . . Okay, I'll stop there. I was about to tell a lie.
Since well before we got engaged, I have wanted a brass quintet to play for the wedding. Through all our many hair-brained ideas and scouted locations, I imagined live brass in each of them. Almost nothing could be more extravagant, and make even a little picnic on a goat farm into an elegant and uplifting occasion.
Well, we got one! Miraculously, we can afford it.
But that's hardly half the story.
I would say I know more about modern and contemporary chamber music than the average person. Which is not saying much. I am certainly no connoisseur. Those people are crazy. But I know enough to name a half-dozen important composers I admire and pieces that move me. I have known for years that I wanted a brass quintet with the talent and flexibility to play something fresh and unexpected. No Pachelbel, no Vivaldi, no Titanic.
I thought that graduate students (or talented college students) would be ideal for this. They are hungry for opportunities to perform and make a little money, and they have a still-youthful passion for music that might broaden their palate. And, let me tell you that "contact your local college" is the most prevalent piece of advice in budget/DIY wedding guides. So, obviously people have done this with some success!
Knowing that our local "kudzu league" university has a pretty strong music program and a renowned student orchestra, I sent an email to their student president (it operates as both a curriculum and a club). He replied within a couple of days, and forwarded my request to the whole wind orchestra. I got two nibbles from individual musicians (a trombonist and a flautist, which . . . anyway), and one very promising reply from a young man leading a brass quintet of his own!
As you can imagine, I replied right away, and enthusiastically. But then - surprise, surprise - only silence for several weeks. I left messages on his cell and at his home, I sent probably six emails. Finally, we spoke.
All my hopes for a cheap-yet-boundlessly-creative student ensemble were dashed.
Not only was this group of students wildly more expensive than the highest estimated price I had encountered for professionals, but they really couldn't play anything other than standard boring wedding fare. Or, more accurately, "Faire," as they also specialized in Renaissance weddings.
Finding myself back at square one, I followed up with some students who had replied to my initial request, but found silence there as well. Undoubtedly, because it's summer, they were off doing exciting things in Malawi and at various law firms.
I contacted a well-known trumpeter, recommended to me by our dear and lovely soprano vocalist (more about her later), but after a month of waiting, he replied that he would be playing another wedding that day, and that three of the five members of his ensemble would be otherwise engaged, as well.
Finally, seeing no other options - and coming to peace with a brass-less wedding - I called the music booker recommended by our caterer. As you can imagine, lacking faith in our caterer, I had avoided taking this recommendation. I assumed the booker would offer us something both expensive and uninspiring.
Oh, was I wrong.
The booker was absolutely delightful. Professional, respectful, prompt and efficient. when I told her our budget she firmly committed to find us a quintet for "a lot less," and she did. Hallelujah!
But what I had not foreseen was that my above-average yet quite-limited knowledge of music would be called upon immediately, and quickly proven inadequate. The quintet needs a set list in just a few days, at the same time we send our deposit. We have an idea what "sound" we want, but can we (could we ever) possibly come up with a specific list of pieces?
Let me admit that very little good work has come out of my office these past two days, although I look as studious as a philomath in my office with the door closed. Am I busily writing proposals? No, sir. I am listening to the great works of Adams, Barber, Copland, Dahl, Ewald, Ives, Ligeti and dozens of obscure others, in order of descending popularity.
I am trying to guess which string quartets, which saxophone concertos, which piano sonatas will easily and beautifully transmogrify into brass chorales. Of course, I have no idea what this group of musicians can play or are willing to arrange or learn.
But there are two things I am sure of: we are having a brass quintet at our wedding, and I know more about modern chamber music than I ever imagined, but still a little less than those nutty fanatics.
Papercuts
Last weekend, another pair of dear friends came down from New York to keep us company. One will be a reader during our wedding ceremony, and the other will be designing our invitations. We have written a lot about his talent already.
I suppose, as of this week, I shouldn't say, "he will be designing," but "he is designing." The work of design is intense and arduous. We spent three hours on Saturday mostly looking at fonts and typing our names over and over. Minute differences in the shape of the serif or the height of the small-caps make a visible difference.
Awesomely, we found the "look" that suits us and our celebration best. It fits our country style, patriotic motif and old-fashioned-casual aesthetic. I wish I could share it! But I'll wait until the invitations are in the mail, so I don't spoil the surprise.
Meanwhile, I'll share something cool that's also going in the envelope.
We know that many couples like to provide their out-of-town guests with guidance and information. How else would they know where to brunch?! But our impulse is to plan, plan and plan some more. So, with the help of our designer, we'll be making a cool orientation packet to send along with the invitation, and here's a little snapshot:
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Beta-Blockers
So I have been to a fair number of weddings this summer. The time it takes me to go from entering the wedding to crying tears of happiness is proportional to the number of days until my wedding, as the various brides and wedding guests can surely attest to. Probably a photographer or two as well. I am increasingly worried for my own pending nuptials.
I didn't used to be like this. I was a cynical, heartless viper when it came to all things treacle*. But now, for the love of God, I am an emotional wreck. I'm even crying right now. Seriously. It's a good thing I have my office to myself. I am truly afraid that I am not going to be able to get through the processional without my face becoming puffy and bloated from the floodgates of joyful emotion. So I need a pro-active solution
I could try yoga or meditation or some other new-agey homeopathic touchy-feely garbage. But not only am I highly skeptical of anything remotely connected to mindful breathing or southern California, that stuff is, like, time-consuming. I believe in the quick fix; better living through modern chemistry. And here-in lies the problem.
They don't make don't-cry-at-your-own-wedding drugs. I know. I've looked.
I suppose social anxiety medicine would work but I know a guy who took propranolol before a public speaking event and, well, let's just say it was less than ideal. So maybe I'll just pop a few xanies right before and hope for the best. It's not like I have to remember anything more complicated than "I do."
*This might not be entirely accurate. Some of you may remember the time(s) when I (theater geek alert!) sobbed uncontrollably when Gavroche was shot. And maybe Fantine. And others. But I did not, I repeat, did not cry during Miss Saigon. A boy must have standards.
