When James Bennett, Firefly Events' CBPO (Chief Bachelor Party Organizer) and all-around savior of men, tells you that he approves of your bachelor party, you don't take that compliment lightly. James' idea of a good time is making root beer on a stripper cruise; sword fighting after a 4-hour wine tasting; and paint-balling magicians. While bungee jumping. James has done and will do it all for the benefit of mankind and man's right to one final evening(s) of unadulterated fun.
So when James posted a snippet from our own Bachelor Party hijinks on the FireFly blog, I had to share the news with Best Man Justin. Apparently I'm not the only one who values a weekend spread across two states and two National Preserves, crammed with rock climbing, ATVs, gambling and a visit to the classiest country club I've ever seen.
Please check out FireFly's post here ... and if you missed the Bachelor Party post, feel free to scroll down or click here.
cheers,
madman
September 28, 2010
September 24, 2010
Bachelor Party Wrap-up
Disclaimer: For the safety and by the request of those involved, all questionable actions, events and occurrences have been substituted with less questionable actions, events and occurrences. Those changes are reflected in bold. Most events have been omitted altogether.
-----
Two days before departing for my Bachelor Party, I received a rather cryptic voicemail from the party organizer, famed Santa Monica booze critic and Best Man Extraordinaire, Justin Fair:
We're going to pick you up. At your house. At 11am. On Thursday.
Bring nice clothes. Bring swimming trunks. Bring desert clothes. Bring suntan lotion. Bring blankets. Or a sleeping bag. Or blankets. Bring $20 in pennies. And bring your good wit. And good will.
That's it.
What did most these things have in common? Not a damn thing. But I packed in blind faith, throwing both dapper dress shirts and dirt-stained cargo pants into a duffel bag. Leaving LA in a rental car with a max speed of 65, we began the trip with a riveting game of 20 Questions.
Odin: Is it a solid?
Patrick: Yes.
Odin: Is it long?
Patrick: Yes.
Odin: Does it require batteries?
Patrick: Yes.
Odin: Ooo, ooo. I know. It's a remote control.
And so on. And after 3 hours of that, we arrived at our first destination: Joshua Tree National Park, the reliable decoy that Justin and I had employed last June. We spent the afternoon and the following morning climbing up and sliding down rock faces, skirting birth and appreciating some outstanding views of the park. And talking about kittens.
After seeking out the prime camping spot, and after realizing that we'd packed a tent bag sans tent poles, we dug up our scouting and survival techniques, fashioned a rope from a jagged rock to the antenna on the rental car that we then looped through the tent fabric, and built a campfire. While Odin prepared the most amazing meal of sausages, potatoes, beans and peppers, the rest of drank lots of Mike's Hard Lemonade and talked about The Jonas Brothers.
The next morning, en route to Vegas, we stopped at the Carousel Diner in Twentynine Palms for a $3.50 pancake-sausage-and-egg breakfast (with the exception of Patrick, who is too good for bargains) and the historic Kelso Depot, where we discovered an abandoned post office, a life-size replica of the elusive Desert Tortoise, and a bunch of old luggage. We Neil Young-ed through the Mojave National Preserve, past plains of white mush and deserted pink shacks, and made it to Vegas around 2PM -- with just enough time to check in at the Paris, check out the room, have a slice of bread and be at the hotel's rear entrance at 3PM.
The fourth surprise of the trip (the first being the Josh Tree; the second being some righteous, personalized coffee mugs filled to the brim withJohnnie Walker Texas Ranger; and the third being a set of kick-ass, custom-made The Groom Says ball caps that my brother Javier had made specifically for our trip) turned out to be an ATV tour about 45 minutes outside of Vegas in a small town called Logandale. For two hours, Justin, Patrick, Odin and I rode at mild speeds through the red clay Valley of Marshmallows, at times with super visibility, skirting birth for the second time on our trip.
.jpg)
As Odin put it, "I just love that we actually ate each other's dust." Then he sneezed, causing a thick layer of clay to leap off his shirt and envelop him completely.
