I think we all know that a wedding is meant to be a bride's special day in the limelight. But there are certain lines of bridal self-aggrandizement you don't cross, and singing Christina Aguilera's "The Right Man" while walking down the aisle crosses that line and then stabs that line in the face with an ice pick. I mean, JESUS. Watch the video in its entirety and you'll feel as awkward as every single guest sitting in the pews. I got two minutes in and nearly shit myself, I felt so mortified. WHY NOT HAVE EIGHT SHIRTLESS GAY MEN CARRY YOU DOWN THE AISLE IN A FUCKING LITTER, LADY? If your goal was to turn your wedding viral without any regard for good taste, congrats. You succeeded. At least you were on key. Look at that poor groom. He looks like he just got hit by a fucking steamroller. I want to kidnap him and feed him Doritos and beer and tell him everything will be okay. If she sings this much during the actual ceremony, God forbid how much singing she does during the reception.
Kim Kardashian and fiance Kris Humphries went shopping for their wedding registry at Gearys yesterday, a store that specializes in severe lampshades and angry-looking napkin rings. Come, let us tour the online registry for their Wedding of the Century. We seem to have a Wedding of the Century every month now, no? [Image via Bauer-Griffin]
Say you want to have one of those low-stress, non-Bridezilla weddings. You know: Your high school pal serves as the rabbi, your fave gay whips up a nice chuppah, and everybody just shows up and has a ball. If you're Times deputy editor for online journalism Ariel Kaminer, you even hire a pal to do the catering—his very first wedding job! Except your caterer, one Montgomery Knott, the hipster-genius behind MonkeyTown in Williamsburg and member of Stars Like Fleas, went and got arrested on Friday, the day before the wedding. It was for a "bench warrant that shouldn't have been a bench warrant" said Mr. Knott this afternoon by phone, somewhat cryptically. "Apparently Brooklyn arrests more people than any other bureau." (Um, GOOD.) So he did his 20 hours—which plunged the wedding into the sort of chaos that forced Times restaurant critic Frank Bruni to bartend, with Times chief art critic Michael Kimmelman as his bar back. Still the "candied bacon balls" were sorta tasty, guests said. They were like gobstoppers... made of bacon?
You guys were so harsh yesterday about the mercenary wedding plans of Heather Warnken and Michael Vallarelli that even our cold hearts almost twitched with a pang of conscience. And then Heather's brother Byron wrote to us about where we'd gone wrong in our earlier post. In the interest of fairness, we now post his letter, which describes Heather's heroic battle against an eating disorder ("she dedicated herself to recovery from the disease") and reaffirms her credentials ("She played DIII field hockey at Hopkins, where she graduated with something like a 3.7.")
"I think that I'm a modern bride because I'm a rare hybrid of old-fashioned priorities and progressive female empowerment," said Modern Bride of the Year Heather Warnken in the adorable video that won her that title. Mmm. Know what's extra empowering? Getting the 200 guests who you've invited to your destination wedding to buy "Honey Money" credits towards your honeymoon in Bora Bora! "With Heather in school, etc., unfortunately we're not really at the life juncture of copper cookware, roasters, and 400 count egyptian [sic] cotton sheets," Heather and her fiance Mike write on what has to be the most obnoxious wedding website of all time. "We are however, ready to take the sickest honeymoon of all time. ("sick" = awesome.)" Oh. my. God.
Poor New Yorker writer Rebecca Mead. Her new book, One Perfect Day, is a takedown of America's overblown wedding culture, but it keeps getting reviewed by ladies who either just had or are planning an overblown American wedding. The latest is the Times former Arts 'n' Leisure chief Jodi Kantor, who takes issue in the Book Review with Rebecca's characterization of "registering—for water glasses, an ice-cream maker, the usual tchotchkes" as "an exercise in 'licensed covetousness.'"