I'm an Uncle!

Shortly after 4pm on Sunday, September 5, 2010, I became an uncle for the first time. Or, to put it another way, I got married.¹

Thank you all for your congratulations and well wishes! The whole wedding weekend was wonderful. Both the game night and reception went off without a hitch, and the ceremony had just the one.

(And, now that I've gotten the obligatory bad pun out of the way...)

How We Met

I first met my ex-fiancée² at a place called The Blue Turtle, where my friend Scott was celebrating his birthday. Of twenty or so invitees, only three showed that night, and the third was already married. (Plus, he wasn't my type.)

Denise let me beat her at air hockey, and the rest, as they say, is history.³

The Bride

The bouquet: red & yellow gerber daisies
The gown: from David's Bridal
The old: grandmother's pearls / grandfather's ring
The new: gown / shoes / floral hairpiece
The borrowed: aunt's handkerchief
The blue: toe nails
The penny: in her shoe (the right one)

The Groom

Wardrobe provided by Men's Wearhouse, JCPenney, and Macy's, adorned with — and I quote — a "Golden Imperial Hankie." Hair by MPA.⁴

Suave. Sophisticated.
And in an abandoned streetcar.

The Ceremony

We were married in North Collins, NY, under a willow tree on a small island in a small pond usually frequented by ducks and geese. In one direction you can see old train cars and tractors and a rocket. In another you can see totem poles, and anchors and bizarre sculptures. Across the pond sits the top of a silo, painted as a giant pumpkin head.

Denise is Catholic, and I'm Jewish-ish, so we had a non-religious ceremony. I did, however, keep the Jewish tradition of "the breaking of the glass," because I enjoy smashing things. Afterward, our closest family and friends pelted us with birdseed. One rogue kernel still resides within the lining of my jacket. I have no idea how it got in there.

The Music

We hand-picked all the songs played at the reception, with help from Scott, our Designated iPod Manager (or DiPM). The songs were grouped into playlists and then randomized, which meant we spent half the reception saying, "Hey, I love this song!"

We did, however, play a few songs at specific times:

Processional: In My Life, by The Beatles (played on violin)
Wedding song: Nathaniel & Denise's Wedding Song, written by my sister⁵
First dance: The Luckiest, by Ben Folds
Played in the background during our intro: from the Muppet Show... Mahna Mahna⁶

The Reception

Ilio DiPaolo's, in Blasdell, NY, provided magnificent service and their food was phenomenal. Many raved about their veal marsala, and I loved (loved!) both the Italian wedding soup and the rosemary red potatoes.

Oh yeah, and Table 5 won the sugar packet tower-building competition.

If you enjoy Italian food and ever find yourself south of Buffalo for some reason, stop in at Ilio's for a meal. You won't be disappointed.

The Photos

Kaz of Kaz Photography was an absolute pleasure to work with. Not only does he have a spectacular eye for composition and color, but in some of the shots, he even made me look handsome. You can see all 24 of the "teaser" photos here.

If you ever find yourself in Buffalo and in need of a photographer, Kaz is your man.

In Summary...

I was overwhelmed by how well everything went, and of course, Denise looked amazing. In fact, I don't believe the weekend could have turned out any better. And, if the first few hours and days of our marriage are any indication, my ex-fiancée and I are going to have a long, happy life together.


¹ I inherited twin two-and-a-half year-old nephews. Although, I did have fun telling people last year I'd be an uncle this September. They'd start to congratulate me for my sister, then falter as they worked through the math and realized it was more than nine months away. (Earlier last year I also announced my upcoming nuptials by saying my girlfriend got engaged over the weekend. Eventually, people will start to figure out they shouldn't take anything I say at face value.)
² She prefers "wife."
³ Then again, pretty much everything is history, no matter how mundane it is. So I wouldn't get too excited.
⁴ Male Pattern Awesomeness
⁵ The song contained the names of 39 vegetables, 37 Halloween costumes, and 36 types of cheese. And no, I'm not exaggerating. (Also, there was a kazoo solo.)
⁶ Do doo de-do-do.

Mawwiage

“Mawwiage is what bwings us togevah, today. That bwessed awwangement, that dweam wivvin a dweam…”
- The Impressive Clergyman, The Princess Bride

That’s right, today’s the big day. And instead of getting ready, I’m here writing another blog post.

