The One After the Long Break
2/28/07

Well, true to biblical form, the prodigal son has returned. While my unannounced, extended hiatus undoubtedly cast a dark shadow upon your internet browsing over the past few months, I trust that you will welcome me back into your homes, offices, or (as in my case this late Friday afternoon) a conveniently located free Wi-Fi hotspot near you. While I could go on for pages, humbly apologizing for the absence of my once regular distribution of profound pearls of wisdom, if my life thus far has taught me anything, it is that there is nothing to be gained from living in the past. The world stops for no one, and whether your seat is in its upright position or not, nothing slows down this trip around the sun.

That being said, experience has also taught me that most hiatuses (which, yes Mom, is in fact the correct spelling) come part and parcel with a recap special. When “Lost” returned from it’s hiatus this season --which I couldn’t help but notice, drew a Dharma-Initiative-creepy parallel to my own-- the directors granted us loyal viewers a one-hour special which brought us back up to speed on the most crucial information on Jack, Kate, Sawyer, Gilligan and the Skipper too.

While I didn’t end up in Minneapolis via a rogue flight on Oceanic Flight #815, nor is there a population of “others” wreaking havoc with my day-to-day activities, the similarities between engaged life, and life on a deserted island are practically uncanny. For example, on a deserted island, the first and most important task at hand is starting a fire. In engaged life, there is always a fire to put out.

What follows is, in a sense, a recap of what happened over the past three months when the blog was turned off: when people stopped being polite and started getting real. You think you know, but you have no idea.

Christmas came and went this year like Halley’s Comet. I use this analogy because the build-up for our first family-shared holiday was something akin to an event that happens once every 76 years. Perhaps the reasoning behind this commotion is that the first shared holiday, is the first time your relationship with your betrothed directly affects your immediate family.

(Sidebar#101308: For those of you wondering, “betrothed” is just a fancy way for saying “engaged”. The origin of the word dates back to times when parents would betroth their children for them; times when it was not uncommon for parents to play the role of matchmaker and promise their daughter to a young, strapping lad who typically came from money and had many goats. Personally, I’m happy these customs have changed, being that I have not a single goat to my name.)

I’m also convinced that it is the shared holiday that is the source behind the Universal Law of Mother-in-law Anger & Disapproval (ULMAD). According to Wikipedia.com, ULMAD was described by Freud as the “Seemingly irrational and naturally unspoken sigh of discontent eminently present among the maternal figures of a betrothed couple.”

Freud went on to report that centuries ago, when Sir Fockerlord II found the love of his life, he and Lady Kristenette announced to Fockerlord’s parents, the Duke and Duchess of Guiltripea, that they would be taking holiday at Lady Kristenette’s castle, which, at the time was a half-day’s journey on foot. Upon hearing his decision, the Duchess immediately deemed her son possessed by evil spirits, and ordered the Duke to lock Sir Fockerlord up in the dungeon for a fortnight, that the high priest might exorcize him and rid him of such poor judgment. Luckily, the Duke held steady his hand in the matter and –when the coast was clear, under the dark cloak of nightfall—aided in his son’s escape which allowed him to celebrate the holiday abroad.

Of course the Duchess never got over her son’s blatant denial of family customs, and spent the last of her days wondering the castle amidst a dreary aura; a time the Duke later coined as the “Dark Ages”.

Luckily, (as is the case in most situations) our families seem to once again be the exception to the rule. Christmas 2006 went off without a hitch, and Kristen and I look forward to many more years ahead of such approving and accepting maternal figures.

Speaking of family firsts, the hiatus also allowed time for us to rehearse the rehearsal dinner. Being that Kristen is part German (a people who take the word “perfectionist” to a whole new level) and that I am part Italian (a people who never miss an opportunity to eat a meal) rehearsing a rehearsal dinner seemed only logical.

The occasion brought Frank and Marie Focker, once again north of their familiar border and into the heart of America’s Dairy Land, to a town called Sheboygan. Sheboygan (which is actually German for “with cheese”) plays home to the International Federation of Competitive Eating’s Annual Johnsonville Brat Eating Competition. Every August, professional competitive eaters from around the globe, flock to Sheboygan’s Brat(wurst) Days for the sole purpose of seeing exactly how many of the beer-battered sausages they can persuade down their hatches in under ten minutes.

(Sidebar#657843: I am not making this up.)

Unfortunately, due to poor planning on our part, our October wedding date does not make Brat Days a viable option for the rehearsal dinner location. Thankfully, we found what we hope to be a close runner-up, in Margaux. (Which is actually French for “McDonald’s”)

(Sidebar#657844: This I am making up.)

