Indelible

In the design of this program and our invitations, we aimed to render in paper and ink what we experience together in spirit. In this design, we are able to see ourselves, as one, in our own narrative.

We asked our designer Christina, of Echo Letterpress, to take an unsorted aggregation of elements and make a real design out of it.
The programs and invitations assemble specific cues from our respective cultures into one design as one new ideal. From the Philippines you can see the sampaguita, the narra, and the anahaw; from Trinidad and Tobago, the chaconia, hummingbird's, and the steel pan. Christina did a fantastic job we think. She suffered through our rambling presentations via teleconference and made sense of our musings, and made them a reality.

Working with Christina to put this together, we found, in the heart of our wedding planning, an opportunity to search ourselves and our own cultures for symbols and sentiments of meaning, and to make something new and beautiful from them together. And we thereby reaffirm our passion in our belief that difference can transcend---that it can create something new, perfect and indelible.

Kasal Sheryl at Jay

Many important wedding planning events have gone unblogged. There is time to circle back to tea lights and catering tents, or maybe not, but the most compelling and relevant report is from our trip last month to the Philippines. It was an invaluable opportunity to know my fiancee better, to put image into her narrative; and to understand myself, as one bound to her through the past eight years and for many more to come, in a new way.

After separate 22 plus hour journeys we arrived in Manila in the middle of the night, United Airlines' grim clutches sweetly giving way to Mary's aunt Henriet's house in Quezon City. Ate Henriet's grace and hospitality was constant and thorough. If I can recall a moment of inconvenience it was for lack of sufficient insight into my own needs.

A couple frenzied and morbidly jet-lagged days later, barong tagolog pressed and ready, it was Jay and Sheryl's wedding in Manila. Packed into Kuya Wency's minivan in full rank of seven, we made our way to the church. Fits of rain roaring off the roof, jeepneys dropped their plastic screens, we ground through downtown traffic like an icebreaker crunching to the north pole. The coordinator arrived and hewed a ceremony from the idling throng. The reception was at the close by Shangri-la. Jay and Sheryl, donning red dress for the exhibition, did a rhumba number for their first dance.

A few days after the wedding we flew to Boracay for our proper vacation. Clearly rustic, however mobbed by Burberry swathed tourists, in Boracay you feel the fresh sensation of being off the map. The ride on rickety boats across the turquoise lagoon from the airport to the island, perched on wooden planks, spray booming in your face as outriggers slam surf, confirms with a hint of danger that your are properly off the grid. Never mind that the blackberry works just fine, growling ignorantly.

Our hotel, the Tides Boracay, booked by Jay an Sheryl for all of us, fit the bill. Beautiful rooms, a roof top pool, and a daily breakfast making rising easy, made it an experience to savor. Even the constant drilling and hammering going on (the hotel was very new, i.e., unfinished) couldnt spoil it. A few dozen yards down a sand avenue, we reached the narrow sparkling beach. We got in a couple days of sun and sand before the rains set in. Rainy season in the Philippines is not an approximation or a relative concept. It rained furiously at some point each day, some days all day, stiff winds firing the fine sand between the wind breaks. But many joyous meals and long evenings with lining up empty San Miguels made it moot---it was why we were in that place: being with family, learning and relearning each other, was the joy. Some of us were born in the Philippines, but most all called home somewhere else, and brought from those places distinct minds and spirits to share.

Back in Manila again, we had a few more touristic missions to complete. We visited Villa Escudero, where we spent a couple days eating and swimming in the giant two level pool. We had lunch under the waterfall, and toured the Escudero museum. It didnt rain, but we got the other flavor of July filipino weather, withering heat. The cultural show at Escudero was expertly done, the costumes and preparation showed practice and detail.

After Villa Escudero, we also made a run for Pansanjan falls, but were thwarted when a car vaulted the bridge on the approaching road just before we reached it, seizing traffic for good. We made a U-turn and made for Tagaytay, on the other flank of Laguna. The faint comedy of this turn underscored the sensual terror of driving in the Philippines. Overcoming the ambient forces of traffic is an act basically of will.

A practised Filipino driver is an study in mindfulness and calm. Its a perpetual evacuation from everywhere. Young nurses in crisp whites tear between lanes on the back of motorbike taxis, every intersection is a dogfight for angle and position, Jeepneys pile with commuters, kerchiefs pressed to passengers' faces against the horrid polution, infant bearing pedestrians vault into traffic from every inch of curb, and outsized commuter buses and trucks drape black sheets of smoke over the whole thing. Observing Manila traffic's irrythmia fills a lot of your time there. Because it must, if you want to go anywhere.