Everyone enjoyed themselves last night, when we replaced the traditional rehearsal dinner with a game night. Instead of a more formal affair, friends and family gathered for traditional Buffalo cuisine (wings, pizza, beef on weck) and a large variety of board and card games. We had glow sticks, kazoos, and a metric ton of pound cake.

We played poker and euchre and cribbage. We played games you’ve likely never heard of, like Pack & Stack and Slide 5 and Bohnanza. There was raucous singing and outrageous accents during Monty Python Fluxx. An endless game of Apples to Apples (which did, eventually, end). A photo finish in Ticket to Ride. Krusty the Clown unveiled as a murderer in Simpsons Clue. Many, many losers and few (if any) winners in We Didn't Playtest This At All.

And, during the charades portion of Time’s Up, I performed what my friends claimed to be the best ever impression of a Transformer. Sorry, dear readers, but there’s no video evidence to share. Though, maybe I’ll recreate it at the reception tonight. Or maybe even at the ceremony.¹

Speaking of the ceremony, I should probably start getting ready. I’m hoping time will slow down and we’ll get to enjoy every single second of this wonderful day with our friends and family, but from what I’ve heard, it’s going to feel more like this bit from Spaceballs:

“And now the short, short version. Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you?”
“Yes!”
“Good! Kiss ‘er!”

Yeah. Either way, it’s going to be a great day.


¹ Don’t tell Denise. It’ll be a surprise. Just like the chimpanzee break-dancing troupe I ordered.

Seventeen Syllables of Shame

Yesterday, I abused Stephanie Thornton’s Haiku Blogfest for my own purposes. I feel my actions were justified because I was not promoting myself so much as I was promoting a way for the other blogfest participants and readers to win some cold hard cash.¹ Yet, while some people considered my entry witty or creative, others were less than amused.

It has been said that all great art is controversial. And now, thanks to my little stunt yesterday, I have proven that art that is mediocre at best can be controversial, too. (See? I did it for science!)

Anyway, to make up for my insolence, I shall share five more (5! more!) haiku today. Come, let us celebrate Day 2 of the Haiku Blogfest!

First, here’s one related to my novel:

What is that I hear?
Invisible monkeys? Crap!
This doesn’t bode well.

Second, a twist on traditional haiku imagery:

The bough sinks lower
Claws grip the cherry blossoms
Hang in there, kitty

Third, the one I performed at my sister’s wedding last year:

This is a haiku
For both Josh and Naomi
On their wedding day

Then, a short fairy tale:

Once upon a time,
In a land far, far away,
Stuff happened. The End.

And we’ll end with a true story:

Beneath the willow
A cool breeze, or winds of change?
Tomorrow I wed.

If you haven’t had enough yet, you can also check out all the ninja haiku (and the limerick!) submitted for my other contest earlier this year.

So, am I absolved?

(Note: I will announce the winners of the contest at the heart of this controversy later today.)


¹ Which is neither cold, nor hard, nor cash. (Amazon gift cards in their digital form are more warm and fuzzy cash-equivalents, don’t you think?)

No to Chicken, Yes to Safety

Reminder: There are only two days left to enter my blog’s one-year anniversary contest. Enter now for a chance at one of two Amazon gift cards!

The wedding is fast approaching — I estimate at somewhere around Mach 5 — and Denise and I are doing our best to tie up all the remaining loose ends.¹ There’s much more to do than either of us originally thought, but we’re slowly chipping away at the list. I am, however, proud to announce that, as I stated last September, there will be no bouquet or garter thrown at our wedding. There will be no groomsmen, bridesmaids, flower girls, or ring bearers. There will be no pews, no priest, no Pachelbel’s Canon. No DJ, no band, no videographer. No Macarena, no Electric Slide. Thankfully, no rain.²

We’re not having a minimalist wedding, though. We’ll have a five-course Italian meal. We’ll have kids throw birdseed at us. We’ll have a song written just for the occasion. There will be ducks, glow sticks, noise makers, totem poles, the Goose Patrol, and, for reasons beyond my understanding, a giant metal pumpkin head. Also, a bear on a unicycle.³

Instead of the Chicken Dance, we’ll have the Safety Dance.

Instead of a rehearsal dinner, we’ll have a game night.

And instead of the same old wedding with the same old traditions, we’ll have a day that’s unique to us. A day that’s truly ours.

