Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Timing Is Something
Dearest loyal blog reader(s?), here's a chance to influence our actual wedding!
As I've mentioned before, we're getting married on a Sunday to accommodate some of the Orthodox crew in my family.
We were planning to begin the ceremony at 4 p.m., which would mean the event ends at 10. Now I am wondering if this is too late.
This past weekend, we went to a Sunday afternoon wedding that began at 3:30. The wedding was lovely but the crowd was visibly thinning out by 8 or so. Even we didn't make it the whole night (though I attribute this to the fact that it was our second wedding of the weekend, we'd spent the previous night in a house with crying babies, and we drove three and a half hours to get there).
I'm not worried about a large portion of our guests, who live so far away they will most certainly spend the night. But we also have a fair number of people coming from New York City and environs, who might plan to drive home that night. Which would likely mean ducking out early.
Which leads me to wonder which scenarios we should consider:
* Starting the wedding at 4, which is helpful for anyone spending the night (check in time at the hotel we booked is 3).
* Starting the wedding at 2, which would be annoying for anyone spending the night but more friendly to those who are not. Also, it would mean a weirdly early dinner.
* Starting the wedding at 3, which probably just doesn't make anyone all that happy.
I'm more inclined to make things easy for people who choose to spend the night than for people who don't, but I don't want the wedding to die out two hours before it ends if all the drive-home types decide to leave early.
How much should we worry about accommodating them? Comment or vote on the poll to the right!
As I've mentioned before, we're getting married on a Sunday to accommodate some of the Orthodox crew in my family.
We were planning to begin the ceremony at 4 p.m., which would mean the event ends at 10. Now I am wondering if this is too late.
This past weekend, we went to a Sunday afternoon wedding that began at 3:30. The wedding was lovely but the crowd was visibly thinning out by 8 or so. Even we didn't make it the whole night (though I attribute this to the fact that it was our second wedding of the weekend, we'd spent the previous night in a house with crying babies, and we drove three and a half hours to get there).
I'm not worried about a large portion of our guests, who live so far away they will most certainly spend the night. But we also have a fair number of people coming from New York City and environs, who might plan to drive home that night. Which would likely mean ducking out early.
Which leads me to wonder which scenarios we should consider:
* Starting the wedding at 4, which is helpful for anyone spending the night (check in time at the hotel we booked is 3).
* Starting the wedding at 2, which would be annoying for anyone spending the night but more friendly to those who are not. Also, it would mean a weirdly early dinner.
* Starting the wedding at 3, which probably just doesn't make anyone all that happy.
I'm more inclined to make things easy for people who choose to spend the night than for people who don't, but I don't want the wedding to die out two hours before it ends if all the drive-home types decide to leave early.
How much should we worry about accommodating them? Comment or vote on the poll to the right!
Monday, September 15, 2008
Ms.
No, I'm not revisiting the titles-on-invitations issue. And I'm still no fan of titles. But in the past two weeks, I've heard the term "Ms." maligned repeatedly by (for the most part) people who should know better. My future husband included.
As I understand it, the term Ms. originated as a way to refer to women without referencing whether they are married or not. It is, essentially, the exact female version of Mr. Because for some reason, men never get referred to differently if they're married or single.
My mother went by Ms. until she became Dr. I grew up assuming it was the appropriate, modern way to refer to women. Anything else is unnecessarily antiquated.
And yet, it seems that some people, my otherwise-enlightened future husband among them, see Ms. as an affront, a form of feminism run amok.
Take this Times reader, who complained that the paper referred to Sarah Palin as Ms. and Hillary Clinton as Mrs. Quoth the public editor,
"He decided that The Times called Palin Ms. instead of Mrs. because it is liberal and “is trying to belittle her. She is a Republican, so she can’t possibly be a woman who is married and entitled to the title” of Mrs., he said."
Ms. is belittling? Mrs. is something one must aspire to? Seriously? How on earth is that implied? Unless you assume that being married is the highest honor you can bestow upon a woman via title.
(For the record, the Times' policy is to use the title people prefer. Hillary likes Mrs, apparently, while Palin prefers Ms.)
Rick's feeling is that Ms. is somehow anti-marriage, that if I use "Ms." once I am married, I will somehow be saying I'm ashamed of being married. Bear in mind, this is a guy who didn't care whether I took his name or not. But to him, using "Ms." is akin to insisting that the word "women" be spelled "womyn."
This seems terribly backward to me. A woman changing her name is indeed rooted in a sexist tradition that assumes a woman takes her identity from her husband and sheds her family history to become part of his. But these days, we women have choices about it, and there are practical reasons for changing your name that have nothing to do with historical slights of one sex or the other (reasons like not having three last names between us). Men could also change their names. It's an equal-opportunity concept at this point, that could be applied any number of ways a couple chooses for whatever reasons they want.
Not so with the Miss/Mrs. thing. There is no male equivalent. It is purely about distinguishing a woman by whether she is married or not, and no such equivalent exists for men. To me, that is a purely unfair tradition.
I have no problem with other women deciding they prefer to be a Miss or a Mrs. It's still everyone's choice. But to say that a woman is somehow a militant, annoying, foe-of-marriage because she chooses to, like her husband, not have her marital status implied every time she gets a magazine in the mail or referred to by proper title is just absurd.
[Note to Ms. Charlin: please chime in as you see fit!]
As I understand it, the term Ms. originated as a way to refer to women without referencing whether they are married or not. It is, essentially, the exact female version of Mr. Because for some reason, men never get referred to differently if they're married or single.
My mother went by Ms. until she became Dr. I grew up assuming it was the appropriate, modern way to refer to women. Anything else is unnecessarily antiquated.
And yet, it seems that some people, my otherwise-enlightened future husband among them, see Ms. as an affront, a form of feminism run amok.
Take this Times reader, who complained that the paper referred to Sarah Palin as Ms. and Hillary Clinton as Mrs. Quoth the public editor,
"He decided that The Times called Palin Ms. instead of Mrs. because it is liberal and “is trying to belittle her. She is a Republican, so she can’t possibly be a woman who is married and entitled to the title” of Mrs., he said."
Ms. is belittling? Mrs. is something one must aspire to? Seriously? How on earth is that implied? Unless you assume that being married is the highest honor you can bestow upon a woman via title.
(For the record, the Times' policy is to use the title people prefer. Hillary likes Mrs, apparently, while Palin prefers Ms.)
Rick's feeling is that Ms. is somehow anti-marriage, that if I use "Ms." once I am married, I will somehow be saying I'm ashamed of being married. Bear in mind, this is a guy who didn't care whether I took his name or not. But to him, using "Ms." is akin to insisting that the word "women" be spelled "womyn."
This seems terribly backward to me. A woman changing her name is indeed rooted in a sexist tradition that assumes a woman takes her identity from her husband and sheds her family history to become part of his. But these days, we women have choices about it, and there are practical reasons for changing your name that have nothing to do with historical slights of one sex or the other (reasons like not having three last names between us). Men could also change their names. It's an equal-opportunity concept at this point, that could be applied any number of ways a couple chooses for whatever reasons they want.
Not so with the Miss/Mrs. thing. There is no male equivalent. It is purely about distinguishing a woman by whether she is married or not, and no such equivalent exists for men. To me, that is a purely unfair tradition.
I have no problem with other women deciding they prefer to be a Miss or a Mrs. It's still everyone's choice. But to say that a woman is somehow a militant, annoying, foe-of-marriage because she chooses to, like her husband, not have her marital status implied every time she gets a magazine in the mail or referred to by proper title is just absurd.
[Note to Ms. Charlin: please chime in as you see fit!]
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Untitled
I got two wedding invitations in the mail this week, both with serious Emily Post violations: Our names were listed on the invitations without any honorifics. No "Mr" and "Miss" or "Ms" (though I'm not sure the serious etiquette folks recognize that last one). Just our names.
The horror!
Actually, I think it's great. I don't get the purpose of honorifics on invitations to people you are not trying to impress. Sure, I might refer to the director of a graduate program I'm applying to as "Professor," but do my parents need to be referred to as "Dr" when I send them something in the mail?
Ordinarily I would not actually notice how people address me on an envelope (spelling my name right is enough for me). But since I'm just under a year away from sending out my own invites, I've taken an interest. I think titles are not worth the potential complications they inevitably bring. My beloved is not so sure. I get that wedding invitations are asking people to join you at a formal affair, so it's nice to be all nice and fancy about it, but will people show up in flip-flops just because we didn't refer to them as Mr. and Mrs.? Isn't there something to be said for simplicity?
Think about the potential issues titles, er, invite:
Example 1: Mr. and Mrs. John Post
Unacceptable, in my view, unless the wife is either unnamed, imaginary or in some kind of witness protection situation. Especially if you know the wife and only sort of know the husband...why does he get his name on the envelope?
Example 2: Mr. John and Mrs. Emily Post
Awkward!
Example 3: Mr. John and Dr. Emily Post
Just looks weird
Example 4: Dr. Emily and Mr. John Post
Looks strangely emasculating
Example 5: John and Emily Post (or Emily and John Post)
Is anyone really offended by this? Like, seriously?
Really, would anyone be offended if they get a wedding invitation without a formal title for him/herself and his/her spouse? If so, speak now or forever hold your peace. And be prepared to defend your position.