We also made a tour of Intramuros and Fort Santiago, monument to national hero Jose Rizal, and simultaneously, head scratchingly, to the former Spanish government and its church. Simultaneous ardent nationalism and bereaved nostalgia for past masters is a knife edge of filipino cultral conciousness.

Having also sprung from a culture also born in the mirroring grace and savagery of Spanish colonialism, civilized and enslaved under the same cross, I could recognize the irreconcilable sentiments of a colonial people trying at once to know another's traditions as its very own as its public face, and to value itself properly as an ancient an indellible presence on this earth. You come to know more about a country where tiny chemists selling nothing but skin whitening creams sprout from rural roadsides and nearly everyone which two pesos to rub together has her malay or chinese nose rebuilt as a conquistador's. Reading Rizal's biography on the plane ride home, I found a story that spoke to me personally, and which I believe should speak to colonial peoples trying to reconcile its sentiments---and who want to like being ancient.

The Food

The story here is very likely. We ran into Laura at the Expo. She had Swedish meatballs, claimed to know our site, and did the food for our friends' wedding a couple years back. We could not remember the food at that wedding, but no matter. The meatballs cleansed the palate from those innumerable platelets of cake.

So, a few weeks of dithering later, we drove down to R&R Catering's Deathstar orbiting the beltway in Springfield, VA one morning to see what we could taste. We pulled into the compound, nestled in a desolate industrial park that was in fact some distance from Springfield's saucy urban glow. The SYSCO eighteen-wheelers crowding the parking lot evoked the school cafeteria loading dock, and promised flavor free economy. However, once inside R and R's tiny Tuscan dining salon, just off the lobby of their cubicle farm, the food spoke for itself and at length. It was the best breakfast I'd had in a long time.

With a full stomach and well satisfied, we handed over plastic and the deal was done. Certain details are yet to be resolved. Sit down versus buffet, decoration, other things. But we can mark this one off more or less.

Dress salons: The good, the bad, and the ugly

As promised, here are the wedding salons I went to and a brief review:

1. Priscilla of Boston, Tyson's Corner - My consultant was nice, hands-off and let us take pictures. She followed up with a few phone calls.

2. Nicole Miller, Tyson's II - Small shop known for dresses but their wedding gowns are more suited for beach and other informal weddings. Quality did not merit the costs of the gowns.

3. Demetrios Salon at Macy's, Tyson's II - My sister and I walked in without an appointment after seeing a sign on our way out of Tyson's after leaving Nicole Miller. They were very nice and accommodating, allowed us to take pictures. Dresses were okay but the over all impression I got was that the quality was not as nice.

4. Ellie's, Old Town Alexandria - We had an appointment but I didn't really get any help from a consultant since it was a really busy Saturday. My sister and I sneaked in a few snapshots in the dressing room - probably only possible since my consultant was helping other people.

5. Hannelore's, Old Town Alexandria - I had a really nice consultant and tried on gorgeous dresses - dresses I saw in magazines that I had fallen in love with. One of the final 4 dresses was from here. My consultant let us take a few pictures but I don't think you're really allowed to. The fitting rooms were nice and large - great customer service. But I hear that that's not necessarily the case after you order a dress through them.

5. Katherine's, Old Town Alexandria - Dresses here are more affordable but quality is still really nice. My first consultant was nice enough but not really accommodating or friendly. Since one of the four finalists came from this store, I asked for another consultant on my second visit. The other consultant was amazing and showed me many ways to accessorize the dress. I found THE dress here. They don't allow pictures.

6. Jeannette's, Manassas - The folks here seem really nice and down to earth. My consultant was amazing and spent almost two hours with me - I went on a Monday morning. The great thing about this store is that they have affordable wedding dresses as well as more couture dresses. One of the dresses I tried on here was a finalist. They don't allow pictures.

7. David's Bridal, Springfield - I figure I'd try going here even though I had heard such horror stories. It was a completely different experience - dresses can be bought off the rack and most are under $300. But after trying on such high-quality dresses, I was spoiled and couldn't forget how the other dresses I tried on were softer and of better quality.

8. Lady Hamilton, Arlington - I had an amazing, patient consultant. A dress here made it to the finals. When I went for my second appointment I tried on a dress that hadn't been there before - it was there because they had a trunk show. That dress - a Marisa dress - really helped me decide the style and look I wanted. In the end I did not go with the finalist nor the Marisa dress from here.

9. Promise for the Savvy Bride, Bethesda - This is the only place that I didn't go to with my sister, instead I went with two girlfriends. I tried on some gorgeous dresses. The consultants were super nice and they also allow you to take pictures of your favorites.