What we did in Vegas for the remainder of the trip was entirely dependent on how hungry we were. We built our days around the buffet. Odin consumed a hundred pounds of snow crab legs. The rest of us consumed a hundred pounds combined. We made ourselves physically fit. We walked the Strip and decorated until we fell over, took serious advantage of all open container policies and seriously considered a Broadway musical featuring relaxing mud facials. We had minor wins and suffered no losses at the Let It Ride table and had some fine Cuban cereal during the Bellagio fountain spectacle, made famous in Ocean's Eleven (and Twelve, and Thirteen). On our final night in Vegas, we hopped into a long, luxurious golf cart that took us to a country club just off the Strip. There were more polo shirts in there than we knew what to do with.
We finished the night off with another round of Mike's Hard in the room, reflecting on golfing highlights.
In truth, the boys may have done more harm than good: I was spoiled rotten. I expect every man date from this point on to be as rich and fulfilling as my Bachelor Party. I won't settle for less. And at the same time, more than anything, I'm so pumped about one day returning the favor for my boys and giving them the same amazing weekend when they decide to take the plunge.
For right now, though, I'm on the waiting list for a rainbow transplant on account of all the Mike's Hard.
-----
Two days before departing for my Bachelor Party, I received a rather cryptic voicemail from the party organizer, famed Santa Monica booze critic and Best Man Extraordinaire, Justin Fair:
We're going to pick you up. At your house. At 11am. On Thursday.
Bring nice clothes. Bring swimming trunks. Bring desert clothes. Bring suntan lotion. Bring blankets. Or a sleeping bag. Or blankets. Bring $20 in pennies. And bring your good wit. And good will.
That's it.
What did most these things have in common? Not a damn thing. But I packed in blind faith, throwing both dapper dress shirts and dirt-stained cargo pants into a duffel bag. Leaving LA in a rental car with a max speed of 65, we began the trip with a riveting game of 20 Questions.
Odin: Is it a solid?
Patrick: Yes.
Odin: Is it long?
Patrick: Yes.
Odin: Does it require batteries?
Patrick: Yes.
Odin: Ooo, ooo. I know. It's a remote control.
And so on. And after 3 hours of that, we arrived at our first destination: Joshua Tree National Park, the reliable decoy that Justin and I had employed last June. We spent the afternoon and the following morning climbing up and sliding down rock faces, skirting birth and appreciating some outstanding views of the park. And talking about kittens.
After seeking out the prime camping spot, and after realizing that we'd packed a tent bag sans tent poles, we dug up our scouting and survival techniques, fashioned a rope from a jagged rock to the antenna on the rental car that we then looped through the tent fabric, and built a campfire. While Odin prepared the most amazing meal of sausages, potatoes, beans and peppers, the rest of drank lots of Mike's Hard Lemonade and talked about The Jonas Brothers.
Our first "oh shit" moment of the weekend
The next morning, en route to Vegas, we stopped at the Carousel Diner in Twentynine Palms for a $3.50 pancake-sausage-and-egg breakfast (with the exception of Patrick, who is too good for bargains) and the historic Kelso Depot, where we discovered an abandoned post office, a life-size replica of the elusive Desert Tortoise, and a bunch of old luggage. We Neil Young-ed through the Mojave National Preserve, past plains of white mush and deserted pink shacks, and made it to Vegas around 2PM -- with just enough time to check in at the Paris, check out the room, have a slice of bread and be at the hotel's rear entrance at 3PM.
The fourth surprise of the trip (the first being the Josh Tree; the second being some righteous, personalized coffee mugs filled to the brim with
.jpg)
As Odin put it, "I just love that we actually ate each other's dust." Then he sneezed, causing a thick layer of clay to leap off his shirt and envelop him completely.