The horror!
Actually, I think it's great. I don't get the purpose of honorifics on invitations to people you are not trying to impress. Sure, I might refer to the director of a graduate program I'm applying to as "Professor," but do my parents need to be referred to as "Dr" when I send them something in the mail?
Ordinarily I would not actually notice how people address me on an envelope (spelling my name right is enough for me). But since I'm just under a year away from sending out my own invites, I've taken an interest. I think titles are not worth the potential complications they inevitably bring. My beloved is not so sure. I get that wedding invitations are asking people to join you at a formal affair, so it's nice to be all nice and fancy about it, but will people show up in flip-flops just because we didn't refer to them as Mr. and Mrs.? Isn't there something to be said for simplicity?
Think about the potential issues titles, er, invite:
Example 1: Mr. and Mrs. John Post
Unacceptable, in my view, unless the wife is either unnamed, imaginary or in some kind of witness protection situation. Especially if you know the wife and only sort of know the husband...why does he get his name on the envelope?
Example 2: Mr. John and Mrs. Emily Post
Awkward!
Example 3: Mr. John and Dr. Emily Post
Just looks weird
Example 4: Dr. Emily and Mr. John Post
Looks strangely emasculating
Example 5: John and Emily Post (or Emily and John Post)
Is anyone really offended by this? Like, seriously?
Really, would anyone be offended if they get a wedding invitation without a formal title for him/herself and his/her spouse? If so, speak now or forever hold your peace. And be prepared to defend your position.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
The Hills (Bad Language Alert!)
Some of you may have heard that these are bad times for my industry of choice. Indeed. A week or two ago, I asked a former editor to chat for a couple minutes for some advice. Here's his response:
You don't even need a few minutes. Just read this:
RUN FOR THE FUCKING HILLS.
You're welcome.
And on that note, I'm off to Brazil. Rio and a couple days in the mountains. Our return ticket is for next weekend, but depending on how things go at the nation's oldest newspaper, perhaps we'll stick around a bit longer...
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Dream Decoder
I have been having a strange recurring nightmare about weddings. It's the day before or the morning of my wedding and some piece has been left unplanned - we don't have a cake, or a person to marry us, or some other variation on the thing you shouldn't leave til the last minute. I wake up before it's resolved, but the upshot is having to throw something together at the last minute.
I say this is strange because we are ridiculously ahead of the game in wedding planning. We have a location, catering, cake, photographer and band. My bridesmaids already have their dresses. I got proofs for our invitations and save the dates in the mail last week, and have an appointment with a florist next week. Our wedding is 14 months away.
That's not so much by design or anticipation as a function of my Type A tendencies and a general desire to get as much of this out of the way as possible so we can have a good six to eight months (or more) to not think about the wedding.
Then again, if we were to cancel the wedding and just get hitched at town hall or on a remote beach somewhere private, I'd be thrilled about that too. Prefer it, even. It's just that if we're going to have a wedding, I want it to be as (not going to say perfect) fitting and lovely as possible.
So back to the dream. I'm not sure why the fear suddenly popping into my subconscious is of being unprepared for something we're already overprepared for, and for something I'm not even that invested in, to boot.
Perhaps this is a typical dream, like the naked to class or unprepared for a test (neither of which I ever had)? Or perhaps I should rush out and finish the loose ends? Or chalk it up to a silly dream and move on?
Monday, June 16, 2008
Color Wars
Mystifying wedding concept alert: Wedding colors. What gives?
(If you have any suggestions, do share or [subtle plug] weigh in on the poll on the right side of the page.)
Apparently it's important to have colors for your wedding. Or at least it's something a lot of people seem to do. I'm not really sure why you need a declared scheme if you're not, say, having a Christmas or Denver Broncos-themed wedding. Can't you just make sure everything matches and looks basically pleasing?
If I got, say, blue bridesmaid dresses and pink flowers, would declaring our colors as pink and blue make those colors somehow more ours? Would everyone we know think of us when they see anything ranging from magenta to teal? Would the guests dress accordingly? Is it criminal if the dresses and bouquets don't match the table runners and cocktail napkins?
Or am I missing something?
Onion Vows
Evidently unaware
that the anti-quated
practice has virtually
no benefit in today's
society, William Curtis
and Jessica Scruggs
were married this week.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Royal Inspiration
When Butterflies Attack: It's called fashion, apparently.
Princess Beatrice sports some serious hat at the latest royal wedding. Anyone want to wear this to mine?
The Divorce Industry
One of my favorite eyesores along the urban planners' nightmare that is Route 18 in East Brunswick: The Divorce Center.
It's just down the block from David's Bridal. I'm not really sure what you do at one, aside from the obvious, or whether they sell gum and magazines at the checkout counter to go with your petitions for alimony and parenting classes.
But there's something so...I'm not sure what...appropriate to our culture's current track record on marriage...about these storefront divorce shops. I mean, hell, at a Divorce Center, you can do it by mail! And, for you enterprising types, you can even open a Divorce Center franchise.
I don't think it's quite as lucrative as the marriage industry (a multimillion-dollar Connecticut divorce case notwithstanding), but is it any wonder people are trying to cash in on this end of the business?
The sanctity of commerce, at least, is alive and well.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
The "Big Day" BS
An excellent column on the problems with the "your big day" concept and the assumptions that go with it.
To sum up:
Assumption One: It's My Big Day. That is, getting married is more important to me than to my fiancé. A corollary to this assumption, which we can now call the Big Principle, is that only brides want big weddings. Men, by definition, rise above such superficial feminine displays.
Assumption Two: It's My Big Day. That is, nothing else I do in life will be as important to me as getting married. ... don't get me wrong: it will be a big day. I've never been married before; neither has he; if all goes according to plan neither of us will ever get married again. So yes, it's important. But it does not represent the pinnacle of my ambition (sorry, sweetie). Getting my PhD was a Big Day; publishing my first book was a Big Day. Those were both achievements; a wedding is not an achievement, it's a party. Marriage -- now that's an achievement.
Assumption Three is the flip side of Assumption Two: It's My Big Day. That is, I only get the one. Enjoy it, sweetheart, and carpe diadem, because from now on all it's all about him.
Not that she's anti-wedding or anything - just that it has its place and context:
My reasons relate to ritual, history, and symbolic transformations. Happily, a wedding offers endless opportunities to challenge persistent assumptions about desperate women on the last-chance express.
Well said!
To sum up:
Assumption One: It's My Big Day. That is, getting married is more important to me than to my fiancé. A corollary to this assumption, which we can now call the Big Principle, is that only brides want big weddings. Men, by definition, rise above such superficial feminine displays.
Assumption Two: It's My Big Day. That is, nothing else I do in life will be as important to me as getting married. ... don't get me wrong: it will be a big day. I've never been married before; neither has he; if all goes according to plan neither of us will ever get married again. So yes, it's important. But it does not represent the pinnacle of my ambition (sorry, sweetie). Getting my PhD was a Big Day; publishing my first book was a Big Day. Those were both achievements; a wedding is not an achievement, it's a party. Marriage -- now that's an achievement.
Assumption Three is the flip side of Assumption Two: It's My Big Day. That is, I only get the one. Enjoy it, sweetheart, and carpe diadem, because from now on all it's all about him.
Not that she's anti-wedding or anything - just that it has its place and context:
My reasons relate to ritual, history, and symbolic transformations. Happily, a wedding offers endless opportunities to challenge persistent assumptions about desperate women on the last-chance express.
Well said!
(Thanks to Erin for the link!)
Sunday, May 11, 2008
From The Peanut Gallery
I'm not generally a fan of lace (or big stone crosses as backdrops), but I do think Jenna Bush picked an excellent dress. And hairstyle. I'm impressed.
I also found myself agreeing with the president during my morning perusal of the Times:
In March, Mr. Bush warmed up the United States Hispanic Chamber of Commerce by joking about the “difficult spending decisions” and “sensitive diplomacy” that are a part of wedding planning.
How true! Though hopefully he decided against invading the Hager family.
Friday, May 9, 2008
I've Been Meme'ed
I'm not so good with these newfangled technological thingies (I am a print media dinosaur, after all), but apparently there's some thing called Memeing, which Liz has just done to me. Hence, the below:
Here are the rules:
A) The rules of the game get posted at the beginning.
B) Each player answers the questions about himself or herself.
C) At the end of the post, the player then tags five people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know they’ve been tagged and asking them to read your blog.
1) Ten years ago I was…finishing my sophomore year of high school. The less we can say about this, the better.
2) Five things on today’s to-do list:
Laundry
Gym
Get a library card
Try on dress I ordered from Nordstrom
Return dress I ordered from Nordstrom
3) Things I’d do if I were a billionaire:
Hm...Endow some sort of public health organization. Endow some sort of omnipotent do-obvious-good-stuff organization. Buy a newspaper and run it responsibly. Buy a lot of books. Loan $11.4 million to my presidential campaign.
4) Three bad habits:
I play with my hair obsessively.
I am addicted to diet Coke.
I pick scabs.
5) Five places I’ve lived:
Chicago
Ann Arbor, Michigan
New Haven (twice!)
