Amenable to Anything

Dear The Knot,

WTF.

Your fiance comes from the same mold as most other fiances on this planet: He sort of knows what he wants in a wedding and truly tries to get involved now and then -- but he's often too lazy or distracted to follow through with plans. ... Here's the trick with this kind of groom: Even though he wants to be involved, he can't really hack a 50-50 contribution ... you don't want to force him to make too many decisions on his own, which could result in him resenting you and shutting down completely. So hit the wedding circuit together ... Then sit down with him and go over the things he loved and absolutely hated, so you'll both get a clear idea of what it is he's hoping for in a wedding. You'll need to do the work, but he'll appreciate that you're actually interested in his opinion.

WTF Knot.

These are the results 2E's and I got -- on separate occasions -- when we answered a few questions as part of the What Kind of Groom Is He quiz.

"Your groom is amenable to anything." Really? That's what I get? Not, like, "Your groom is in the 99% percentile so chill," or "Your groom is likely to chronicle your wedding adventures in a satiric blog." Amenable to anything? "Resenting you and shutting down completely?" Seriously?

Perhaps I was too honest on the first go-round. Perhaps I didn't give myself enough credit. So I went back and reviewed the questions again -- this time bubbling in those answers that a Super Groom might select. 

And I got the same friggin' response.

So what's up Knot? I'm not one for conspiracy theory, but it seems like nothing is good enough. It seems like you're embedding in your web browsing brides a sense of empowerment and groom mothering. It seems as if you're saying, across the board, "If you wanna do something right, ladies, you gotta do it yourself."

Well this groom is not amenable to partial quizzes. How 'bout them apples.

Here's the trick with this kind of groom: there is no trick. If your groom asked you to marry you as you two were idling in your car between the cash and pick-up drive-thru windows, then you can probably expect laziness and distraction. If not -- if you're settling down with someone who's got half a brain and an ounce of chivalry, then a 50-50 contribution is totally reasonable. Hell - it's mandatory. So don't expect any less, and hopefully he'll meet you at LEAST 40-60. And maybe you can let that slide on account of the kick-ass proposal he put together.

A First Impression

Much of the inspiration for our wedding has come from our predecessors, our ancestors and other -ors that have made a serious impact in the wedding world ...

... but then again, it's turned on us. It's forced us to question ourselves and our taste -- to ask the question, "Is our style really so outdated?" So outdated, even, that we couldn't find the benefit in these tried and true rituals?

The groom-in-his-undies ceremony

The only-the-groom-is-naked ceremony

And, of course, the ceremonial naked dwarf

Whatever it is, whatever the reason for our sudden lack of good taste, we've had to start coming up with ideas of our own. 

::shudder::

When it came to the out-of-towner gift baskets (because nothing is more welcoming in a strange hotel room than fresh towels, fresh sheets and a decorative bag of randomness), 2E's and I knew there were a few routes we could take, and whatever route we decided upon would determine our guests' first impressions. Would they hate us? Envy us? Admire us? Pity us? Pity 2E's more than me? I more than she?

All good questions. 

Here are three possible approaches we're currently toying with:

The Sweet Approach

The only thing you want your guests thinking as you lead the recessional, strutting down the aisle as the new Mr. and Mrs., is - Oh, aren't they just the sweetest couple? - and the sensible means to that end is sugar. 

While doing some online shopping last month, 2E's and I came across the Superior Nut Store* (we love websites with informative names), a blend of delight and torture that offers almost too much goodness: jordan almonds, espresso beans, chocolate-covered sunflower seeds, chocolate-covered pretzels, chocolate-covered gummie bears and eight hundred (approximate) other non-chocolate sweets that they've purposefully dipped in chocolate.

The Superior in their name most likely comes from the 25 variations of dried fruit (goji berries, left), the Turkish as well as non-Turkish pistachios, and an entire page of their site devoted to nut paste. Plus it's all bulk. And the pecans come "mammoth"-sized. And there's coffee cake. And of all these things, tucked away in each decorative bag of randomness, are the perfect rush for your jet-lagged, glucose-starved guests.

The Can You Handle It Approach

In the five or so years we spent in New York City, 2E's and I managed to befriend almost every hardcore club promoter in the city. What began as "our friend Hank who goes clubbing a lot" turned into a rolodex of names connected to the hottest and oftentimes skankiest clubs in Manhattan and the Mariners Park corner of Staten Island.

So one possible route is to get in touch with all of our old friends at Dirty Secrets and Club Hawt and Skank Heaven 24/Seven and get them to FedEx us a few boxes of VIP passes to some of the hottest and undoubtedly unattractive clubs in the tri-state area. Sure, we want our guests to be comfortable at all times, but we also want them to jump into the New York City lifestyle headfirst and get a taste of the "real" Manhattan ... the one on the far west end of 28th Street across from the high school ... or the even "realer" Manhattan down that back alley by the seaport. No, the other back alley. The one with the -- yes, that one. 

The You'll Love Us Then You'll Hate Us Approach

What's even better than the complimentary bag of randomness that mysteriously key-carded its way into your hotel room prior to your arrival? A puppy. 