The Dress

I did it, I chose the dress. We chose the first reception hall we saw and the first photographer we met. Well, this is no different - the dress is based on the first dress that I ever fell in love with. That's all that I will say.

The process in finding the perfect dress was long and ardous. I went to nine salons and tried on about 80 to 90 dresses! (See my next post - reviews of the salons) I know it seems a lot, but at each outing I went on - I got better and better at finding the type of dresses or elements of dresses that worked best for my body type.

Trying on dresses can be overwhelming and after trying on many dresses - it's hard to remember one from the other. I couldn't have done it without my matron of honor, my ever patient sister. She got me in the dresses, took detailed notes, and provided great insight and advice. After visiting the nine salons I narrowed down the dresses to four finalists and then brought in my mom to help me with the decision. In the end, we all agreed on the dress. I'm very excited and happy with my choice.

Now, I just have to find all the accessories, shoes, etc...

Holga Power

Finding a photographer marks another milestone in the planning. We did it. As a core aesthetic element, it was in the first tier of arrangements we wanted to pin down. The person we've chosen is Linda Crayton. We interviewed a number of photographers and, classically, she was the first person we saw.


Interviewing photographers, I was never really sure what we are supposed to find out from them, at least what we could not see on their typically luxurious websites. Of course, at the least, one should meet the person who will be hanging around your family and best friends for a few hours without your mediation. This person, unlike, say, the priest or the caterer, will be part of your wedding -- she will be a guest. In this regard, we were less thrilled with one pair whose lair, I mean, studio, featured a pool table for their "boudoir" pictures (briefly, nudes with awkward leg crossing poses). The unforunate pictures were also in evidence. This couple also insisted they would do whatever we wanted, which, as I said before, is not helpful. Another couple we met in their ultra-professional studio and we were professionally charmed. But they cost too much. Another guy, we met in a Starbucks in Bethesda, next to a long separated duo reconnecting furtively across bustling freeway of sexual tension and lattes, and a women in pastel sweats at a crackling laptop. Nice pictures, though.

We drove out to Linda Crayton's Great Falls rambler where we saw more of what is on the luxurious website. Albums sold for more than used Hondas, precious little books of perfect proofs, CDRoms, all that. She showed us her fabulous digital equipment, answering my boldly ignorant technical questions. I could have been looking at a nuclear bomb. We also saw the pictures of flowers in her powder room and the photo of her and her husband at a Moulin Rouge party in the hallway. This party reportedly may be associated with the birth of their first towheaded toddler. In her studio we noted interesting framed prints -- square, raw yet ethereal. These were taken with a Holga. The Holga is budget -- it has an actual socialist history -- and a plastic lens. Facility with this simple instrument showed curiosity, personal passion and possible virtuosity. I hope that rings true in the results.

Pictures

Photography may not seem like the most urgent matter at this stage, but I reckon it has the potential to consume wads of time. So we resolved to start the consumption early. Photography is a detail inviting ruinous micromanagement---we all now have nice cameras and take many many pictures. Some of them are pretty nice. One might thus easily presume that a professional can be given good advice on how to do their job. But I know that's wrong. I'm trying to back away from that illusion, and take a more reasonable approach.

Foremost, we want a photographer that knows what to do. At the bridal expo we met lots of photographers who told us they focus on giving clients exactly what they want. I don't tell my clients that what I want is to give them exactly the summary judgement motion they want. What I want is for the photographer's to take good pictures (and to take the necessary battery of family shots).

Luckily my fiancee and I have similar ideas about what we want in terms of style -- when we find it, we plan to let the photographer do her thing unmolested by hacks' advice. As for that style, we are taken with the current fashion of "journalistic" slash "documentary" wedding shots. These tags imply that the pictures capture, with the unbiased and searching eye of the responsible professional journalist, the unvarnished sentiment of moments, in lieu of some staged presentation. Obviously, the pictures only capture the look of being unvarnished. Substance as style is the modern cry for authenticity in a mostly fabricated world, or something. I feel like we may be coming in mid-fad into a hackneyed academic trope, but we like how it looks. And it wouldn't be the first time.

Letting a photographer loose requires that she is good, at technique and in compositions. I.e., we don't want numerous close ups of wine glasses and shoes. But while we prefer an artist with a point of view, so to speak, we don't want an angry auteur making giving every photo the unnegotiably raw power of the subject. People must look good in the pictures. We've begun searching for this reasonable auteur in some instructive conversations discussed in forthcoming entries.