Manhattan
New Jersey
6) Six jobs I’ve had in my life:
Medical file filer, camp counselor, homeless-newspaper intern, childcare drop in center "recreation specialist," American Studies Department receptionist/copier/shredder/filer, newspaper reporter
Here are the rules:
A) The rules of the game get posted at the beginning.
B) Each player answers the questions about himself or herself.
C) At the end of the post, the player then tags five people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know they’ve been tagged and asking them to read your blog.
1) Ten years ago I was…finishing my sophomore year of high school. The less we can say about this, the better.
2) Five things on today’s to-do list:
Laundry
Gym
Get a library card
Try on dress I ordered from Nordstrom
Return dress I ordered from Nordstrom
3) Things I’d do if I were a billionaire:
Hm...Endow some sort of public health organization. Endow some sort of omnipotent do-obvious-good-stuff organization. Buy a newspaper and run it responsibly. Buy a lot of books. Loan $11.4 million to my presidential campaign.
4) Three bad habits:
I play with my hair obsessively.
I am addicted to diet Coke.
I pick scabs.
5) Five places I’ve lived:
Chicago
Ann Arbor, Michigan
New Haven (twice!)
Manhattan
New Jersey
6) Six jobs I’ve had in my life:
Medical file filer, camp counselor, homeless-newspaper intern, childcare drop in center "recreation specialist," American Studies Department receptionist/copier/shredder/filer, newspaper reporter
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Vows
I started reading the Times' Vows section a couple years ago, after I realized people I went to college popped up in there every so often. You can learn some really interesting tidbits about people you sort of knew from their wedding announcements, like one former classmate of mine whose family apparently owns a plantation.
I'll admit I don't dwell much on the articles or personal stories; I just skim for basic details like age of bride and groom, where they went to college, whether I might know them (or of them), and what investment banks their fathers run. Not a high-minded activity, but interesting nonetheless.
One thing about this has started to bother me. There's something jarring in the way the announcement blurbs read. An example (names changed to protect the innocent):
Sarah Marie Weisman, a daughter of Judith Weisman and Allan R. Weisman of Summit, N.J., was married on Saturday evening to Samuel David Hirschman, the son of Linda and Robert Hirschman of Princeton, Mass. Rabbi Shlomo Levi officiated at a service on a private estate owned by the bride's family.
Mrs. Hirschman, 28, was until March a senior manager of loans at Merrill Lynch. She graduated from Dartmouth...
There's nothing but a space between paragraphs one and two, but suddenly, in a few milimeters, Sarah Marie has made the transition from high-powered, working Ms. Weisman to the jobless Mrs. Hirschman.
Of course, the sudden name change is far more common than the abandoned career, though that creeps up far more often than I would have thought among highly educated, successful women of my generation.
I suppose the one-line space in a newspaper column is a fairly appropriate way to describe these transitions. They're weirdly sudden. Not that the wedding ceremony described in paragraph one isn't a major threshold crossed, based on months of preparation and years of courtship, but it's still a strange thing. One minute (or paragraph) you've got one name, the next, you're someone else. One minute you're a rising star on Wall Street or some other industry, the next you're wifey.
Weird.
I'll admit I don't dwell much on the articles or personal stories; I just skim for basic details like age of bride and groom, where they went to college, whether I might know them (or of them), and what investment banks their fathers run. Not a high-minded activity, but interesting nonetheless.
One thing about this has started to bother me. There's something jarring in the way the announcement blurbs read. An example (names changed to protect the innocent):
Sarah Marie Weisman, a daughter of Judith Weisman and Allan R. Weisman of Summit, N.J., was married on Saturday evening to Samuel David Hirschman, the son of Linda and Robert Hirschman of Princeton, Mass. Rabbi Shlomo Levi officiated at a service on a private estate owned by the bride's family.
Mrs. Hirschman, 28, was until March a senior manager of loans at Merrill Lynch. She graduated from Dartmouth...
There's nothing but a space between paragraphs one and two, but suddenly, in a few milimeters, Sarah Marie has made the transition from high-powered, working Ms. Weisman to the jobless Mrs. Hirschman.
Of course, the sudden name change is far more common than the abandoned career, though that creeps up far more often than I would have thought among highly educated, successful women of my generation.
I suppose the one-line space in a newspaper column is a fairly appropriate way to describe these transitions. They're weirdly sudden. Not that the wedding ceremony described in paragraph one isn't a major threshold crossed, based on months of preparation and years of courtship, but it's still a strange thing. One minute (or paragraph) you've got one name, the next, you're someone else. One minute you're a rising star on Wall Street or some other industry, the next you're wifey.
Weird.
Friday, May 2, 2008
And Now This To Worry About
I had no idea there was such thing as armpit flab, but I guess there's a market in anything that will make a woman feel bad about herself. Accordingly, here's a guide to getting rid of that allegedly existent flab, which is supposedly key if you want to wear a strapless dress.
Whatever.
It's Easy Being Green
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Damn You, Jenna Bush
From a certain Maid of Honor:
"Jenna Bush had 15 individually designed dresses made for her bridesmaids...along with an oscar de la renta dress. you are really going to have to pick things up if you want to compete ;)"
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Marketing Genius
Somebody at the Bridal Mall in Niantic must be seriously channeling me, because this came in the mail yesterday.
Large print version:
The Dress...
not just any dress, your
WEDDING DRESS
Just admit it...
At some point in planning your wedding, it becomes
All About THE DRESS!
Even if you've resisted the hype
you still need The Dress.
All eyes will be on you...
especially your Groom's!
Large print version:
The Dress...
not just any dress, your
WEDDING DRESS
Just admit it...
At some point in planning your wedding, it becomes
All About THE DRESS!
Even if you've resisted the hype
you still need The Dress.
All eyes will be on you...
especially your Groom's!
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Adventures in Dresses, Part I
Approximate recreation of Arielle in dress.
I tried on a wedding dress last weekend. It was horrifying.
You may know that I've never been the sort of girl to dream of my wedding and imagine myself in white lace or chiffon or whatever. Even as I've embraced the wedding planning process (I do love to plan), the dress has been one thing I still dread.
But I tend to like getting the things I dread out of the way, and an engaged friend had had some success with dresses at a little non-wedding-specific boutique in New Haven, so I figured I'd give it a shot when I was in the neighborhood.
Oh god.
My first clue that this might not be a dreamy experience came when I noticed that the pretty white dresses hanging in the store were all about a foot taller than I am. I know they can tailor things, but talk about a waste of yardage.
I should say here that I didn't have particularly high expectations; all those stories I'd been told about how magical it is to put on a white dress for the first time had completely gone over my head. My hatred of shopping is probably pathological and has led me to do things like buy the same sweater in three different colors to avoid having to shop for another few years. Dress shopping is particularly loathsome as I don't wear the same size in all places. I do find dresses very pretty, but as a practical matter, they're dreadful, and since I wear them about twice a year, I don't tend to buy them very often. I think at least three of the eight or so dresses that I own were purchased in middle school.
But I digress.
Being a small, non-wedding boutique, this store had exactly one wedding dress in stock, though it did have a few white ones and a nice pinkish one. Fortunately, it was a nice, simple, strapless white thing by Nicole Miller, whose dresses I tend to like. (No, I never thought I'd learn the names of any designers either, but one slow Saturday working the cops shift mixed with theKnot wedding dress gallery made me a changed women. Also I think I had some Nicole Miller stationery when I was at camp one year that I really liked.)
So into the dressing room I go. The fastidious salesman even thought the dress was in my size, so the expectations were creeping upward.
Big mistake.
Besides the three feet of extra fabric on the floor beneath my feet, the waist fell somewhere below my hips. I won't even discuss the boobage. It was sort of like being a child and trying on your mother's clothes, or at least putting on something that screamed, rather loudly, "this is not for you!"
Somehow the salesman overrode my protests and coaxed me out of the dressing room. First he suggested that I put on some high heels. This did not really have the desired transformational effect, though it did make me look about two inches taller (and worried that I'd fall out of them and break my ankle). Because grown up shoes also don't fit me.
I think what disappointed me most about this experience was not that the dress looked bad; some dresses just don't work for some people, and this one clearly wasn't meant for me. And I'm told that tailoring really can work wonders.
No, what really bugged me was that looking in the mirror in it felt like something of a dull thud. I'm not really sure what that meant, but it certainly wasn't magic.
I suppose I shouldn't have such high expectations. After all, if I never considered the bridal gown the crowning, dreamy moment of my adulthood, I shouldn't really expect to find my dream dress or expect much euphoria once I find one close. I guess the white dress thing just doesn't do it for me.
Unfortunately, the tall, beautiful Nicole Miller dress has left me with even more dread than before. I was hoping to preempt any chaperoned shopping trips by jumpstarting the search last weekend (I also don't like shopping with people; ask Rick about that one), but clearly that effort failed. I suppose I will have to get back on the horse at some point, but man, I am really not looking forward to this part.
(Things not included in this post that I meant to include: Did I miss something in girl school about the point of spending thousands of dollars on a dress you're going to wear for six hours? Seriously? Also, the allure of a train completely eludes me. If anyone would like to explain its importance to me I might reconsider, but at the moment I have no interest in growing a gigantic satin tail.)