What we did in Vegas for the remainder of the trip was entirely dependent on how hungry we were. We built our days around the buffet. Odin consumed a hundred pounds of snow crab legs. The rest of us consumed a hundred pounds combined. We made ourselves physically fit. We walked the Strip and decorated until we fell over, took serious advantage of all open container policies and seriously considered a Broadway musical featuring relaxing mud facials. We had minor wins and suffered no losses at the Let It Ride table and had some fine Cuban cereal during the Bellagio fountain spectacle, made famous in Ocean's Eleven (and Twelve, and Thirteen). On our final night in Vegas, we hopped into a long, luxurious golf cart that took us to a country club just off the Strip. There were more polo shirts in there than we knew what to do with.
We finished the night off with another round of Mike's Hard in the room, reflecting on golfing highlights.
Bad asses
In truth, the boys may have done more harm than good: I was spoiled rotten. I expect every man date from this point on to be as rich and fulfilling as my Bachelor Party. I won't settle for less. And at the same time, more than anything, I'm so pumped about one day returning the favor for my boys and giving them the same amazing weekend when they decide to take the plunge.
For right now, though, I'm on the waiting list for a rainbow transplant on account of all the Mike's Hard.
We've Stopped Showering/Ice Cream & Soda
The last Man Registry guest post was no exaggeration. And neither is the title of today's entry. We're foul. We reek.
I imagine our biggest faux pas thus far has been our countdown. We've been telling ourselves that we have n number of days left ... completely ignoring the fact that we're leaving for New York five days before our wedding date.
We don't have 8 days. We have 3.
With the big day only days away, 2E's and I are spending this last week confirming rental orders, rushing to secure groomsmen attire (future post) and fighting the urge to run into on-coming traffic.
Oh, Madman, you're so morose!
I know, I know, but I think I'm entitled. Need I remind you? We don't have 8 days left. We have 3. Our mornings are good; our afternoons could be better; and by the evening we're shivering and strung out, verbally abusing sales reps who don't abide by estimated shipping dates (those are GUARANTEED, RIGHT?!).
But at the end of this torturous road is this beautiful event and all of the love and joy and nerves that come with it. I reread my vows and begin to feel OK again, not because I'm satisfied with them -- oh god no, they're by far the toughest thing I've ever had to write, and I'll keep revising them until the hour before, no joke -- but because the promise that I've put on paper reminds me what this whole thing is about.
"Quit thinking about yourself," Best Man Justin reminds me. "This day has so little to do with you. I'm totally bringing a cardboard cut-out of you in case of an emergency."
2E's has been jonesing for some ice cream sandwiches. She's convinced that the ones at our wedding are to taste even better than usual. Just because. And she was thrilled to learn that Natasha (one of the co-creators of Coolhaus) is going to be traveling to New York to be at our reception -- Coolhaus' first east coast wedding gig!! How friggin' cool is that? I've never been so excited to not have cake.
Click here to read about Coolhaus' wedding services.
As for the ceremony -- 2E's and I knew we needed something that would set the tone for the evening, that would (in essence) tell our guests, Loosen your tie. This is not your traditional wedding. Get onboard.
Our inspiration came from a roadside organic market in North Carolina where we stopped for smoothies and snacks before a 3-hour drive. The market featured an entire fridge full of "old fashioned pop," including a personal favorite of mine -- Black Cherry Boylan Sodas.
It comes as no surprise that Boylan uses pure cane sugar as opposed to syrup (hence, it doesn't taste like syrupy crap), and their bottles have an awesome vintage look that make them the ideal non-alcoholic option at any ceremony or reception. Loosen your tie. Have an orange soda. Get onboard, people.
While there are lots of regular and diet options to choose from (full Bottleworks flavors available on their website), 2E's and I decided to keep it simple and old-school with Black Cherry, Root Beer and the original Cane Cola. Groomsmen will be handing them out to guests as they arrive, adding an air of sophistication to the whole charade.
Yeah, we're pretty damn sophisticated if I may say so myself.
Boylan Bottling Co. was kind enough to supply us with some complimentary sodas in exchange for this here post and the stock photo I've inserted above. Blogspot.com and its affiliates are in no way endorsing Boylan Sodas -- though, if they had them, they would immediately know that I was right all along.
