Thursday, February 08, 2007
Regrettably, none of the books in Borders' wedding-planning section feature football players, motorcycles or Eddie Van Halen on their covers.
Instead, there are rows of pastels -- blue and pink and yellow. It's like looking at Don Johnson's "Miami Vice" wardrobe, minus the shoulder holster.
Since getting engaged in August, I've gotten one piece of advice over and over again: Stay out of the way. Which is hard. Clearly, I needed a book, and if a guy's going to buy one book about wedding planning, it might as well be the one with the testimonial from a supermodel.
"This is the perfect gift for any bride to be," Heidi Klum says in purple type atop "Wedding Kit for Dummies."
Let's skip the introduction -- because "introduction" pretty much means instructions, and who uses those? -- and head right to Chapter 1: Big Picture Stuff, featuring The Every-Last-Thing Checklist.
Step 1: Announce your engagement. (Check.)
Step 2: Hire a professional wedding consultant. (No, and you can't make us.)
Step . . Wow. There are 91 more steps. So this is the Wedding-Industrial Complex. Halliburton profits, right?
In 1943, my grandparents got married in Michigan for roughly $85. I might spend that much on ATM fees this year.
Because of rationing, my grandmother had to supply the sugar for the cake. They had punch and cake and coffee for 75. Gas cards were pooled so my grandmother's parents and sister could make the drive from Detroit to Ann Arbor.
"We were just as married afterward as anyone else," my grandfather said.
Then he went to New York for military training, and my grandmother went and tossed two pennies into Niagara Falls.
"I guess maybe it worked," she said.
They're adorable.
The other night, my fiancee and I sat in the living room with a notebook and our day planners. The First Big Planning Session.
We've got a date: Aug. 4. We've got a location: Ohio. We nixed the museum, despite its willingness to let us look around for free. An old refurbished church my fiancee knew about sounded great -- until we pulled in and realized it was in the middle of a cemetery.
"Too creepy?" she said.
"Too creepy."
Plus, very little parking.
We joked about the Jack Nicklaus Museum, because argyle and plaid are probably underutilized as weddings go -- and we could get golf carts.
Finally, we decided on Columbus' old Engine House No. 12, built in 1897, since converted into a music hall. It's $130 an hour with what appears to be a 300-drink minimum and a contract so romantic it might have been written by Barry White's attorney.
"Columbus Music Hall does NOT permit the use of nails, staples or tape, or the affixing of anything to walls, ceilings, windows or floors. Fog machines and the like are not permitted."
At least we'll save on the fog machine.
It was locked the day we stopped by, so I haven't seen the inside, and nowhere in the contract is there any mention of a fire pole, because that would be a really cool entrance if they still had one, though it might be best to keep that idea to myself.
Back to the checklist. No. 10: Choose a ceremony site. (Check.)
Only 83 more steps. Piece of cake.
