snapshot

Sometimes when I'm out and about in life, I wish I could freeze time and have a photograph of whatever is in front of me, because it so completely captures the essence of the moment.


Yesterday, Jon and I went to the wedding of a friend of mine from college. The ceremony and reception were beautiful, and the bride looked stunning in her white gown. The skirt was pinned up on itself all over with little decorative details, and it swayed so gracefully when she was walking. At the party, she traded the veil for a white feather fascinator and just looked like an all-around princess. Her man didn't look too shabby either.

The bride has a 9-year-old from a previous relationship, and it was so obvious that her new husband and her son get along like lifelong pals. It was clear that the three of them have already been acting like a family for quite some time now. I got teary during the Unity Candle lighting, when instead of joining two flames, the couple and the son joined three.

We didn't see too much of the son at the reception, however. When introduced, he sprinted across the room and to his seat at the head table to avoid as many cameras as possible and shielded his face as if he were going to jail. I don't even know where he was for the majority of the evening while we all broke it down--even getting up as a table to shout out the lyrics to "Ice Ice Baby" to get the newlymarrieds to kiss (glass clinking was strictly forbidden).

But somewhere toward the end of the evening, after many guests were heading out, the girls yelled along to "I Wanna Dance With Somebody" (someone didn't know who sang that song and was reprimanded accordingly), Michael Jackson's "Beat It" video was haphazardly recreated, and we twirled around to a merengue or two. Somewhere in the middle of all that, a few groomsmen were evidently coaxing my friend's son back toward the dancefloor by getting him to do the moonwalk. He was attempting it, in slow, deliberate motion.  And soon enough he was in the middle of the crowd, moonwalking back and forth in his own world. Suddenly, without even looking up from the floor, he began to do the robot.

The crowd, who'd formed a circle around him, exploded in cheers. He was the center of attention for the rest of the night. He even hit the floor a few times, attempting to do the worm.

At one point, the gorgeous bride, the dapper groom and their son were surrounded by a dance circle of their friends and family, bouncing to the groove. The lights were flashing. The beat was bumping. And the bride took a second. She knelt down, her fancy skirt spread out in a fan around her, and tied her little boy's shoes.

If only my camera battery hadn't died.

and i CANNOT stress this enough

Today, as I was about to send the images of our invitations to the printer, Jon mentioned that I should ask cc (as in COPY chief) to give them a once over for any errors.

On one of the insert cards for a secondary event, I had arranged all the letters perfectly to spell out who it was for, what it was, where it was, what time it started and what time it ended. Cc gently pointed out that I had left off the FRICKING DATE. I cannot imagine my mortification if they had gone out that way. I know, there are way bigger problems in the world than that, but when you're running around correcting people all the time, it's hard to play it off when you've missed something that big yourself.

Plus it became clear that I've been sending all Birthday, Mother's Day, Christmas correspondence to my godmother with the incorrect postal code on it for more than 20 years.

I'll say it again, though I've said it eleventybazillion times: everyone needs a copyeditor.

picking up speed

Madelyn is somewhere in Iowa, driving a car packed full of her worldly belongings, moving here. I am frantically trying to get everything in order. Because the last thing a person needs after driving thousands of miles is to find a place for her stuff among piles of half-finished centerpieces, magazine cutouts and crafting supplies all over the place. Plus there's a big deadline tomorrow for which I am not nearly as prepared as I should be, 24 hours out.

So as much as I would love to spend an hour writing a post to get me motivated, I should really get going. That bathroom is not going to clean itself.

Drive safe, Madelyn!

all i can say is that he'd better be just as devoted to me

My fiance doesn't drink. He's never done drugs. He doesn't look for a thrill in gambling. And when we pull up to a red light next to a car in which someone is smoking, we have to roll up the windows because he gets a headache. But everyone has a vice. And Jon's has to do with sports.

This evening we went to a very nice restaurant in Bucktown, a gelateria and a Wrigleyville bar, dressed pretty respectably. I even had on a smidge of makeup. Jon had a full beard. On exactly HALF of his face. For that, I blame the Los Angeles Lakers.

Let's start at the beginning.