I can’t wait.


¹ We’re mostly using slip knots.
² According to both the local meteorologist and Blind Melon.
³ Don’t tell Denise. She doesn’t know about this one yet.

To Do List

Finalize guest list? Check.
Hire photographer? Check.
Pick out rings? Check.
Write? Check.<sup>1


1</sup> Made out to the photographer. I offered to put him into my novel, perhaps as a suave photographer-samurai in search of his long-lost love and a fabled artifact, but he said no, he’d rather just have the money his contract stipulated. Eh, his loss. On the plus side, that means I still have one major character unclaimed. I’ll let the florist and the cake designer fight over that one.

To Be Discontinued...

With four and a half months remaining until our upcoming nuptials, Denise and I are a little behind with the wedding planning. We only chose a place for the reception two weeks ago. We haven’t selected a photographer, booked blocks of rooms at local hotels, or ordered the cake. Save-the-Date cards are designed, but not yet in the (e-)mail. It was with all this in mind that, when we found ourselves with a free evening this past Thursday, we headed mallward to open our first wedding registry.

Our first surprise was that the store didn’t have someone whose job it was to get us started. Weddings are big business, so we’d assumed they’d have some smiling young thing on hand to show us the way. But alas, now that we’re living in the future, everything is done by kiosk.

Nevertheless, setting up the registry was a breeze, and soon we were ready to begin what we’d been told was the most fun part of the registry process: the wielding of the scanner gun. I envisioned us roaming the store until we’d spotted our quarry, there! in the linens, then spinning out from behind a stack of patio chairs and PEW PEW PEW! the dust ruffle would be ours.

We began by flipping through dozens of dinnerware options in a binder beside the registry kiosk. When we settled on our favorite design, I whipped the scanner out of its holster,1 and pulled the trigger.

BEEP!

Beep? Where was the pew pew pew!? I looked down at the readout on the scanner. It said: “This item has been discontinued.”

Discontinued? Then why was it still in the binder? I tried scanning the other color options, with the same result. Not sold on any of the other designs in the binder, we wandered around looking at our other dinnerware options. We didn’t see anything we loved, and decided we’d come back to them later. Next up on our list: a new coffee maker. I scanned the one Denise liked.

BEEP! Discontinued.

So far, we weren’t enjoying the registration process. Was everything discontinued? Had the store filed for bankruptcy since we’d entered ten minutes earlier? Or had we just chosen a faulty scanner? Denise selected a similar coffee maker, and I tried scanning that one. No beep this time; instead, the item became the first one listed on the scanner’s readout.

Okay, so it wasn’t a faulty scanner; we’d just been unlucky with our first two choices. We kept going, adding another couple items to the registry, and then we came to a couple sets of martini glasses. I scanned the set that wasn’t ugly.

BEEP! Discontinued.

Then I tried the ugly ones, and it worked just fine. Aha! Finally I understood. They’d only discontinued the things we really wanted. The other stuff was safe to put on our registry. I removed the ugly glasses from our list, and we managed to complete our circuit of the store finding only a few more discontinued items. When we returned to the registry kiosk, we went once more through the dinnerware binder and selected our second favorite design, then returned the scanner and headed for home.

Wanting to find a replacements for a few of the discontinued items, we went online to continue our shopping the moment we got home. We added a few things we hadn’t seen in the store, and then Denise spotted a different set of martini glasses in the wedding registry catalog we’d brought home. They looked almost as nice as the discontinued set we’d initially tried for, so I typed in the product number, and… up popped a page displaying the other, uglier set. Of course. We searched more, but the nice glasses were nowhere to be found.

At this point, somewhat disheartened, we decided to give up and come back to the registry another day. Before logging off, the last thing we did was review our overall list. The listing for our second favorite dinnerware had no accompanying image, and no information about whether or not it was in stock. Curious, I clicked on the link, and what did we get? A page that simply said, “We are sorry, but this product is not available at this time.” Wonderful, just wonderful.

Well, at least it wasn’t discontinued.


¹ Also known as my jacket pocket.

The Birthiversary

This past weekend, we celebrated both my mother’s 65th birthday and my parents’ 65th wedding anniversary. How is something like this possible? Well, it’s really quite simple: we all went out to dinner at the Cheesecake Factory.

