Comic Books, Drag Race, & Life in New Zealand
I have now had the entire wedding party in the room at once.
The photographer is reportedly in the building and will be here for getting ready shots momentarily. Jack and I have resolved to start out wearing as little clothing as possible.
Jack’s underwear is nicer than mine. As the groom I believe it’s within my rights to commandeer it…
“In 800 yards. Make. A U-turn.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Gina, it told you to make a U-turn.”
“What if that’s not legal here?”
“Then we just tell the police officer that the nice British lady in your GPS told us it was legal, so it’s totally cool.”
“Okay”
Gina commences epic U-turn across Street Road.
“Whaoooooo!”
.
Sometimes as Gina and I wander around being – well, us – I catch myself wondering: why are we allowed to do this?
At no time has this question been more present in my mind than today, as Gina chauffeured me around the city to cross last-minute to-dos off of my wedding prep list. Right now we are sitting in a hotel room on a key-protected floor looking at the ridiculously awesome costume jewelry Gina will be wearing tomorrow in my wedding.
This is after nearly crashing our luggage cart in the hotel parking lot, surviving our epic U-turn, me almost pitching my electric guitar through a display case at Bluebond, buying seemingly a hundred travel-sized personal condiments, earlier wandering around a masquerade store discussing the logistics of whether Moses’ crook is effectively the same thing as Little Bo Peep’s crook, and general driving all around the city wailing along to my official last-day-of-bachelordom CD, Pinkerton.
We are two fairly ridiculous human beings on our own, but we don’t typically verbalize or act upon any of our ridiculousness. As a pair both of those impulses are actively engaged. Which makes it clearly insane that I am getting married tomorrow, and Gina is captain in charge of making sure I get married.
We have not trashed the hotel room yet, but I believe that option to still be in the cards.
We are, after all, rock stars.
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(As to where I’ve been: I was really sick. A week before my wedding. It wasn’t fun. And I got a chest x-ray. That’s about all that needs to be said.)
I rung in 2009 the same way I spent December 25th – quietly at home with Elise. The reality is that every other day has become its own holiday spectacle, so the actual holidays are one of the few chances we have to lay low and relax.
Our wedding is a scant 16 days away. When we set the date for January I was concerned that it would compound all of the craziness of December. Now that we’ve crossed over to a new year I feel exactly the opposite. We’re changing in a time of change. The wedding extends the exfoliation of a prior year, as though our NYE kiss will last from midnight yesterday through when we touch down back in Philadelphia after honeymoon.
My mantra in 2008 was “stuff takes time.” If it sounds unspecific, good – that’s the point. The point that everything in life – my education, my music, my blog, our relationship, our music festival, my career, and our band – has taken a lot of time and effort to get to this point. The point is that no goal worth attaining is instantaneous. I didn’t have a senior position at work and four CDs with my band in 2004, yet here we are. We couldn’t have gotten married in 2004 or rented a farm for our music festival in 2006, but that’s where we’re headed.
It would be pointless to spend the rest of the post back-patting for all of my accomplishments in ’08 – I sortof already do that once a year, anyway.
Let’s not look back. Let’s just devote our time to the people and the things we love, and move inexorably closer to our goals, one year at a time.
The state of me at the moment is outstandingly tired.
Last weekend was our trip to NJ, and the weekend before a crazy deadline for Trio and arranging. Just now Elise was whisked away by our darling Mary in top secrecy for her bachelorette party … which you would think is a recipe for a restful, sleepy weekend.
But, hello, this is Crushing Krisis. Either we’re crushed or we’re having a crisis.
So, with a spare thirty minutes after Elise’s departure I am due at the Dark Horse South Street with Gina to play a benefit for Stand Up For Kids alongside plenty of our favorite musical friends: Joshua Popejoy, Bill Butler, Dante Bucci, Jon Glaubitz, and Andra Taylor.
(I was actually just mentioning to a co-worker that I’ve played more spots this year as Arcati Crisis or individually than I had played combined as either in my life to date. That kindof blows my mind.)
And, um, i was going to write more but Dante is in my living room to pick me up and I haven’t packed a bag yet for the second half of the odessey: staying over in East Falls to help Kate and Lindsay MOVE INTO THEIR NEW HOUSE tomorrow before escaping for the Amanda Palmer concert oh my god do i even have any clean socks okay now i am going to hit publish
As we hit the two-month mark on our wedding plans it’s becoming increasingly clear that Elise is the calm, measured one, and I am the rational, demanding one.
In layman’s terms, that would make me “Bridezilla.” Or, as we deemed me almost a year ago, “The Groomlin.”