Just A Thought
Way back when I started looking for wedding sites (all of six weeks ago), I thought chair covers provided a nice look. Now I'm starting to think they make it look like the chairs have joined the klan. Is it just me?
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Last Names, Again
So I've decided to go with the feminism-be-damned option and take Rick's name.
Actually, I think I'm going to go with the logic-be-damned option and just add Rick's name onto mine, but shove my last names over to be middle names so I can both keep my names and end up with just one last name. Because how often do you really write your full full name these days? And apparently having three middle names is totally legal in Connecticut.
Which leads me to what seems to be a much trickier question: What do I do with my byline?
The personal life name-change was a pretty easy decision, especially once I realized there's a way to take his name without actually losing any of mine. It might have been harder if I had just one name originally, but this whole double-naming thing reaches its logical conclusion in one generation. And I want to have the same last name as my (imaginary future) children.
But work is trickier. I always figured I'd change my name privately and keep my maiden names for work. Aside from being far simpler not to change anything, I figured it would give me a nice cushion of anonymity once the name that appears in the paper is not my legal name. (Not that anyone but journalists and their moms actually notice bylines.)
The more I think about it, though, I start to think that's self-defeating.
If name-changing is about convenience, then it would certainly be more useful for work to have one easily spellable and recognizable name. This occurs to me every time I try to leave a message for someone and end up spelling my name four times, or every time our computer system malfunctions and I have to call our company's IT helpdesk in India (my outsourced colleagues may speak perfectly fine English, but my guess is they don't deal with a lot of people named Levin). One name, and a common one at that, would just be way easier.
Of course, I do kind of like how my byline looks. And it is the name I've used as I started my career, however measly it is. And somehow, bringing your name change into the professional world plants you firmly on one side of the name-changing debate, as if every time you have to explain to a colleague or source or prospective employer why you had a different name a couple years ago, you're also saying "and I'm one of those women who doesn't keep her name." Which I suppose in my own way I fear is not the sort of woman I tend to think I am.
But then there's the issue of identity. Can you reconcile having two different names for two different circumstances? How do you get used to a new name if most of the time you still use the old one? I'm not sure how much having a particular name drives your identity, but part of me thinks that only taking his name in my personal life, when the only time I really have to use it is to make a dinner reservation, is kind of a cop out. And doesn't having a separate name for work and home reinforce a separation, even incompatibility, between the two?
I suppose in some ways this comes back to a question raised in the great Charlin-TPerl debates of elsewhere on the blog. Perl wondered whether a woman who kept her name would correct someone who introduced her as if she'd taken her husband's name, and asked whether doing so was important or not. The way you answer that question seems to depend in part on how important you see your name to your identity, and how significant it is if someone uses the wrong name.
I'm not sure how I'd answer that. Though since I'm rarely assertive enough to correct people when they mispronounce my one and only first name, I guess I probably wouldn't bother with the last name. But that hardly answers the question.
So, any suggestions?
Actually, I think I'm going to go with the logic-be-damned option and just add Rick's name onto mine, but shove my last names over to be middle names so I can both keep my names and end up with just one last name. Because how often do you really write your full full name these days? And apparently having three middle names is totally legal in Connecticut.
Which leads me to what seems to be a much trickier question: What do I do with my byline?
The personal life name-change was a pretty easy decision, especially once I realized there's a way to take his name without actually losing any of mine. It might have been harder if I had just one name originally, but this whole double-naming thing reaches its logical conclusion in one generation. And I want to have the same last name as my (imaginary future) children.
But work is trickier. I always figured I'd change my name privately and keep my maiden names for work. Aside from being far simpler not to change anything, I figured it would give me a nice cushion of anonymity once the name that appears in the paper is not my legal name. (Not that anyone but journalists and their moms actually notice bylines.)
The more I think about it, though, I start to think that's self-defeating.
If name-changing is about convenience, then it would certainly be more useful for work to have one easily spellable and recognizable name. This occurs to me every time I try to leave a message for someone and end up spelling my name four times, or every time our computer system malfunctions and I have to call our company's IT helpdesk in India (my outsourced colleagues may speak perfectly fine English, but my guess is they don't deal with a lot of people named Levin). One name, and a common one at that, would just be way easier.
Of course, I do kind of like how my byline looks. And it is the name I've used as I started my career, however measly it is. And somehow, bringing your name change into the professional world plants you firmly on one side of the name-changing debate, as if every time you have to explain to a colleague or source or prospective employer why you had a different name a couple years ago, you're also saying "and I'm one of those women who doesn't keep her name." Which I suppose in my own way I fear is not the sort of woman I tend to think I am.
But then there's the issue of identity. Can you reconcile having two different names for two different circumstances? How do you get used to a new name if most of the time you still use the old one? I'm not sure how much having a particular name drives your identity, but part of me thinks that only taking his name in my personal life, when the only time I really have to use it is to make a dinner reservation, is kind of a cop out. And doesn't having a separate name for work and home reinforce a separation, even incompatibility, between the two?
I suppose in some ways this comes back to a question raised in the great Charlin-TPerl debates of elsewhere on the blog. Perl wondered whether a woman who kept her name would correct someone who introduced her as if she'd taken her husband's name, and asked whether doing so was important or not. The way you answer that question seems to depend in part on how important you see your name to your identity, and how significant it is if someone uses the wrong name.
I'm not sure how I'd answer that. Though since I'm rarely assertive enough to correct people when they mispronounce my one and only first name, I guess I probably wouldn't bother with the last name. But that hardly answers the question.
So, any suggestions?
Friday, April 4, 2008
Special Needs
Came across this while browsing locations:
"We can offer specialties to meet your needs including ice sculptures, passed champagne, fruit displays, after dinner cordials, Venetian tables and more."
Which is good, because I just can't go anywhere without a wheelchair ramp and an ice sculpture.
"We can offer specialties to meet your needs including ice sculptures, passed champagne, fruit displays, after dinner cordials, Venetian tables and more."
Which is good, because I just can't go anywhere without a wheelchair ramp and an ice sculpture.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Engagement Ring 101
I thought it was sweet when, the first night after I got my engagement ring, I took it off, placed it on the bedside table, and got in bed, only to hear Rick ask, mildly exasperated, "What are you doing? You're not supposed to take that ring off! Ever!"
How sweetly naive, I thought; he must think that whole "wearing the ring for the rest of your life" thing was literal. How cute (and reassuring, that he'd never slept with a married woman before). But seriously, I thought, who doesn't take her ring off for bed or to shower or to go to the gym or play contact sports?
Apparently I'm the idiot.
I first learned this when I mentioned Rick's "cute" reaction to my grandmother. She quickly set me straight. You never take that ring off! she instructed me. To underline the point, she told me of how she had lost her engagement ring when she took it off at Rockaway Beach and it fell into the ocean.
(Luckily she had insurance on it and they used the money to build a back porch. But that's not the point.)
So you're supposed to wear it to bed? I asked her.
Yep.
What about in the shower?
Uh-huh.
When you're doing dishes?
(Apparently this is cause for some debate - some women do remove their rings for dishes.)
Rick later also allowed that perhaps it would be wise to remove the ring while playing contact sports, if I have a tight pocket. And my grandmother instructed that I turn it inward if I'm in a bad neighborhood.
I'm not sure I believe all this. Doesn't common sense tell you that it's ok to take off a ring if you have a safe place for it, like the nightstand? I mean, it could put some unsuspecting sleeping fiance's eye out. And can't you allow for some sort of discretion about when to wear the ring and when not to? (Like, maybe not to the beach?) I'll admit that I've been caught staring at the ring like a moron a couple times in the past few days, but surely my judgment hasn't been so far compromised by Bridal Syndrome that I can't be trusted to put it in a safe place. It's not like I have to sew my mittens to my winter coat or anything (though come to think of it, I guess I did misplace a couple pairs this winter).
I love my ring, which I find almost troubling given my complete ambivalence toward jewelry before this. But it's a little strange to think of never taking it off. It's almost strangely suffocating, in a completely misplaced sort of way, like I've grown a new (beautiful, shiny) appendage. That's kinda weird.
So, you married types out there, any thoughts? When do you wear your ring and when do you take it off?
How sweetly naive, I thought; he must think that whole "wearing the ring for the rest of your life" thing was literal. How cute (and reassuring, that he'd never slept with a married woman before). But seriously, I thought, who doesn't take her ring off for bed or to shower or to go to the gym or play contact sports?
Apparently I'm the idiot.
I first learned this when I mentioned Rick's "cute" reaction to my grandmother. She quickly set me straight. You never take that ring off! she instructed me. To underline the point, she told me of how she had lost her engagement ring when she took it off at Rockaway Beach and it fell into the ocean.
(Luckily she had insurance on it and they used the money to build a back porch. But that's not the point.)
So you're supposed to wear it to bed? I asked her.
Yep.
What about in the shower?
Uh-huh.
When you're doing dishes?
(Apparently this is cause for some debate - some women do remove their rings for dishes.)
Rick later also allowed that perhaps it would be wise to remove the ring while playing contact sports, if I have a tight pocket. And my grandmother instructed that I turn it inward if I'm in a bad neighborhood.
