It's SUNDAY and I've been relaxing with a cup of coffee and the Vows section of the New York Times. You may remember that I often turn to the Vows section when the squalor of my own life becomes too much to bear. Today has been particularly trying - my French executive assistant, Francois, has decided I own too much stuff. This morning, he's helped me divest myself of two coffee mugs, a large glass vase of dried flowers, and a ceramic teapot. He also seems to feel I have no need for my Internet connection (he keeps knocking the modem off the desk) or my headset (he's trying to chew through the cord). While I appreciate his concern, and do, in fact, have some sneaking leanings towards a more minimalist lifestyle myself, I'm also tempted to tie his ears in a knot across his nose.
And so, surrounded by bits of broken glass, ceramic, and the odd sprig of dried baby's breath, I turned to the Vows section for comfort.
Today's edition features the marriage of John W. Warner IV, son of Senator John Warner of Virginia. As a child, Mr. Warner "loved explosions, cartoons, army uniforms, pranks involving frogs and ice cream — he called health food 'seeds and twigs.'" He also "loved wearing kilts because of his Scottish heritage."
Are you as enchanted as I am? Could there be a more winning combination than a guy in a kilt putting a frog in your ice cream? Doesn't he sound dreamy?
But wait, it gets better! "After Mr. Warner graduated from the University of Virginia, where his fraternity, Chi Phi, voted him 'hellmaster' four years in a row, he became a professional race car driver, naturally."
Naturally. The path from hellmaster to professional race car driver is deeply rutted, so many have trod it.
Said his father, “He wanted his own identity and he found it.”
He decided to become an ASSHOLE.
Mr. Warner spent the late '90s living in Westport, Connecticutt sitting on 17th century furniture and selling NASCAR memorabilia on ebay (or something, I started skimming here). He remained, however, a "diehard and distinctive bachelor" (I'm guessing it was the kilt that earned him the "distinctive" label.)
But he "grew to dislike breaking hearts as much as he hated eating tofu." And here - TEN paragraphs into their wedding announcement - comes the bride:
"...in November 2004, Jodi Edmonds, another old friend of Mr. Warner’s, set him up on a blind date with Shannon Ford Hamm, a first-grade teacher at the Spence School in New York, who had taught her two daughters. Mr. Warner, who still loves frogs and other slimy creatures, suggested that they meet by the reptiles at the American Museum of Natural History in New York."
Okay, I have to admit, I wondered where they were going with that sentence - "Mr. Warner, who still loves frogs and other slimy creatures, was immediately smitten."
He wasn't, though. In fact, after their natural history museum date, he didn't call for a year, when, tired of his "tempermental beauties," the "fashion models and party girls" he usually dated, his thoughts returned to Ms. Hamm.
This time, realizing they had both "grown up with wealth" (hers a Minnesta brewing fortune) and watching her with children, he fell in love with her "simple and guileless" ways.
Their wedding reception was on a beach, in January, in a tent done up like a "chic new Manhattan hotel lobby" (the first plan, to do up a chic new Manhattan hotel lobby like a beach, having been nixed by the concierge).
"The bridegroom, whose back still hurt from a recent motorcycle crash, greeted guests à la Truman Capote, while lounging (in a kilt) on one of the couches. The bride, meanwhile, looked completely natural in her sleeveless gown and her hair pulled back as if for tennis."
Can you say "DOOMED," children?
I can. And just did.
Pictured above left: The hellmaster preparing one of his trademark frog/ice cream pranks
And so, surrounded by bits of broken glass, ceramic, and the odd sprig of dried baby's breath, I turned to the Vows section for comfort.
Today's edition features the marriage of John W. Warner IV, son of Senator John Warner of Virginia. As a child, Mr. Warner "loved explosions, cartoons, army uniforms, pranks involving frogs and ice cream — he called health food 'seeds and twigs.'" He also "loved wearing kilts because of his Scottish heritage."
Are you as enchanted as I am? Could there be a more winning combination than a guy in a kilt putting a frog in your ice cream? Doesn't he sound dreamy?
But wait, it gets better! "After Mr. Warner graduated from the University of Virginia, where his fraternity, Chi Phi, voted him 'hellmaster' four years in a row, he became a professional race car driver, naturally."
Naturally. The path from hellmaster to professional race car driver is deeply rutted, so many have trod it.
Said his father, “He wanted his own identity and he found it.”
He decided to become an ASSHOLE.
Mr. Warner spent the late '90s living in Westport, Connecticutt sitting on 17th century furniture and selling NASCAR memorabilia on ebay (or something, I started skimming here). He remained, however, a "diehard and distinctive bachelor" (I'm guessing it was the kilt that earned him the "distinctive" label.)
But he "grew to dislike breaking hearts as much as he hated eating tofu." And here - TEN paragraphs into their wedding announcement - comes the bride:
"...in November 2004, Jodi Edmonds, another old friend of Mr. Warner’s, set him up on a blind date with Shannon Ford Hamm, a first-grade teacher at the Spence School in New York, who had taught her two daughters. Mr. Warner, who still loves frogs and other slimy creatures, suggested that they meet by the reptiles at the American Museum of Natural History in New York."
Okay, I have to admit, I wondered where they were going with that sentence - "Mr. Warner, who still loves frogs and other slimy creatures, was immediately smitten."
He wasn't, though. In fact, after their natural history museum date, he didn't call for a year, when, tired of his "tempermental beauties," the "fashion models and party girls" he usually dated, his thoughts returned to Ms. Hamm.
This time, realizing they had both "grown up with wealth" (hers a Minnesta brewing fortune) and watching her with children, he fell in love with her "simple and guileless" ways.
Their wedding reception was on a beach, in January, in a tent done up like a "chic new Manhattan hotel lobby" (the first plan, to do up a chic new Manhattan hotel lobby like a beach, having been nixed by the concierge).
"The bridegroom, whose back still hurt from a recent motorcycle crash, greeted guests à la Truman Capote, while lounging (in a kilt) on one of the couches. The bride, meanwhile, looked completely natural in her sleeveless gown and her hair pulled back as if for tennis."
Can you say "DOOMED," children?
I can. And just did.
Pictured above left: The hellmaster preparing one of his trademark frog/ice cream pranks
1 comment:
i hope for her sake she is deaf.
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