Every week, Phyllis Nefler scores the NYT's Weddings & Celebrations pages for the various Times-reading women and gay men who need their own special version of sabermetrics, and the straight men like me who deny reading them. These are Altarcations.
Alliterative apologies in advance, because this is going to be an abridged Altarcations.
I am vacationing in Arizona and did you know it's like impossible to find a New York Times up in here? I had to drive around in my rented Chevy Malibu for like 45 minutes just so I could find a place that would sell me the Times for SIX DOLLARS. It wasn't easy: everyone here reads (shivering) USA Today and the only place that sells the Times is Starbucks — the whole "latte-sipping, Times-reading liberal elites" thing makes SO much more sense to me now — and the first Starbucks I went to was all out, and after contemplating approaching a scary man and offering to pay him a couple of dollars just for the Styles section I decided that would be creepy and so had to go to ANOTHER Starbucks down the road. My only consolation was that on my drive back I got to think about this and giggle a lot:
Anyway, the point is that I am going to help you help me by giving you some cursory thoughts on this week's Vows for you to expand upon in the comments as/if you see fit. Let's begin.
Jessica Valenti got married. Your reaction to that sentence is a binary event: either you're like who? (likely) or you're throwing down your dogeared copy of "Sisterhood, Interrupted" in OUTRAGE and declaring whichever wave of feminism you are currently surfing to be DEAD.
Valenti, you see, is the controversial writer behind the website Feministing and several books with names like "Full Frontal Feminism" and "He's a Stud, She's a Slut". (Weirdly, I know her best from the time she got into an epic battle with Ann Althouse over this picture:
And you can read about Valenti's OTHER controversy — her marriage — over at our sister site, which has covered it much more ably than I can. (Sample comment: "Sometimes I call my sweetie's weewee his Tool of Oppression.") Jezebel is the Daria Morgendorffer to my Quinn, you know?
Valenti married Talking Points Memo's Andrew Golis, <she wore light grey instead of white, and there was no bended-knee proposal, so don't worry, she's not a pawn of the patriarchy. Also, Golis claims to be a feminist but then says that he "has always detested 'fishy fish'" and even vomits after eating ceviche so I mean, take from that what you will.
What else. The Times has taken a few week off from their cherished storyline of old people reuniting after years and years, but the old people are back and sprightlier than ever! Leslie Sutton-Smith and Mark Blackman dated way back in 1976 when they were members of the Columbia Marching Band and she was having trouble choosing between him and his twin brother and the funny/aww thing about this announcement was that she talks about first noticing her beloved (and his twin) because they both "had red hair and beards" which as you can see ... is no longer the case.
Next we have Emily Schopick and Matthew Robinson, who have big toothy smiles and a lot of degrees and met when they stood next to one another at a food bank on "Mitzvah Day" packing donations for three hours and "managed to get some kibitzing and joking in, particularly about Spam." Sez Mr. Robinson: "I kept pretending to put things in my pockets." HA! Oh man, he's going to make a hilarious dad someday.
Balancing out the Jewiness of that last couple are Lauren Worthington and Robert Morse: "The bridegroom is a descendant of five Mayflower passengers, including William Brewster and John Alden." FIVE? Honestly, that's just embarrassing and he should be ashamed.
(Speaking of embarrassing family lineage, this correction cracked me up: "Because of an editing error, a report las tSunday about the marriage of Caroline Driscoll and Bryan Barancik referred incorrectly to Jerome I. Barancik. He is the father of the bridegroom, not the groom's maternal grandfather." Haha, can "beloved cunt" be far behind?)
Also speaking of embarrassing family lineage:
"The bridegroom is a paternal great-great-great-grandson of Justus C. Strawbridge of Philadelphia, a founder of the Strawbridge and Clothier department store in Philadelphia." Okay, now we're really reaching.
Finally, I didn't know that the plural of attorney general is "attorneys general" but now I do; this might be the most pretentiously-oddball proposal story I've ever read (spoiler alert: it involves expensive stationary); this might be the most boring how-their-relationship-evolved story with absolutely NO payoff that I've ever read (spoiler alert: "They made plans to meet the following Tuesday, a date Mr. Albano had to cancel because he became sick. 'I thought it was because he wasn't interested but then he called me the next night for dinner,' she said." GET ON WITH IT, GRANDMA!); and I'm sorry but this picture just cracks me up.
I'll leave any scoring to you, although I'd think the real horserace is between them (check out his parents' boards!) and them. You are all witty and attractive and I love you. Marry me? You don't have to wear white.