But I suppose what you might be hung up on are the numbers. No, neither one is a typo. And no, it wasn’t one of those arranged marriages where, for three head of sheep,¹ the skeevy older man gets to wed the underage baby maiden. This coincidence of equal birthday and anniversary (henceforth to be known as birthiversary) is completely and utterly – not to mention, mathematically – legitimate.

Sort of.

My parents first met at a wine tasting at the local Jewish Community Center, where my father, conspicuously, was the only one spitting out the wine after each sip.² It was apparently love at first spit, for nine months later, in February of 1977, they were married.

But wait! you say. That was only 33 years ago, not 65! You sir, Mr. Blogwriter, are a complete and utter – not to mention mathematical – liar!

Now, wait just a goldarn minute! How many times have I told you not to interrupt me when I’m telling a story? If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times… thus, by my calculations, I’ve now told you a thousand times. So shut up and let me finish.

After honeymooning in a snowstorm in Washington, D.C. – and celebrating my mother’s 32nd birthday – they married once again a week later, in a ceremony that satisfied my paternal grandmother’s peculiar need to involve a little thing called religion.

Although my parents have always counted their anniversaries like a normal couple, my sister and I are decidedly not normal,³ so we’ve always tallied two parental anniversaries per year. In 2010, that was their 65th and 66th.

And thus, the birthiversary was born.


¹ And perhaps a couple lodes of ore.
² A habit he continues to this day.
³ Her, especially.

Something Burrowed, Something Blew

Early last week, Denise and I spent an afternoon working on the cinder-block walls of the basement hatch, chiseling away at decades-old mortar and then filling the cracks with freshly mixed Hydroxic cement.¹ The hatchway doors were open, of course, to let the warm rays of the sun in and the stifling clouds of dust out. In between the chiseling and the filling phases, a mole scrambled two-thirds of the way across the edge of the hatch before it lost its footing and tumbled to the basement floor, landing at Denise’s feet. Not the squeamish type, Denise was ready to kill the mole right where it stood.² However, I stayed her hand and proposed another, more entertaining idea. I collected the mole in a small container and brought it outside. Then I called our dog over.

I’d like to say that our lovable mutt Sonya fulfilled her appointed role as head of pest control admirably, but alas, she does not quite possess what one would call “hunting prowess.” The mole zigged and zagged, always just out of Sonya’s reach, across the yard and into the underbrush in the back corner. Sonya searched that corner for the next ten minutes, then gave up and headed back into the house, her head hanging low with disappointment.

~ ~ ~

At the end of the week, we headed to Buffalo. Along with checking out potential venues for our own upcoming nuptials, Denise and I attended the wedding of one of her cousins. Now, I’ve always considered the traditions surrounding the bouquet and the garter to be kind of stupid, if not borderline disturbing. Typically, the single folk have to be begged to participate. And then, they simply stand there, glumly, until one of them gets hit with the item and figures that they might as well pick it up off the floor, since no one else is reaching for it. Yet, at this reception, after the two lucky contestants were done with the whole push-the-garter-up-her-thigh nonsense, the DJ introduced a whole different set of rules that I swear he was making up on the spot. He bade the guy to sit down, had the girl remove the freshly placed garter, and then had her put it on his thigh instead. Every inch past the knee, the DJ said, would correspond to more enjoyment for the bride and groom on their wedding night. I left at this point, not at all interested in what the DJ had in store for the bouquet.

This episode only further cemented in my mind that Denise and I will in no way be observing these traditions when we get married. The only way a garter will find itself airborne is if one of the snake variety interrupts the ceremony and has to be forcibly removed. Also, if I have anything to say about it, none of the following will be found at my wedding, either: groomsmen, bridesmaids, pews, Pachelbel's Canon, wedding cake smeared on the face of someone older than five, attention-seeking DJs, attention-seeking wedding band singers, rain, videographers, George W. Bush, and of course, the Macarena.

Oh yeah, and moles.


¹ It’s kind of like hydraulic cement, but made by grinding Oreo wannabes into a fine paste. The quality isn’t quite as good, but it’s cheaper.
² Presumably, by setting the poor creature’s little feet in a bucket of the cement and dropping it into one of the local ponds. After all, her mother is a mafia queen in certain jurisdictions.^3
3 That is, if Facebook is considered a jurisdiction.