I'm not sure I believe all this. Doesn't common sense tell you that it's ok to take off a ring if you have a safe place for it, like the nightstand? I mean, it could put some unsuspecting sleeping fiance's eye out. And can't you allow for some sort of discretion about when to wear the ring and when not to? (Like, maybe not to the beach?) I'll admit that I've been caught staring at the ring like a moron a couple times in the past few days, but surely my judgment hasn't been so far compromised by Bridal Syndrome that I can't be trusted to put it in a safe place. It's not like I have to sew my mittens to my winter coat or anything (though come to think of it, I guess I did misplace a couple pairs this winter).
I love my ring, which I find almost troubling given my complete ambivalence toward jewelry before this. But it's a little strange to think of never taking it off. It's almost strangely suffocating, in a completely misplaced sort of way, like I've grown a new (beautiful, shiny) appendage. That's kinda weird.
So, you married types out there, any thoughts? When do you wear your ring and when do you take it off?
Friday, March 28, 2008
The Real Ring
It doesn't come in delicious candy flavors, but on the bright side, it probably won't attract ants when I'm 60. So I guess it's a keeper.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Early And Often
Only one more day to vote on our celebrity couple name! It appears from the tallies so far that Ariick and Harrielle are neck in neck. Which I think means that our one loyal reader is undecided and keeps alternating votes.
Cast your ballot today!
Cast your ballot today!
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Thoughts of the Day
Now in numbered form!
1. David Paterson admits he cheated on his wife. Turns out, his wife cheated on him too. What the hell is wrong with people? Is this marriage thing a joke?
2. I guess not if you're Heather Mills. Da-amn.
3. I've gotten used to the wedding-related price tags so much that my eyes no longer bug out so much when I see all the digits. But then today I got an email from one place that got me all bug-eyed again. In addition to the mandatory costs, like the $18/hour parking valet, there is the standard per-person food cost. Cost? $225 a person. Then again, I probably shouldn't have looked past the $24,000 site rental fee.
4. Meanwhile, while pondering bridal gowns (and how unexcited they make me), I was even more startled by the wording on one price tag. $895 each. Um, ok.
5. My secret plan to convince Rick to elope seems to be gaining steam. Ssh...
1. David Paterson admits he cheated on his wife. Turns out, his wife cheated on him too. What the hell is wrong with people? Is this marriage thing a joke?
2. I guess not if you're Heather Mills. Da-amn.
3. I've gotten used to the wedding-related price tags so much that my eyes no longer bug out so much when I see all the digits. But then today I got an email from one place that got me all bug-eyed again. In addition to the mandatory costs, like the $18/hour parking valet, there is the standard per-person food cost. Cost? $225 a person. Then again, I probably shouldn't have looked past the $24,000 site rental fee.
4. Meanwhile, while pondering bridal gowns (and how unexcited they make me), I was even more startled by the wording on one price tag. $895 each. Um, ok.
5. My secret plan to convince Rick to elope seems to be gaining steam. Ssh...
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Adventures In Registry, Part I
Why registering hasn't been made into a horror movie yet is beyond me.
Or maybe I just hate shopping more than the average bear.
In any case, yes, we went a-registering today. (Why we're registering 18 months before we get married is also beyond me. This you will have to take up with my future husband, who lobbied for the trip.)
Our first stop, at the state's only Crate & Barrel, was fairly uneventful, though I might say fairly stressful if you a) don't feel particularly moved by variations on the white plate or b) are terrified of turning quickly and knocking over a whole display of glassware. Not that that applies to anyone here.
(Though I will say this: whoever invented those zapper gun thingies is a genius. It definitely kept at least my boy interested amid an endless parade of glassware.)
Our second stop was a lineny/beddy-type store mentioned in Team America: World Police's hit song, "America, Fuck Yeah." This is where I'd set our horror movie.
I am a big fan of this store. I've moved five times in the 3.5 years since college, so I've spent quite a bit of time in the chain's various tristate locations, nearly exhausting a supply of 20 percent off coupons. I thought I knew what I was in for.
Enter the registry guy. I'll call him Lloyd.
At first Lloyd seemed like an annoyed salesperson, fulfilling his duties to act interested in the engaged couple. After taking care of some technical issues, he launched into the obligatory "congratulations!" (is every wedding-related vendor obligated to begin every conversation that way? I don't think my dad has even used that word yet). I sort of felt bad for wasting his time and was fully prepared to nod my head until he gave us the scanner gun and let us zap items at our leisure.
Instead, Lloyd suddenly launched into guilt-trip wedding planner mode. For a non-Jewish, non-woman, he was mighty impressive. First he wanted to know our wedding date.
Me: We don't have one yet.
Lloyd: [Looks befuddled.]
Me: We haven't set the date. We haven't found a place yet. Can we just say the month?
Lloyd: Most people have a wedding date. That's like the first thing people do.
Me: Well, uh, we want to find a place first and then set it.
Lloyd: Ok but the computer needs a date.
Me: Can we just make one up?
Lloyd: You will need to update it as soon as possible. Because your guests will look at the registry and see the date and need to know.
[Note to potential guests: If you do not receive an invitation by sometime in the middle of 2009, you are not invited. Don't go looking at our registry for wedding info.]
We solve that bit by agreeing to a fake wedding date. Peace restored.
But only until he asks about China. Do you need information about China?
No, we say. We're not interested.
What, he asks, you're getting it from your parents?
No, we say; we don't need China.
Awkward pause.
I won't get into our other conversations with Lloyd, about such topics as the small notes you can include in your invitations to inform your unsuspecting guests where you registered (we refused them) and which brands of knives were preferable. Or the unfortunate combination of a registry that asks too many questions (like parents' names) and a family like ours, which appears to result in a registry in which every single word (including our home address) is spelled wrong. Look for us under Baker-Harisan.
So we were off, zapper gun in hand, to conquer the world of cutting boards and duvet covers and neck pillows.
But sure enough, every 10 minutes or so, Lloyd popped up. Are you not buying gadgets? he'd wonder. What about glasses? He did this under the guise of giving us back a new, corrected printout of our registry, though each one had more errors, which I think was just a pretense for coming back to nag further. What about bakingware? Have you considered that?
Anyway, I say all this not to pick on Lloyd, who I'm sure was just doing his job per company policy. It's just that I now have images of a slightly disapproving salesman jumping from behind every Pyrex display, ready to pepper us with questions about whether we've considered the latest in bed skirts.
Or maybe I just hate shopping more than the average bear.
In any case, yes, we went a-registering today. (Why we're registering 18 months before we get married is also beyond me. This you will have to take up with my future husband, who lobbied for the trip.)
Our first stop, at the state's only Crate & Barrel, was fairly uneventful, though I might say fairly stressful if you a) don't feel particularly moved by variations on the white plate or b) are terrified of turning quickly and knocking over a whole display of glassware. Not that that applies to anyone here.
(Though I will say this: whoever invented those zapper gun thingies is a genius. It definitely kept at least my boy interested amid an endless parade of glassware.)
Our second stop was a lineny/beddy-type store mentioned in Team America: World Police's hit song, "America, Fuck Yeah." This is where I'd set our horror movie.
I am a big fan of this store. I've moved five times in the 3.5 years since college, so I've spent quite a bit of time in the chain's various tristate locations, nearly exhausting a supply of 20 percent off coupons. I thought I knew what I was in for.
Enter the registry guy. I'll call him Lloyd.
At first Lloyd seemed like an annoyed salesperson, fulfilling his duties to act interested in the engaged couple. After taking care of some technical issues, he launched into the obligatory "congratulations!" (is every wedding-related vendor obligated to begin every conversation that way? I don't think my dad has even used that word yet). I sort of felt bad for wasting his time and was fully prepared to nod my head until he gave us the scanner gun and let us zap items at our leisure.
Instead, Lloyd suddenly launched into guilt-trip wedding planner mode. For a non-Jewish, non-woman, he was mighty impressive. First he wanted to know our wedding date.
Me: We don't have one yet.
Lloyd: [Looks befuddled.]
Me: We haven't set the date. We haven't found a place yet. Can we just say the month?
Lloyd: Most people have a wedding date. That's like the first thing people do.
Me: Well, uh, we want to find a place first and then set it.
Lloyd: Ok but the computer needs a date.
Me: Can we just make one up?
Lloyd: You will need to update it as soon as possible. Because your guests will look at the registry and see the date and need to know.
[Note to potential guests: If you do not receive an invitation by sometime in the middle of 2009, you are not invited. Don't go looking at our registry for wedding info.]
We solve that bit by agreeing to a fake wedding date. Peace restored.
But only until he asks about China. Do you need information about China?
No, we say. We're not interested.
What, he asks, you're getting it from your parents?
No, we say; we don't need China.
Awkward pause.
I won't get into our other conversations with Lloyd, about such topics as the small notes you can include in your invitations to inform your unsuspecting guests where you registered (we refused them) and which brands of knives were preferable. Or the unfortunate combination of a registry that asks too many questions (like parents' names) and a family like ours, which appears to result in a registry in which every single word (including our home address) is spelled wrong. Look for us under Baker-Harisan.
So we were off, zapper gun in hand, to conquer the world of cutting boards and duvet covers and neck pillows.