Margaux is charming French restaurant in downtown Sheboygan with a menu that would make even a competitive eater slow down and savor his food. For those of you who are lucky enough to score a ticket to the hottest meal in town consider yourselves lucky. For those of you who aren’t, congratulations. You have passed out of Formal Dining 101. Your transcripts have proven that no further instruction is necessary at the remedial dining level, and you are qualified to attend the main event sans-practice. That being said, fair warning: On October 13th, there will be plenty of German perfectionists watching your every move; be sure to know your salad fork from your dinner fork.

Speaking of more forks than we know what to do with, Kristen and I have also participated in what the wedding folk call “registering”. In contrast to something you must do before you vote, registering for weddings is an entirely different scenario. That being said, it is also much more than simply selecting which color his and her towels you’re hoping to receive. I invite you to indulge in the following…

On Saturday, February 10, me and the ring bearer (a nickname I have affectionately given to the lady who wears on her finger one of the largest investments I have ever made in my life, second only to my car, but hey, who’s keeping score…) walked into Bed, Bath and Beyond. The second upon our arrival we were whisked into an office where a perky twenty-something named “Judy” was all smiles and giggles when she learned that, yes, we were in fact, engaged. *teehee *teehee

Several giggle later, we were still sitting in what felt like a cross between a guidance counselor’s office and a pantry. The office reminded me of what might happen, had your aunt invited you for tea and biscuits inside of her kitchen cabinets. Plates and glassware as far as the eye could see, one set of which Judy was so particularly fond of, she picked up one of the mugs and demonstrated how even by banging it on her desk as if she was calling her tiny house ware courtroom to order, said porcelain would not break. She later, upped the ante by taking us up to the roof and hurling champagne flutes at passing SUVs in the parking lot. While causing several minor injuries and one 4-car pile up, I must admit not a single flute so much as cracked.

After she had convinced us that this was not “your grandma’s china,” she began entering us into a computer database, no-doubt powered by CIA headquarters in Langley, VA. She recorded names, birthdates, blood types and next-of-kins (who would be rewarded our indestructible china, should we be killed in an airborne glassware-related accident). Roughly 2 hours later, Judy introduced us to the rest of the Bed, Bath and Beyond Dinner Theatre Players who, on cue, broke into a Broadway Medley highlighting the differences between All-Clad and Teflon, which, up until the completion of the informative tune, I would have guessed were characters from “He-Man, and the Masters of the Universe.”

For the next week and a half, Kristen and I perused the aisles of Bed, Bath and Beyond, much like a modern-day Lewis & Clark. We traveled to the remote Land of Linen, where the Pillow People explained to me that a duvet is not a song written for two people, nor does it rhyme with the word “Corvette”.

We stared in awe at the Great Wall of Utensils—currently wait-listed on the 7 Great Wonders of the Modern World. The sheer variety of options one has when selecting a potato masher or melon-baller would make Julia Child roll over in her grave.

While I could tell Kristin was soaking in this entire experience like a kid in a candy store, I was happy the fine people at B, B, & B had made the whole process very guy-friendly, by supplying me with what looked exactly like the Nintendo Power Glove, circa 1988. I’m convinced more stores should introduce this highly attractive feature. Men would do far less complaining about being dragged to the mall on a Saturday afternoon if, instead of being the delegated cart-pusher, or clothes rack, they were handed a battery-operated laser gun and told to “fire away!”.

(Sidebar#657845: Note to retailers… in an effort to further improve this incentive, I suggest adding animatronic obstacles to increase the level of difficulty behind each shot and then assigning a point value to each UPC. Upon checkout, if a guy’s point total is worthy of breaking into the top-five leader board – which would be displayed via an electronic scoreboard outside of the store entrance – prizes would be rewarded accordingly.)

Before you could say “Wusthof” (which is German for “big-ass knife”) the fun was over and Judy made me turn in my laser gun. For those of you who’d like to see my scorecard—I mean OUR scorecard—I mean REGISTRY—it is available Bedbath&beyond.com.

Speaking of scorecards, we’re coming up on T-minus seven months before the big day. This weekend KB and I will be meeting with Bob the florist and Bob the photographer. Tune in next week when for a full Bob breakdown including complete analysis from a Wisconsin-certified Master Gardener herself, our very own, ULMAD-free, Dina Byrnes.

Until next time, me, Wusthof and Margaux are late for our meeting with the U.N.

Ciao!