What says wedded bliss more than floating a barely-above-water, low-rider boat through a whole series of narrow canals in a city that’s almost underwater, with the occasional fake body supposed to be the groom seen floating in what’s supposed to be an Amazon box/coffin.
Good choice, Mr. Bezos. Even though a billionaire many times over, do we want you catering the party for the nuptials of all Jeff’s rich and famous … When is the last time you cooked your own five-star meal.
Or maybe you are the man. You could have become mega-rich because you REALLY know how to throw a party, and then maybe expect something thrown back to you. It has been said that in Venice, a $50 million wedding like his might not get you as much as you might think — especially, it’s been said, if you feel a need to float your-actual-alcohol-bar boat. (Maybe it’s only in Wisconsin that NA is more costly than the real stuff.) Hollywood elite were in attendance, and how far did that actual bar tab run??
— There was beer, but this was not your typical Wisconsin wedding. Rather, it raised the bar in Boston, being celebrated this time for the older folk in a lavish older four-story home, with the younger ones gathering about a month prior.
It was also a Jewish wedding, and a number of decked out catering workers walked around a series of rooms that formed most of a circle hand-serving kosher cuisine and drinks. The table too was lavish, jumbo shrimp with garnish, flavored beef with real horseradish, loaded spring rolls that were so mostly with multiple veggies. Marinades were on salmon and also other meats where you’d more typically see it.
The toasts were quaintly brief, but the conversations scintillating. And with one family Jewish and the other Puerto Rican, it was easy — in most cases, but not all — to see who is with who, aside from quips while talking.
In my Wisconsin wedding into a largely Boston family, there was a near brouhaha needed to get beer on the menu, A second state set of nuptials was in really cool beer warehouse, actually a very big banquet room galvanized in stainless steel, with a stage on one end and — yes — a large barrail on the other.
An old dance venue run by distant family members has new limited hours, only to weekends, beer aside, as Schult Hall could maybe still use upgraded flooring, but is also likely to use all the fish in the nearby Wisconsin River in its fries, of all kinds. And with a pitcher of beer for $7? We’re there. At The Barn.
You never know, you might see Livvy Dunne there. Or someone dressing like her. The latest blend of the trend is less racy and more frilly, with the ends of the shorts flaring and fraying out slightly.
That newer sensation, a Pittsburg Pirate pitcher, is I’m sorry still in need of a save to be as on fire as his flame, another similarly timed sensation, that being Livvy Dunne. The thrower is still No. 2 on your scorecard fantasy rankings behind, maybe, Livvy. —
Tom Brady came, and everyone wants to know if his date was younger and more beautiful than the now Mrs. Bezos, and to be sure and not a troll, she and the Brady ex, for example, are very lovely. The older guys seemed to do quite well, know you.
The Kardashians were also in attendance, in bulk but they were striking too, and you have to be careful to not-out-beautiful the bride. And Oprah, wouldn’t she be the liberal one to come out against so wealthy an extravaganza?
“Want good will? Start by giving to Goodwill. (I’ll continue soon with a series on who, from rockers to retailers, give the most.)”
Bezos made his money, maybe as a visionary, on Amazon, so if you could not attend, you had a higher profile party out in Rio, if you could find one, or had to run in a charity 5K, and had to send your $5K purchased-beyond-Macy’s-prices wedding gift over that Amazon service, they could cut you a discount.
The protesters were out in force, which makes me say I have no problem with them living in the lap of luxury per se, (see below), and a food cart worker, not eating caviar themselves, said it was more the protesters causing turbulence. Guess they wanted to find a cost-a-dollar-dog — so collar them — less than the cheap ones at a ballgame, not the Johnsonville brat, or the first-class-cost lobster on a plane over to Venice.
Press were pissed that not being able to travel totally first class, they were thus not invited to the party, so they put in their shifts as Hollywood reporters, working hard I’m sure, but having access to at least some of the massive buffets, (sirloin over porterhouse unless having massive expense accounts, and even then there is that inconvenient animal rights thing.) Then they might as well have joined the picket lines and taken selfies for their reporting on the privileged.
That body double that floats past them was likely a prop from the latest Brad Pitt-type murder mystery, pulled from his ransacked house? Sorry about that one. Better to be the house that Bezos built?