Except, I don’t think my behavior has been all that monstrous. This is the most expensive endeavor I’ve undertaken in my personal life, but it pales in comparison to the cost of my projects at work. I’m being just as detail-oriented about the wedding as I would about a 300m-piece mailing, and there are plenty of details to orient to in both.
Part of being rational and demanding means holding the line when presented with unacceptal options. I carefully vetted caterers for ones who would take requests for vegetarian and vegan meals seriously. I had firm words with my jeweler when they nicked up Elise’s engagement ring without noticing. I refused to sign a contract with our first shuttle company because they were evasive and rude to Elise when she asked them to clarify their deposit policy.
Which brings me to the story of this weekend, my erstwhile wedding band, and the double-standard of “Bridezilla.”
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Elise knows I like unusual, modern design, and early in the band-shopping process she turned me on to tension-set rings. They’re typically titanium or stainless steel bands, and the strength of the band holds a jewel without any prongs or inset.
Since I don’t wear much jewelry I liked the utilitarian idea of a stainless steel band, and I loved that I could finally have an excuse to wear a sapphire, my birth stone. I picked a sample setting, and we set out to find a store that carried something like it.
We found said store in New Hope – awesome, since that’s one of my favorite places in the area to spend the day. We visited once to nail down the exact ring and jewel – a thin stainless steel band with tension set princess cut sapphire almost the exact height of the band.
The store didn’t have it in stock, but it wasn’t a custom design – just a more obscure band/jewel combination. They told us they’d order it from the company headquarters in Europe, and that it would be in shortly. Sure enough, they rang us barely a week later to let us know that the ring was in, which is what brought us back to New Hope on Saturday.
Once we were at the counter I was so aflutter with excitement to get the band on my finger that I didn’t really look at it before I slipped it on. As I turned it round my knuckle, admiring its fit, Elise immediately exclaimed, “That’s not it!”
I looked down, and saw that though the band was right the stone was wrong – round cut, not princess.
Of course, at the point you’re paying hundreds of dollars for a ring you’ll spend the rest of your life wearing you want the stone that you asked for. The jeweler’s wife understood completely, and she told us she’d ship the ring with the correct stone directly to us.
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That’s essentially how we recounted the story in Elise’s father’s kitchen later in the day, but as I told it I saw something in my mind that I hadn’t noticed earlier. As I turned the wrong ring round on my finger the company’s logo was etched on the rear of the band. But, why would it be marked visibly on the outside of my ring?
Elise, she of the eagle eyes, had no recollection of said branding. Maybe I had seen it on the inside of the band?
No. I could not shake the image of turning the ring around on my finger and noticing the mark as it turned. It was on the outside of ring.
Knowing me as well as she does, Elise thrust her phone at me. “Just call them,” she insisted. “Better than spending the next week wondering about it.”
So, sitting in Elise’s father’s kitchen with the entire assembly of her siblings around me, I dialed the jewelry store.
P – Hi, it’s Peter, with the tension set ring. I have sort of a strange question. When I was there earlier and I tried on the ring I thought I saw the company’s logo etched on the outside of the band. But, I’m sure it would have really been on the inside. Can you just look for me?
Jeweler’s Wife – Oh, sure, just let me get it out. (rummaging sounds) Here we are. Let’s see. Yes, yes, there’s the mark. It’s on the outside.
P – Well, that must be some sort of mistake.
JW – No, no, now that I think of it, all of the rings in the case have it on the outside as well, so it’s just like the one you tried on.
P – Yes, but they’re for display. They’re display models. Of course they would be branded. I didn’t think my actual ring would be branded.
JW – Well, that’s how their rings come to us.
P – Can’t we get one without a brand? Or, have it on the inside?
JW – I don’t think they do that.
P – Right.
…
P – Can you just hold on to our order for another day or so? I need to decide if I’m still interested in the ring.
JW – I don’t understand. You might not want to order the ring?
P – Yes.
JW – Because of the brand mark?
P – (firmer) Yes.
JW – But, why?
P – Because it’s my wedding band. It shouldn’t have any extraneous marks on it.
JW – But, it’s just the company logo…
P – It’s my wedding band, not a fucking Toyota.
…
P – So please hold our order until we call back. Thanks.
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Clearly I went a little Groomlin there, but the various bystanders in the kitchen forgave me. Of course I don’t want the company’s logo to be visible on exterior of my ring. Of course I was flustered by the jeweler’s wife treating it as a non-issue. No, it wasn’t unreasonable to tell her to hold my order. Aside from dropping an F-bomb the call had been entirely rational.
So, here’s my question for you: if I was a bride, would you say that I was a Bridezilla? And, if so, what does that say about the double-standard of weddings – that a man who’s concerned about having things his way is in-control, but a woman who wants things her way is a monster?