(Photo from nytimes.com)
While I am tempted to launch directly into a verbal wedgie on the featured wedding (specifically, the groom) from yesterday’s Times, I must admit that I’m overcome with an uncharacteristic amount of generous restraint. Chalk it up to all that fresh mountain air this weekend, maybe. “Perhaps,” I said to myself, “this really isn’t this poor chap’s fault. Maybe he didn’t call these various things to the writers’ attentions. Rather, the writers might have sussed the following out, using their expert journalistic wiles:
* “Mr. Greene, a wealthy real estate developer who has homes in Malibu and Beverly Hills as well as a 145-foot yacht…”
* Who “in 2003 was tagged by Vanity Fair as a major player in the Los Angeles after-hours scene…”
* On their first meeting at a party in the Hamptons last year, “She touched his shoulder. He held her hand. Then he started talking about mortgages.”
* “He invited Ms. Chan to party on his yacht, which was docked in Sag Harbor…”
* “When he moved to Los Angeles after receiving an M.B.A. from Harvard, he already owned 18 buildings.”
* “The 275 guests…took to the revolving dance floor installed in the 24-car garage.”
Because that would certainly make him a target if he had decided to announce all of this to the reporters writing about his entry into holy matrimony. Because certainly it wouldn’t make sense to discuss the fact that your garage holds 24 cars in the context of pledging your troth. Nope, I’m feeling too good today to give Mr. Greene anything but the benefit of the doubt.
Oh, wait, I missed something here in the announcement. I’m sure it’s nothing, but let me just re-read this a second…”the boxer Mike Tyson, who served as best man.”
Mr. Greene? I’m afraid it’s time for your wedgie.