I will refrain from any large scale reference to the industry of wedding hyping, but reserve the right to return to that subject if it becomes necessary. Fair warning has been given...
That being said, Tigger and I were on the train this morning, and she had some of the glossy bricks of bridal planning periodicals that are de rigeur for the process in which we have gotten ourselves involved. That being the endless logistical complexities of getting a bunch of people (with whom we're already acquainted, so that shouldn't be too hard for the team) to show up somewhere of our choosing, eat food that we provide (again, biological necessity takes care of the "why" they might be feeling), and drink themselves silly (see above), and watch us have a gorgeous, fun day of committing ourselves to a life together.
I know, it seems like it should be easy, right?
It may well just be, but dispatches are still coming from reporters in the field, so the specifics are somewhat hazy.
She's reading through the magazines, and looks over to me...
T: It's funny. All the women in the ads in here just look like they're in a very bad mood. That's like a ten thousand dollar wedding dress.
Me: God, you're right... maybe they really wanted the fifteen thousand dollar dress they tried on right before?
I wonder whether the subtext here is to inculcate the idea that nothing can actually satisfy the discriminating reader, or the waxed and preened bride sample presented. I don't have answers.
I was on the train today, F train to Brooklyn, and a real fixture on the subways came through the car. I remember him from years ago, seeling Street News (the homeless published weekly paper they had as an "opportunity" a while ago,) and later from selling batteries.
He walks through the car, selling real Duracells at a buck a pair. I was always happy to see him, as I was inevitably shelling out significantly more at convenience stores to keep the discman humming at the time. I would stock up, he would say thanks, and announce "I'm a businessman! Double-A, triple-A duracells ONE dollar-one-dollar!" Then he was gone, having announced the time before leaving the train car...
I have for a while now been using an iPod for my mindless distraction on the train, and since then haven't had to buy batteries anymore. I wonder whether the battery guy realizes the reasons behind a fall-off in business, and whether he has a burning hatred for Apple, iPods and rechargeable implements generally. I wouldn't hold it against him, it's a tough road to try and re-engineer a business model...
More to follow tomorrow, specifically about futurists... look for it in this space!
Finally, for anyone out there planning on getting a dog, let me share one vital tidbit:
We all want to believe that our dogs will do what we want because they dote on us, and because our praise is the next best thing to ambrosia of which their fuzzy little heads can conceive. Having now been working with a bare dog larder for a few days, and having fallen into that mistaken belief... AND having just resorted to chopping up a whole pound of cheddar into teeny little cubelets and tried some obedience exercises, let it be known that...
...training a dog with no treats in play is quite a lot like traveling across third world countries without a sack of gifts and/or cash for bribes. You may get through, but you're just making things a lot harder on yourself.
You may think you are getting by on your charm and good looks, but they will run out eventually, and whether it's a guard post on a muddy jungle road in territory held by the Karen People's Army in Burma's back country, or a particularly interesting bird on Ocean Parkway in Brooklyn, you will eventually be humbled.
Take care of yourselves. You're beautiful. Don't go changing.