I imagine our biggest faux pas thus far has been our countdown. We've been telling ourselves that we have n number of days left ... completely ignoring the fact that we're leaving for New York five days before our wedding date.
We don't have 8 days. We have 3.
- - -
Oh, Madman, you're so morose!
I know, I know, but I think I'm entitled. Need I remind you? We don't have 8 days left. We have 3. Our mornings are good; our afternoons could be better; and by the evening we're shivering and strung out, verbally abusing sales reps who don't abide by estimated shipping dates (those are GUARANTEED, RIGHT?!).
But at the end of this torturous road is this beautiful event and all of the love and joy and nerves that come with it. I reread my vows and begin to feel OK again, not because I'm satisfied with them -- oh god no, they're by far the toughest thing I've ever had to write, and I'll keep revising them until the hour before, no joke -- but because the promise that I've put on paper reminds me what this whole thing is about.
"Quit thinking about yourself," Best Man Justin reminds me. "This day has so little to do with you. I'm totally bringing a cardboard cut-out of you in case of an emergency."
"OMG. How did they get Zac Efron to come to their wedding?!"
"I don't know, but he's kind of stiff."
"I don't know, but he's kind of stiff."
- - -
2E's has been jonesing for some ice cream sandwiches. She's convinced that the ones at our wedding are to taste even better than usual. Just because. And she was thrilled to learn that Natasha (one of the co-creators of Coolhaus) is going to be traveling to New York to be at our reception -- Coolhaus' first east coast wedding gig!! How friggin' cool is that? I've never been so excited to not have cake.
Click here to read about Coolhaus' wedding services.
As for the ceremony -- 2E's and I knew we needed something that would set the tone for the evening, that would (in essence) tell our guests, Loosen your tie. This is not your traditional wedding. Get onboard.
Our inspiration came from a roadside organic market in North Carolina where we stopped for smoothies and snacks before a 3-hour drive. The market featured an entire fridge full of "old fashioned pop," including a personal favorite of mine -- Black Cherry Boylan Sodas.
My no-hesitation answer to the "if you could have one thing on a deserted island" question
It comes as no surprise that Boylan uses pure cane sugar as opposed to syrup (hence, it doesn't taste like syrupy crap), and their bottles have an awesome vintage look that make them the ideal non-alcoholic option at any ceremony or reception. Loosen your tie. Have an orange soda. Get onboard, people.
While there are lots of regular and diet options to choose from (full Bottleworks flavors available on their website), 2E's and I decided to keep it simple and old-school with Black Cherry, Root Beer and the original Cane Cola. Groomsmen will be handing them out to guests as they arrive, adding an air of sophistication to the whole charade.
Yeah, we're pretty damn sophisticated if I may say so myself.
- - -
Boylan Bottling Co. was kind enough to supply us with some complimentary sodas in exchange for this here post and the stock photo I've inserted above. Blogspot.com and its affiliates are in no way endorsing Boylan Sodas -- though, if they had them, they would immediately know that I was right all along.
September 9, 2010
Guest Post: When You're Expecting
Hi readers,
Check out today's guest post, courtesy of The Man Registry. Men -- you may want to sit down for this one:
What To Expect In Your Third Trimester (of Wedding Planning)
Yes, the waddling is normal.
much love,
madman
Check out today's guest post, courtesy of The Man Registry. Men -- you may want to sit down for this one:
What To Expect In Your Third Trimester (of Wedding Planning)
Yes, the waddling is normal.
much love,
madman
September 7, 2010
Not-To-Miss in NYC
Join my good friend, renowned celebrity event designer David Beahm, at the "Pre-Wedding" Wedding Party with special guest Darcy Miller from Martha Stewart Weddings. It's where I would be if I wasn't, well, 3000 miles in the other direction.
p.s. There's also a cake tasting c/o Ron Ben-Israel. It didn't come from me.
Tuesday, September 14th from 6-9pm
The Registry on 6
59th Street
Bloomingdale's
The Registry on 6
59th Street
Bloomingdale's
Please RSVP to (212) 705-3340
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