Your guests are too good for superior nuts? Then a 5-week-old golden retriever should do the trick. 

Oh man, they're going to love you ... straight through the rehearsal dinner and the ceremony and the reception ... right until the Sunday morning brunch when they realize that the dog wasn't a rental or a cutesy hotel amenity ... when they realize that they actually have to cargo it, take it home, feed it, love it, care for it ... they'll name it Wedding Gift or Stupid Wedding Gift so they'll always remember where it came from ("Hey, Stupid Wedding Gift, come get your stupid food."). 

But man oh man will they love you that weekend. They really, really will.


*In their infinite sweetness, The Superior Nut Store has offered 2E's and I a generous helping of gummie bears in exchange for this post. In other words, there's likely to be several "getting-ready" portraits featuring my groomsmen and I gorging ourselves on rainbow-colored preservatives.

Ya'll Have Boring Taste

While our invites, sealed and stamped and scented with Irish Spring soap, are sitting in the neighborhood post office awaiting departure, 2E's and I thought we'd revamp our gift registry. We flipped through the summer Crate&Barrel and CB2 catalogs, adding these and removing those and rethinking some bowls that we weren't quite settled on in the first place.

And it was just then -- mid-bowl rethinking -- that I realized about our own list what I had realized about every other gift list that I'd ever seen. This shit's kind of boring.

Minus the cool rug and the hot espresso machine (and perhaps the 6-slice toaster oven), most of the items we've "asked for" are simple, white, clean, neat, plain. Boring.

And it's the same exact feeling that I've had before ... when a friend or relative or co-worker's gotten hitched ... and I've browsed their list a little too last minute and thought, Are you friggin' kidding me? All that's left on here is a skillet and a salt shaker?! I don't want to buy them that crap! They'll remember me as that-guy-who-got-a-free-dinner-and-got-us-salt-and-a-skillet.

But you, dear guy who got a free dinner, should get them that skillet. Don't hesitate. Because the groom half of the equation has been waiting for that skillet for something like 14 months, cause the one he has now is handed-down scrap metal, and he'll be pleased as punch when he sees it (salt shaker included). And the bride has had her eyes on that slate cheese board for, like, forever.

So the products lack excitement, but that's okay. It's only because, when young couples do have money to spare, they don't spend it wisely. We don't spend it on commonsensical items like spoons and salad spinners. Hell no. We spend it on new MacBooks and new cars and plane tickets. And we're content to sit at our new MacBooks, eating soup with a fork and picking through wet lettuce.

So it's time 2E's and I got just a little boring. It's time our dinner plates and drinking glasses matched. And if you're somehow pickier than we are, you better jump on that espresso machine.

Why Skype Saved Our Wedding, Pt 2

The ceremony inevitably sets the tone. In any wedding I've ever attended (like in any movie you've ever seen) the actual dialogue of the ceremony, of the opening act, is what makes or breaks the wedding.

(Okay, it probably can't break the wedding, you know, but the reception might evolve into chicken dancing and teething garters and potentially end in much-too-literal Donna Summer hits.)

The best thing about having 2E's uncle as our officiant is how invested he is in the role: he's seeking out advice from his own pastor; turning to philosophical reading material for inspiration; and asking us to play a huge part in his preparation.

Phill hopped on the web-cam with us last week to discuss our initial ideas about the wedding and to tell us what he thinks his role entails. Best of all, he's respectful -- it's true that our religious beliefs don't necessarily mesh with his, and that's okay. We address love rather than religion. Faith in each other as opposed to faith in a higher power. Phill's given us questions to ponder and passages to write -- wedding homework, if you will -- and he wants our vows to shape the text. It's exactly what we were looking for and precisely what our ceremony needs to become a solid jumping off point.

Here's to making a great movie.

In Good Company

Last night 2E's and I had the good fortune to attend a little get-together with some old friends, one of whom was celebrating his 40th birthday. Because we were the youngest couple there (maybe by five or six years), the guests -- oftentimes inquisitive strangers -- all took turns quizzing us about our wedding, and luckily we're in a place now where we can talk about the wedding with smiles on our faces...

...as opposed to last month, when someone would ask So how's the planning going? and I'd look at 2E's and 2E's would look at me, she'd do this nervous little laugh, and then we'd both just sigh and, when the person who posed the question started to look really uncomfortable, one of us would force the other one to say, Oh, it's Goood ... like Good but with that extra o so you know it's total bullshit.

But like I said -- that was last month and this is this month and so we were happy to play the part of "cute young couple on the road to matrimony" and spew out details left and right and soak up words of wisdom from some of the other guests ... wisdom like Don't let people strong-arm you, especially in the days right before the wedding, when they think you'll cave in for any crap they throw at you ... wisdom like Trust me, I've been married four times, and you just have to find that one person. Lucky for you two, it looks like you already found that person.

Overall it was nice to be in the company of a few married couples for the night (married couples who we aren't related to) and refreshing that these couples, as one single fellow happened to mention, make being marriage and parenthood seem pretty cool. And not, like, the end.

Then we said our goodbyes, drove home and did what all the other married couples did: we stumbled inside and crashed on account of two too many vodka gimlets.