But sure enough, every 10 minutes or so, Lloyd popped up. Are you not buying gadgets? he'd wonder. What about glasses? He did this under the guise of giving us back a new, corrected printout of our registry, though each one had more errors, which I think was just a pretense for coming back to nag further. What about bakingware? Have you considered that?
Anyway, I say all this not to pick on Lloyd, who I'm sure was just doing his job per company policy. It's just that I now have images of a slightly disapproving salesman jumping from behind every Pyrex display, ready to pepper us with questions about whether we've considered the latest in bed skirts.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Birthday Blog
"I can't wait to pay off the national debt!"
We interrupt this regularly scheduled blog to say Happy 1st Birthday to my adorable nephew Colin!
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
At Least She Kept The Wall
Eliot Spitzer is making me rethink this whole name-change thing.
I'm not implying that Rick has any kind of predilection for high-priced call girls or that the future of New York state is weighing heavily on my prematrimonial conscience.
But his wife is.
I'm hardly alone in being far more interested in Silda Wall Spitzer than in Eliot and his apparent soft spot for expensive sex. Here's a smart, high-powered, accomplished woman, who gives up her career for her husband's political ambitions. Sure, she also raises three children and she has her own foundation to run. But I'm pretty sure no one wonders which of the Spitzers gave up more for the other's career.
I'm not judging her for this. I don't know her or anyone who does, and for all I know, she never really liked practicing law or being a busy working mom.
Not everyone is so restrained. Linda Hirshman writes on Slate that the "Silda Spitzer Lesson" is, simply, "Don't quit your day job." The longer version would be that she's a casualty of the "opt-out revolution." "Like all revolutionaries, the opt-out revolutionaries often wind up bleeding on the barricades," Hirshman writes.
Fair enough. But isn't that in some way saying that the root of her wrong decision was in trusting her husband?
I don't plan to give up my day job anytime soon, children or not. But at some point in most two-career couples' relationships, someone ends up sacrificing for the other. It might not be as extreme as giving up a path to managing partner in favor of political wifery, but it's usually not an easy or equitable compromise either.
This is, I suppose, basically what marriage is, giving up the primacy of yourself as a self-contained independent being in favor of some sort of joint enterprise, a whole you create with another person that means more than you. It's trusting someone else as much as - maybe more than - yourself, sacrificing for him not because it's for him but because on some level it's for you both.
That leaves you very vulnerable. But can you do it any other way? If you zealously guard your independence and self-reliance, aren't you on some level failing to make a basic commitment to the other person?
Which leads me to changing names. Sure, it sounds trivial compared to matters of feminism and trust and commitment. But it involves all of them. If I take my husband's name, I am giving up one symbol, however superficial, of me. Sure, it's not giving up a career or anywhere close. But it's still giving up something of my independent identity and taking part of his, in a way that he doesn't have to reciprocate. (Thanks to Charlin, for nailing this point...maybe the hardest part about the name-change decision is that even if it's a woman's choice, it's still a sexist assumption.)
I wouldn't be marrying Rick if I had any inkling that he could possibly let me down. But I can't imagine that Mrs. Spitzer (at least she kept the "Wall") and a long list of other wives didn't also feel that way once too.
I'm not implying that Rick has any kind of predilection for high-priced call girls or that the future of New York state is weighing heavily on my prematrimonial conscience.
But his wife is.
I'm hardly alone in being far more interested in Silda Wall Spitzer than in Eliot and his apparent soft spot for expensive sex. Here's a smart, high-powered, accomplished woman, who gives up her career for her husband's political ambitions. Sure, she also raises three children and she has her own foundation to run. But I'm pretty sure no one wonders which of the Spitzers gave up more for the other's career.
I'm not judging her for this. I don't know her or anyone who does, and for all I know, she never really liked practicing law or being a busy working mom.
Not everyone is so restrained. Linda Hirshman writes on Slate that the "Silda Spitzer Lesson" is, simply, "Don't quit your day job." The longer version would be that she's a casualty of the "opt-out revolution." "Like all revolutionaries, the opt-out revolutionaries often wind up bleeding on the barricades," Hirshman writes.
Fair enough. But isn't that in some way saying that the root of her wrong decision was in trusting her husband?
I don't plan to give up my day job anytime soon, children or not. But at some point in most two-career couples' relationships, someone ends up sacrificing for the other. It might not be as extreme as giving up a path to managing partner in favor of political wifery, but it's usually not an easy or equitable compromise either.
This is, I suppose, basically what marriage is, giving up the primacy of yourself as a self-contained independent being in favor of some sort of joint enterprise, a whole you create with another person that means more than you. It's trusting someone else as much as - maybe more than - yourself, sacrificing for him not because it's for him but because on some level it's for you both.
That leaves you very vulnerable. But can you do it any other way? If you zealously guard your independence and self-reliance, aren't you on some level failing to make a basic commitment to the other person?
Which leads me to changing names. Sure, it sounds trivial compared to matters of feminism and trust and commitment. But it involves all of them. If I take my husband's name, I am giving up one symbol, however superficial, of me. Sure, it's not giving up a career or anywhere close. But it's still giving up something of my independent identity and taking part of his, in a way that he doesn't have to reciprocate. (Thanks to Charlin, for nailing this point...maybe the hardest part about the name-change decision is that even if it's a woman's choice, it's still a sexist assumption.)
I wouldn't be marrying Rick if I had any inkling that he could possibly let me down. But I can't imagine that Mrs. Spitzer (at least she kept the "Wall") and a long list of other wives didn't also feel that way once too.
Friday, March 7, 2008
HR 544: I Do
The First Official Wedding Poll
(Hopefully with more accuracy than the presidential polls.)
Our early-stage wedding planning has come up with the following: We will be married sometime in the late summer/early fall of 2009, somewhere in Connecticut or New England.
We're also doing it on a Sunday, thanks to the religious proclivities of a healthy segment of my family (no travel, etc., on Saturdays).
Which leads us to a bit of a quandary. Do we expect people to come to a Sunday wedding in (in most cases) another state and take off the next day of work? Or do we plan it for a holiday weekend (aka Labor Day)? How much of an inconvenience are you allowed to create to get married? Or do people expect to travel and maybe miss work to see friends or family get married?
Our early-stage wedding planning has come up with the following: We will be married sometime in the late summer/early fall of 2009, somewhere in Connecticut or New England.
We're also doing it on a Sunday, thanks to the religious proclivities of a healthy segment of my family (no travel, etc., on Saturdays).
Which leads us to a bit of a quandary. Do we expect people to come to a Sunday wedding in (in most cases) another state and take off the next day of work? Or do we plan it for a holiday weekend (aka Labor Day)? How much of an inconvenience are you allowed to create to get married? Or do people expect to travel and maybe miss work to see friends or family get married?
If you wonder why this is even a question, you're obviously on the bride's side. You see, dear friends and family, Sept. 6, 2009 (besides being my brother's anniversary) happens to fall on a Sunday in that sacred time of year called football season (or, in my future husband's case, Jets-induced agony).
So, in the interest in polling the masses, please weigh in and identify with any of the following (I'd suggest comments, at least until I can figure out how to get a poll up on blogger):
_ If you get married on a non-holiday Sunday, I won't come to your wedding
_ If you get married on a non-holiday Sunday, I'll come, but secretly resent you for years
_ I love missing work, so please get married on a Sunday, anytime!
_ Screw religion; get married on a Saturday to avoid missing a football game
_ Screw football; get married on the Sunday before Labor Day
_ Get married at Giants Stadium
_ How 'bout Memorial Day?
(And for kicks)
_ Hillary
_ Obama
_ McCain
_ Gravel
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Mawwiage
So, marriage, eh.
I've been skeptical about the concept for a while now. I'm not sure if it's the 50+ percent divorce rate or my family's own history with the institution, but for whatever reason, I haven't had a whole lot of trust in the idea that when two people say they're committed to each other forever it means much more than "for now."
So, what the hell am I doing being engaged?
I dunno. It seemed right.
I wish I could say that I've looked deep into my soul, into his soul, and realized that whatever things split my parents apart, or my grandparents apart, or his parents apart, just couldn't creep up on us. Except then I'd be lying, and I'd probably be stupid.
I can't see into the future. I can't imagine myself at 30, let alone 40, 50, or 65 (except perhaps to see that, given the state of our industry and what the politicians say about social security, neither of us will be retired). Who knows what will become of us.
I can say that, at this point, and for some time now, no one has made me feel more comfortable, more myself, more at peace with myself. No one knows me better, in the good ways and the bad. There's no one I'd rather spend the next 24 hours snowed in with, or the next 60 years with. We've dealt with bad things, not just good ones, and come out ok. We're not going into this blind.
I'd like to think that that's enough. In some ways, it is; it's really all I have to go on. But I'm willing to bet that a good portion of the gajillion couples who divorce also felt that way at one point or another before things headed south. And I'm willing to bet even more that an even greater portion of the people whose marriages didn't last really were the right people for each other at one point.
I'm not exactly sure how to interpret the high divorce rate. When my grandparents got divorced, my great grandmother threatened a hunger strike, so shocking was the idea of a good Jewish couple splitting up. When my parents got divorced, my great grandfather took a less drastic approach. He asked why, and when my mom told him she and my dad hadn't been happy together, he replied, "But you're married. What does that have to do with being happy?"
