Yesterday was insane (yet in a stroke of good fortune, it was the day before I had to give up cursing for Lent) which means it’s time to get lazy with the blogging: that is, it’s time to hop into the mailbag. Today’s email comes from dear friend Alan, a reporter here in D.C. (who hails from Miami and who, for the purpose of this story it is important to understand, has a nice, comfy free bed in that city any time he returns home.)
I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I have a wedding-related question for you, given that you’ve deemed yourself worthy enough to give to yourself the title of wedding expert.
So I’m a groomsman in a wedding in March in Miami. It’s at a lovely little church in Coral Gables, right across the street from the Biltmore Hotel. Some of the groomsmen have decided it would be a good idea to get a suite in the Biltmore for us to stay in the night before the wedding. The plan–from what I can gather–is to hang out at the hotel the night before, have some drinks at the bar, sleep there and then wake up in the morning and saunter over to the 1 p.m. wedding. My question is this: WHY!?!??!?! Are we going to get many-pedis [sic] or whatever the hell you call them? Are we going to giggle all night, wondering who is going to look the best in the tux (as if that’s up for debate)? Sigh. Tell me I’m not the only one subjected to this odd ritual.
My undying gratitude to the coolest chick I know,
[OK, technically that signature line might not have been in his email, but whatever.]
Dear #1 Bridal Bird Fan,
There, there. It’s ok. You’ve swallowed your pride and come to the right place. I believe that men are starting to “go bitch” about weddings, organizing little outings in the vein of bachelorette spa day parties and such, that far exceed what our fathers’ generation considered acceptable: getting plowed on whiskey while watching some go-go boot-wearing chick named Candy work a pole. While I’m tempted to snicker at the fact that men are now having to deal with the whole “Hey let’s dump a bunch of money pointlessly!” thing for pre-wedding events, as girls have had to do since time immemorial, I have to concede that it reeks.
The coolest chick you know,
It turns out that the Wall Street Journal took this issue up a while back, in a Mark Oppenheimer piece called “Boys Gone Not So Wild.” In it, men talk about bachelor parties at which they trade strip clubs for wine tasting trips to Napa, salmon fishing, and trying scrambled quail egg at pricey New York restaurants. The Boston Globe reported last summer that it’s becoming more commonplace for bachelor parties to entail jetting off to Las Vegas or Nantucket. We call these ‘mancations.’ In that they appear to emphasize lavish spending for lavish spending’s sake, they are ridiculous and they are probably not going anywhere. Let’s just hope you gents don’t have to start wearing rhinestone-bedazzled T-shirts that say “Groomsman” while you teeter around Napa sampling pinot.