I grew up in a pretty typical Indian family. Except for the fact that we all gathered in the family room for football every NFL Sunday even though roughly half of us could not care less about the score. My brother would run around in front of the tv wearing t-shirts he'd marked up with a Sharpie to replicate his favorite players' jerseys, throwing a nerf football to himself and calling the play-by-play in an increasingly higher-pitched voice. When Jim McMahon hurt his shoulder, my brother would suddenly need to have his shoulder wrapped with an Ace Bandage. In fact, one time when he was four he snuck upstairs and called our pediatrician in tears to ask him to fix a quarterback's injuries. When his team was close to playoff elimination, he'd scoot all the way up to the screen, drop to his knees and start praying. His devotion was undying. And to be honest, it was sort of cute. But we're talking every single weekend. A few years later, just in time for the three-peats, he got really into basketball without losing any of his football fervor. And then he added baseball to the mix. At that point I was safely away at college, far from the madness.

And yet somehow, among all the men in the entire United States and abroad, I managed to procure for myself the one that is just as insane as my brother. In September Jon is going to marry me, but he and sports are celebrating their 30-something-th anniversary.

Generally, this is all right by me. I'm happy to sit on the couch with my sports-obsessed loved ones as long as there's something else I can do. Perhaps the reason I have such an affinity for knitting is because that is what my mother did on those neverending Sunday afternoons of timeouts and scrimmages. You're "spending time with them" while they generally just scream at the television; you might as well make some headway on that baby blanket for your friend. Don't get me wrong, I actually like sports (basketball especially). It's just when Major League Baseball season overlaps with National Football League season, which overlaps with National Basketball Association season (please don't let him get into college football or else there goes Saturdays), there is no such thing as an offseason. Sometimes a girl just needs a breather.

Things have been tense around here for the last week. While the Los Angeles Lakers have had their fair share of Championships, they weren't expected to sail right into the final round this year. And that was making my number-one L.A. fan very nervous. So nervous, in fact, that he vowed to the whole world (Okay, just on Facebook) that he was going to shave off the right side of his beard if the Lakers didn't pull out a victory on Friday night.

I'm sure you know what happened. As the yelling and gnashing of teeth grew louder and stronger, I steeled myself for the inevitable grumpy mood that would linger for at least a week, making food not taste as good, television not as funny and smiles nowhere to be seen--and nothing I do will fix it. I posted my own lament on Facebook about how the Lakers essentially ruined my weekend. People think that's an exaggeration, but when one of his teams doesn't perform up to par, there truly is a palpable dampening in the zest for life around these parts. It's kind of a downer.

Suddenly, the buzzing of the electric razor started up in the bathroom. Initially I thought okay, so he will Victor/Victoria the beard, take a picture, post it and then shave the rest. Right? Nope.

But it actually didn't bother me. What, were people going to stare? Don't they already because we're sort of an odd couple? Nothing new there. We went about our evening and the next day. My mom didn't even notice right away. All he had to say was that he'd lost a bet. He didn't mention that it was with himself. We met up with his sister M and her husband in the city, going to three separate places. Nobody said a thing. I didn't even see anyone notice. He wanted to prove that he doesn't go back on his word, so he had a picture of us taken in the restaurant (where we were sitting at one long community table, by the way) and posted it on the Internet for all to see. And I'm there, smiling right next to him. No big deal.

Except now I can't help but feel like it was sort of big. I'll never know for sure, but I wonder if he was gauging my reaction to being out and about with him looking a tiny bit ridiculous. To see if I'd look around sheepishly or make him shave before leaving the house. Sort of a test.

I hope I passed.

six years ago he said he wasn't too sure about Thai food

"Here, I got this for you--it's still pretty warm, I think just your temperature."

"Wow, this is so good I'm eating green beans."

"WHAT?!?"

"Or maybe it's that I'm just really hungry."

just get to the president already, guys

" 'Where were YOU when you heard Osama bin Laden was dead?' "

"Seriously. These guys are so dramatic. Especially that guy with Wolf Blitzer."

"And they're repeating themselves so much, too! If I have to hear 'THIS IS SUCH A HISTORIC MOMENT AROUND THE WORLD' again within the next thirty seconds..."

"Too bad it's Sunday or we could do a drinking game."