It's easier and more acceptable to get divorced now than when my grandmother did it, becoming something of a pioneer in the process. But what does that mean? Do people invest less in their marriages in the first place, perhaps subconsciously figuring that the weight of forever isn't really as heavy as it was when the term meant something? Or are people just as happy or unhappy as ever before, but now with options?
Maybe people nowadays change more over time, grow apart because of the possibilities that never used to exist. Surely expectations about life weren't as grand when everyone stayed in the same town, in the same line of work as the rest of the family. In a world where you may start a new career at 40 and move across the world whenever, maybe being hitched to the same person is a mildly antiquated concept.
What does all this say about marriage? Are we just not meant to be committed to the same person for most of a lifetime? Maybe the whole "'til death do us part" conceit is a hopeless fantasy. Can we adequately judge who we're going to want to stick with for the next 50 years?
I used to think it was wisest to wait as many years as possible before getting married, because the longer you're together, premarriage, the more secure you would be. I'm not sure evidence would bear that out. I also used to think that if you just made sure you were sure enough, if you just weren't foolish in any way, you wouldn't be stuck with lawyers and alimony and child custody fights 10 years down the road.
But at some point I realized things happen, people change. Would it be better to stick it out with each other no matter what, weather every storm with your commitment as the one thing you never compromise? I don't know. How could I? I'm 26, with no firsthand knowledge of the things life throws at people, of the decisions people make in the trenches. Can I really judge? If I said yes, stick with your commitment no matter what, would it really be anything more than the idealistic answer of naive youth?
I started writing this as some sort of reconciliation with the concept of marriage. But I can't seem to write myself out of a corner on this one. Now that I'm engaged, I can't say I'm any less wary of marriage, or at least the frothy sentiments surrounding it. I'm more comfortable with the most blunt, low-expectations realities, anything so as not to be too naive or wonderstruck about it - and therefore vulnerable to any potential failure lurking around the bend. It's depressing, but I'm not sure there's much of a way around it. I haven't exactly seen a lot of evidence of happy, lasting marriages, and I'm hardly one to take anything on faith, even if the statistical odds weren't stacked against it.
So I've sort of reconciled myself to never being completely comfortable with the concept of marriage. Maybe I don't have to be. All I really have to have any faith and trust in is him and me, and, in a way that is completely foreign and weird, I do. I think I know myself, and I know him. He knows himself, and he knows me. I suppose at some point all you can have is that, and maybe some faith, a commitment to work hard, and trust.
(Blackmail material probably helps too.)
As the future wife of a Jersey boy, I figure it's appropriate to invoke Springsteen here. There's a song on the first mix Rick made me that has always struck me as the most appropriate way to think about getting married. And for the record, it was "Real World," a live acoustic version, not the crappy studio thing from Human Touch.
And if love is hopeless, hopeless at best
Come on put on your party dress - it's ours tonight
And we're goin' with the tumblin' dice
Ain't no church bells ringing
Ain't no flags unfurled
It's just me and you and the love we're bringing
Into the real world
I've been skeptical about the concept for a while now. I'm not sure if it's the 50+ percent divorce rate or my family's own history with the institution, but for whatever reason, I haven't had a whole lot of trust in the idea that when two people say they're committed to each other forever it means much more than "for now."
So, what the hell am I doing being engaged?
I dunno. It seemed right.
I wish I could say that I've looked deep into my soul, into his soul, and realized that whatever things split my parents apart, or my grandparents apart, or his parents apart, just couldn't creep up on us. Except then I'd be lying, and I'd probably be stupid.
I can't see into the future. I can't imagine myself at 30, let alone 40, 50, or 65 (except perhaps to see that, given the state of our industry and what the politicians say about social security, neither of us will be retired). Who knows what will become of us.
I can say that, at this point, and for some time now, no one has made me feel more comfortable, more myself, more at peace with myself. No one knows me better, in the good ways and the bad. There's no one I'd rather spend the next 24 hours snowed in with, or the next 60 years with. We've dealt with bad things, not just good ones, and come out ok. We're not going into this blind.
I'd like to think that that's enough. In some ways, it is; it's really all I have to go on. But I'm willing to bet that a good portion of the gajillion couples who divorce also felt that way at one point or another before things headed south. And I'm willing to bet even more that an even greater portion of the people whose marriages didn't last really were the right people for each other at one point.
I'm not exactly sure how to interpret the high divorce rate. When my grandparents got divorced, my great grandmother threatened a hunger strike, so shocking was the idea of a good Jewish couple splitting up. When my parents got divorced, my great grandfather took a less drastic approach. He asked why, and when my mom told him she and my dad hadn't been happy together, he replied, "But you're married. What does that have to do with being happy?"
It's easier and more acceptable to get divorced now than when my grandmother did it, becoming something of a pioneer in the process. But what does that mean? Do people invest less in their marriages in the first place, perhaps subconsciously figuring that the weight of forever isn't really as heavy as it was when the term meant something? Or are people just as happy or unhappy as ever before, but now with options?
Maybe people nowadays change more over time, grow apart because of the possibilities that never used to exist. Surely expectations about life weren't as grand when everyone stayed in the same town, in the same line of work as the rest of the family. In a world where you may start a new career at 40 and move across the world whenever, maybe being hitched to the same person is a mildly antiquated concept.
What does all this say about marriage? Are we just not meant to be committed to the same person for most of a lifetime? Maybe the whole "'til death do us part" conceit is a hopeless fantasy. Can we adequately judge who we're going to want to stick with for the next 50 years?
I used to think it was wisest to wait as many years as possible before getting married, because the longer you're together, premarriage, the more secure you would be. I'm not sure evidence would bear that out. I also used to think that if you just made sure you were sure enough, if you just weren't foolish in any way, you wouldn't be stuck with lawyers and alimony and child custody fights 10 years down the road.
But at some point I realized things happen, people change. Would it be better to stick it out with each other no matter what, weather every storm with your commitment as the one thing you never compromise? I don't know. How could I? I'm 26, with no firsthand knowledge of the things life throws at people, of the decisions people make in the trenches. Can I really judge? If I said yes, stick with your commitment no matter what, would it really be anything more than the idealistic answer of naive youth?
I started writing this as some sort of reconciliation with the concept of marriage. But I can't seem to write myself out of a corner on this one. Now that I'm engaged, I can't say I'm any less wary of marriage, or at least the frothy sentiments surrounding it. I'm more comfortable with the most blunt, low-expectations realities, anything so as not to be too naive or wonderstruck about it - and therefore vulnerable to any potential failure lurking around the bend. It's depressing, but I'm not sure there's much of a way around it. I haven't exactly seen a lot of evidence of happy, lasting marriages, and I'm hardly one to take anything on faith, even if the statistical odds weren't stacked against it.
So I've sort of reconciled myself to never being completely comfortable with the concept of marriage. Maybe I don't have to be. All I really have to have any faith and trust in is him and me, and, in a way that is completely foreign and weird, I do. I think I know myself, and I know him. He knows himself, and he knows me. I suppose at some point all you can have is that, and maybe some faith, a commitment to work hard, and trust.
(Blackmail material probably helps too.)
As the future wife of a Jersey boy, I figure it's appropriate to invoke Springsteen here. There's a song on the first mix Rick made me that has always struck me as the most appropriate way to think about getting married. And for the record, it was "Real World," a live acoustic version, not the crappy studio thing from Human Touch.
And if love is hopeless, hopeless at best
Come on put on your party dress - it's ours tonight
And we're goin' with the tumblin' dice
Ain't no church bells ringing
Ain't no flags unfurled
It's just me and you and the love we're bringing
Into the real world
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
It's Catching
Apparently even teddy bears and oven mitts are getting married these days.
(Thanks for the engagement presents, future-mother-in-law Bonnie!)
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
The New Me?
I Googled "Arielle Harrison" the other day. Just wanted to see who else had staked out the name.
For 26 years, I've been the only person with my name on the planet (as far as Google and I can tell). This has typically irritated me. Unique means spelling it for everyone you meet, repeating it over and over again, and wishing for a name like "Ann Lee."
I've ranted before in other places about the inconveniences of having two last names. People think I'm married. Or they think one is a middle name, and that I'm pretentious. It may have seemed cutting-edge back in the early '80s, but at least in the popular imagination, the whole two-name thing apparently didn't catch on.
Of course, the real problem with the two names (for the uninitiated: one is my mom's, the other is my dad's) is the looming question of what you do when you get married or have kids. If giving your child both parents' names is some sort of strike against the sexist notion that only a man's name counts enough to be passed on, what is the next generation supposed to do?
I have some time to think of the child part, but marriage is coming. I figure these are my options:
Give up my last names, take Rick's (feminism be damned)
Keep my name (simplicity be damned)
Add Rick's name and use three last names (logic and dignity be damned)
Combine last names and make up a new one (the point of last names be damned)
Give up last names, insist on being referred to as Arielle (gag reflex be damned)
I'd always planned on giving up my last name and just taking my husband's, the feminism-be-damned scenario. Well, that was the stated plan, anyway. Now that I'm faced with the prospect, it doesn't seem so easy. It may be the choice of 90 percent of married women, but something about changing your name seems strange. In my head a long line of independent, strong women are shaking their heads, disappointed.