The paparazzi, too, couldn’t get past the paltry portions, and I was reminded of a sign on a downtown Hudson business that spelled out “no paparazzi allowed.” They could have just said, “no picture taking if there is no shoes or shirt.” If in need, they could always buy one via one of the (even online if needed) stores of the new-called Merchant Of Venice. But some hailed the newfound tourism as helping the local economy and those who work in it. Hope they get some cool leftovers.
But if there ever was time for a prenup it is now. After getting through the wedding weekend and the hangover Monday, there might be second-day thought.
If maybe not by Mrs. Bezos, rather the new Mrs. Belichick, though this (must be noted) younger woman is the COO, (read coo?), of his football based production company, so she’s earning it. On the sidelines of, say, the NFL Draft at Lambeau Field, get a brat, she could maybe break up the band. I still wonder if that ever happened with the John Lennon lookalike I saw walking up the sidewalk of not Abbey Road, but Vine Street, then a second time, with a Yoko Ono lookalike on his arm!
Beyond Hudson, in Minneapolis then Boston, everyone wanted to look like Livvy. Dunne, that is, is the deal. In the former airport all the women were sporting short outfits in the form of skirts, while on the East Coast, what was worn were shorts without the flared edges, but just as skimpy. At a seaside diner, a mom had on much more conservative leggings than her late teens daughter across the table for four.
Just prior to the official start of summer, back in Hudson along Walnut Street, someone was baring it with a brown-dress-like-thing that had carefully selected slashes of skin shown, and oh that sash … Also on her was a perfectly rounded Kardashian-style booty. And shown across the way was a neon green outfit that wasn’t the baby blue of my polo shirt, or the mauve sleeves and orchid seen at home on TV and worn by Matt Dillon on Gunsmoke. There was some reptilian thing also mixed in there and referenced and called the Mauve Frog. Maybe an alt band.
One such fan was walking down Second Street, with what I thought were horns befitting a witch, but when I got closer I saw there was only one prong, and one small flap. And I had been planning on complimenting her on her “devil horns.” She would have probably thought me creepy … and so 80s.
I have a niece who likes such alt/party music, poor child, and she is standing up for a wedding this weekend and is forced to wear peach, which she says is not her color. She is having her own special day next summer, and for that she gets to choose.
What color is best on me, for a tux. Just the most basic black? Only use the catch-phrase “dark.” My mom was wondering what day of the year might shine the brightest on/for all of us. Just say “one of the 365.” You’re safe except if Leap Year crops up. I don’t recall how that came up in the conversation …
But there have been weddings abounding, some with lots of bridesmaids — and requiring an expansive width of the church for their total girth — some with few. If one lady has too much breadth, she might get kicked up to the choir loft. I will not make the obvious joke.
But for me, and now you, musically, we will test heavy metal knowledge, so use your best aim against your alt enemy, and beyond basic Bond movie scores. As for groomsmen, across several weddings, you may be in line as No. 6. Or you may be No. 3. But who is No. 2? Not myself. “I am not a prisoner. I am a free man.” Albeit with a ball and chain on leg. If No. 1.
Some of us were going through old family wedding photos, across several families, and threw some odd/even. Who is that oddfellow, standing way in back? “I swear, I do not know the man.” He is No. 6. Not again … He is a cousin, of my cousin, and his cousin’s cousin. Ahh, this revealed, now I feel complete.
OK, at a late fall wedding I actually attended, where the rain started coming down right around the time everyone was exiting church — and again I will not make the obvious Guns N Roses cryptic joke — I got to check out fashion again. My fave were two adorable, in a good way, little girls in totally matching outfits of colors and patterns, with the same hair and twists on top, although each were given a slightly different spin, just for variety sake.
Someone had on big checks on a big suit, with smaller checks on the inside shirt, fitted to a T. Two people with gray shirts had on a purple tie and green tie, at bookends, and then they swapped chairs. One woman sported black socks that looked just like the shorter ones of an exotically darker skinned woman, a great compare and contrast. A stunner wore an Amish-style hat with a buckle, and bright red nails with translucent-beyond skin edges. Even better was a fair-haired woman with edges on her eyeliner to give it a lightning-like shape, resembling that worn by a friend who works at Green Mill in Hudson and has had the look on and off for two years now, but higher raised eyebrows on both ends, a newer Paris Hilton not Milton version.
Across various weddings, not to upstage the brides, have been clunky (behind) or strappy (in front) shoes, sometimes with elements of each, and again, alternating cut slashes of two or three such strips across the front and/or side of a dress.