I have an excuse, I tell myself. Having two names makes it more complicated than the simple, change-or-no-change decision. I figure I'd keep mine if it were a simple, singular name. The one I've got makes it look like I'm already married to someone. And if I have a husband and (imaginary) kids with another last name, that seems odd. I'd like to be one family with one name.
Still, I want to know what I'm getting into with the name. Hence, Google. What kind of a person is an Arielle Harrison?
There are only a handful, it turns out. One appears to be a runner of some sort, possibly a student at Brigham Young. One apparently lives in Mississippi and describes herself as "a nice big boned girl who luvs 2 play these games when im bored but they r fun 2 play." One is apparently 37 and from Latvia. None seem to be convicted felons, or at least, aren't on any Top 10 Most Wanted lists, which is a plus.
Why exactly does this matter? I'm not sure it does. Perhaps Googling your name with your honey's last name is this century's answer to cursive doodling of an imaginary married name, though I'd been playing with the name "Arielle Harrison" in my head long before I thought to try Google.
Does it matter what the other people with my would-be name do? Would that somehow color the name, or perhaps some cosmic sense of what being an Arielle Harrison means? (For those of you with common names, this is probably a rather silly point. I'd imagine my friends Elizabeth Williams and Brian Lee don't much bother with this line of questioning.)
I suppose what I'm really trying to scope out is a new version of me, with a new name and some sort of legal commitment to another person. How much is name tied to identity? Would I really be giving up something of myself (aside from annoyance) if I give up my name? And if not, why does it seem like such a strangely weighty decision?
For 26 years, I've been the only person with my name on the planet (as far as Google and I can tell). This has typically irritated me. Unique means spelling it for everyone you meet, repeating it over and over again, and wishing for a name like "Ann Lee."
I've ranted before in other places about the inconveniences of having two last names. People think I'm married. Or they think one is a middle name, and that I'm pretentious. It may have seemed cutting-edge back in the early '80s, but at least in the popular imagination, the whole two-name thing apparently didn't catch on.
Of course, the real problem with the two names (for the uninitiated: one is my mom's, the other is my dad's) is the looming question of what you do when you get married or have kids. If giving your child both parents' names is some sort of strike against the sexist notion that only a man's name counts enough to be passed on, what is the next generation supposed to do?
I have some time to think of the child part, but marriage is coming. I figure these are my options:
Give up my last names, take Rick's (feminism be damned)
Keep my name (simplicity be damned)
Add Rick's name and use three last names (logic and dignity be damned)
Combine last names and make up a new one (the point of last names be damned)
Give up last names, insist on being referred to as Arielle (gag reflex be damned)
I'd always planned on giving up my last name and just taking my husband's, the feminism-be-damned scenario. Well, that was the stated plan, anyway. Now that I'm faced with the prospect, it doesn't seem so easy. It may be the choice of 90 percent of married women, but something about changing your name seems strange. In my head a long line of independent, strong women are shaking their heads, disappointed.
I have an excuse, I tell myself. Having two names makes it more complicated than the simple, change-or-no-change decision. I figure I'd keep mine if it were a simple, singular name. The one I've got makes it look like I'm already married to someone. And if I have a husband and (imaginary) kids with another last name, that seems odd. I'd like to be one family with one name.
Still, I want to know what I'm getting into with the name. Hence, Google. What kind of a person is an Arielle Harrison?
There are only a handful, it turns out. One appears to be a runner of some sort, possibly a student at Brigham Young. One apparently lives in Mississippi and describes herself as "a nice big boned girl who luvs 2 play these games when im bored but they r fun 2 play." One is apparently 37 and from Latvia. None seem to be convicted felons, or at least, aren't on any Top 10 Most Wanted lists, which is a plus.
Why exactly does this matter? I'm not sure it does. Perhaps Googling your name with your honey's last name is this century's answer to cursive doodling of an imaginary married name, though I'd been playing with the name "Arielle Harrison" in my head long before I thought to try Google.
Does it matter what the other people with my would-be name do? Would that somehow color the name, or perhaps some cosmic sense of what being an Arielle Harrison means? (For those of you with common names, this is probably a rather silly point. I'd imagine my friends Elizabeth Williams and Brian Lee don't much bother with this line of questioning.)
I suppose what I'm really trying to scope out is a new version of me, with a new name and some sort of legal commitment to another person. How much is name tied to identity? Would I really be giving up something of myself (aside from annoyance) if I give up my name? And if not, why does it seem like such a strangely weighty decision?
Friday, February 22, 2008
Pledge Week
I am starting to think that picking a location for a wedding is a bit like rushing a fraternity. If you really want to [join/hold your wedding here], be prepared for some hazing.
How else to describe some of the policies I've come across, which read almost like challenges ("Just how much do you really want to have your wedding here?") or dares ("What if we make you alligator-wrestle? Still wanna [pay thousands of dollars to] get married here now? Well do ya?").
One place requires you to rent chairs for the ceremony and reception. Fine. But you have to rent two separate sets, at least if you want your guests to sit at both affairs. I dunno. Is seating optional these days?
Does my surprise seems hopelessly naive to wedding veterans?
How else to describe some of the policies I've come across, which read almost like challenges ("Just how much do you really want to have your wedding here?") or dares ("What if we make you alligator-wrestle? Still wanna [pay thousands of dollars to] get married here now? Well do ya?").
One place requires you to rent chairs for the ceremony and reception. Fine. But you have to rent two separate sets, at least if you want your guests to sit at both affairs. I dunno. Is seating optional these days?
Does my surprise seems hopelessly naive to wedding veterans?
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Bling Bling
I thought this 101-carat diamond currently up for auction at Christie's might make a nice complement to the Blow-Pop ring. But the weight-training regimen needed to get my finger ready for that kind of mass seemed a little daunting. So I guess Rick will have to keep looking.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Imagine Me Blushing
Artwork courtesy of future brother-in-law the Birdman.
And while we're on the subject, details of the proposal are here.
Three-Ring Monte
Being an aunt (or uncle) is great. Cute babies, no responsibilities (or sleep loss). What could be better?
Another plus: Cute members of the wedding party.
For some reason, this struck me as one of the easier aspects of the wedding to ponder yesterday. Rick has an adorable 2-year-old niece, and I have three adorable nephews (twin 14-month-olds and one 11-month-old). Obviously, we have a flower girl. And I guess boys are ring bearers. But what exactly can you do with three of them?
The best solution, courtesy of my little brother: Give one the rings, have all three stand side-by-side, then play three-ring monte with the boys. Who's in?
Another plus: Cute members of the wedding party.
For some reason, this struck me as one of the easier aspects of the wedding to ponder yesterday. Rick has an adorable 2-year-old niece, and I have three adorable nephews (twin 14-month-olds and one 11-month-old). Obviously, we have a flower girl. And I guess boys are ring bearers. But what exactly can you do with three of them?
The best solution, courtesy of my little brother: Give one the rings, have all three stand side-by-side, then play three-ring monte with the boys. Who's in?
We Are Gathered Here Today
That will be the last cheesy wedding reference. I promise.
I read a book about the wedding industry last summer that mentioned the industry's attempts to appeal to the "nontraditional bride." This creature was defined as the bride who cares more about her marriage than her wedding. Slightly rarer than the spotted owl.
I got engaged recently, and have already been asked by several people to promise I won't become a Bridezilla or a Princess spouting out "It's My Day" whenever possible. I promise. I also expect that I'll disappoint the wedding industry and be one of those nontraditional wives-to-be. I was never the sort of girl to imagine my dream wedding or picture myself as a bride, at least not outside nightmares of looking like a five-foot-tall puff pastry. And once I learn to think of the word "marriage" without feeling too young and immature for the whole institution, I'm sure I'll care about it far more than one big day, even if it's allegedly Mine.
But since we're getting married, I'll be some sort of bride, and that means all the silliness: bridal magazines, poofy white dresses, bridesmaid dress politics, seating arrangements, floral arrangements, name changes, guest lists, locations and invitations, and probably a freak-out or two along the way.
There seemed to be too much absurdity there to keep it to myself. So, enjoy the blog.
I read a book about the wedding industry last summer that mentioned the industry's attempts to appeal to the "nontraditional bride." This creature was defined as the bride who cares more about her marriage than her wedding. Slightly rarer than the spotted owl.
I got engaged recently, and have already been asked by several people to promise I won't become a Bridezilla or a Princess spouting out "It's My Day" whenever possible. I promise. I also expect that I'll disappoint the wedding industry and be one of those nontraditional wives-to-be. I was never the sort of girl to imagine my dream wedding or picture myself as a bride, at least not outside nightmares of looking like a five-foot-tall puff pastry. And once I learn to think of the word "marriage" without feeling too young and immature for the whole institution, I'm sure I'll care about it far more than one big day, even if it's allegedly Mine.
But since we're getting married, I'll be some sort of bride, and that means all the silliness: bridal magazines, poofy white dresses, bridesmaid dress politics, seating arrangements, floral arrangements, name changes, guest lists, locations and invitations, and probably a freak-out or two along the way.
There seemed to be too much absurdity there to keep it to myself. So, enjoy the blog.
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