Archives for posts with tag: wedthing

My most common hits are still coming from Scott Pilgrim searches. Were I to take it as an indicator of scale, O’Malley’s gem is more important than Terry Pratchett.

I can’t choose between them, I love them both too much.

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I’m tremendously happy that I didn’t make a New Years resolution to blog more. Aside from the fact that I have never made a New Year’s resolution with a straight face or possible scale, reality has struck against me and she. I had planned to blog about Japan while in Japan: this was first hampered by being stranded in London for eight days under weather conditions favourably thought of as ‘arctic’; secondary hampering came from trying to write about the said personal disaster. It’s too depressing to go back to a very bad headspace involving high stress, failing health, damaged ankles, impossible phone calls and red tape cutting off your ability to function while on honeymoon. The return fared no better, as we came back to a house still without heating (a long story 13 months and counting in the making), a still-broken fridge, doors as yet still-unrebarrelled and, but a few days after landing the eagle, a kitchen flooded thanks to a burst pipe.

And that’s just the highlights!

It’d be very easy to just roll over and whine, but to Amsterdam with that noise. This is an upbeat blog, goddamnit, and if I can avoid cursing up a storm here and on Twitter through sheer force of will in the last few weeks, then damn it we will beat Misery’s ass until Kathy Bates turns up with the notice of surrender. For all the rough, nasty, horrible crap we went through in the days that preceded and followed the Wedthing, we also got to meet a lot of good and splendid people and relish fantastic opportunities.

Read the rest of this entry »

While the temptation to bitch endlessly around the vagaries of climates and airlines is still present (and will fallalal along soon enough, worry not), I thought I would take the time to post the six comics I drew as part of our wedthing favours. This, in part is because I’m not sure if anyone managed to get all six, since we put them into the bags individually and at random. So prease to enjoy and click to embiggen!

Sarcasm and Silliness Read the rest of this entry »

Oh my science, there is now a Wedthing website! Did you know that it can be found here? Because it can be found there!

We have had a few people ask us about what exactly we were doing, in terms of the event, humanist ceremonies and the intricate goings-on of the afters. Where we’re disinclined to spill too much on the lattermost, we figured we should try to be as open as is possible in regards to everything else. Sending people to a blog called Turn My Brain Off would be considered an odd signal, apparently, so heads were together put and Olivia and Brian dot com was the result. It has a nicer ring to it, and garners far fewer askew glances from thither and hither.*

Olivia, having more free time than me lately, put it together while I directed and critiqued from my glorious tent far from the war zone. Also, I found the software she used to design it insane and head melting, so I dodged it like crazy. In my defence, I did build her a website for her thesis a few years back. But dang if she didn’t make it look right pretty. Feel free to have a look (and report any problems we have not yet caught…)

The site isn’t supplanting my occasional word flurries here: it’s more a way-station, information point and an easy way to get in touch as is needed for a more general audience (er, family mostly) than a spot for me to spin and tremble and comment as the need takes me. The site will be on the invites, and at worst all they will have to do is google our names (which, I hope, they already know). Since a lot of people will be travelling to attend the Big Day, our local knowledge is somewhat critical to make it easier for them to get both there and around. The only thing not yet up there that we know of is the date itself, since we are waiting on one final confirmation to cease its provisional status. Between now and then, I still have a few addresses for invites left to get, but then… BOOM!

Man, only two and a half months left. All and no time at all. How are you?

* We did look at trying to get Brian and Olivia dot com to cut down on vowelling issues, but it was not to be. Also, foreshortening it would have produced “B & O” or “B.O.”, both of which I was quite significantly against…

We’re in an odd stasis of sorts in Operation: Wedthing right now. I often feel I should be talking about this here more, for Olivia’s sake if nothing else. I don’t want her to think that I’m not thinking about it, which an absence of bloggery can imply (however erroneously). But I tend to be big on novelty as a function, in the sense of trying to inform with news rather than dwelling further on what I’ve already discussed. If there is little to report, I’m more inclined to wait until there is more for me to say than three lines and a packet of crisps. But I digress…

The stasis isn’t an emotional one, worry ye not. We’re at the point of trying to confirm with multiple parties the go-ahead for a single, unifying date so we can more forward with all the everything that is waiting in the wings on this one motion. Getting away from my back-and-forth between bow-ties and cravats (once so simple, now conflicted by a cunning argument!), it’s mostly a case of outright public awareness. We’ve hopefully had the information disseminated to the active majority of attendees, but I’m bouncing at the bit to make sure everyone knows definitively in a simple, practical way by getting the damn invites off. It’ll be nice to have at it, since it will be the final thrust of who to invite (which has become such a circular thinking for me that there is a groove in our living room for the cats to play in, an inner conflict I have mentioned before and a prime example of what was mentioned earlier). I have no problem with living with the consequences of whatever is chosen. It’s the paralysis of indecision that precedes it that is the problem…

It’s weird. There is a lot to do, and yet there also isn’t. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what readings we could use, and a decision there must be made. I’ve even downloaded a lot of old, ex. copyright books to scour for passages and texts to plunder (a love letter by Mark Twain being a definite favourite, while Vonnegut has surprised me a little by not really having much of anything usable, save for a justification of why he won’t write about love and et cetera). I am forever hampered by poetry, thanks to an unfortunate dislike instilled in my youth that has never been quite shaken off.* The work flows slower than I would like, and yet and yet and yet… I think my own contributions are sorted and I’m really just in the act of making sure I’m sure, to be sure. Vows I started work on long before now, they simply need to be set in ink and thunder. It’s a grand scale of work quickly done…

Then again, my best work is always done with a lack of time, an excess of necessity and utterly without consciousness of form.

The website is built and tested, the colours and takeaways have been chosen, the key players are in place and most matters have gone without hitch or problem. Much has, in all honesty, been done. What dread there is comes from knowing that there is also the issues not springing to mind that are there nonetheless. These panic me out somewhat, since I know I should know what they are, and yet the edam cheese I call my memory lets them slip just far enough out of view as to make them problematic. A glimpsed corner is all well and good, but not fine enough as to allow recognition. Worse yet, Olivia will have told me often and repeatedly and it is my inattentiveness which creates the issue out of the nothingness. I should (and likely will) just commit them to yet another list to be stored in my wallet, to be ticked off as they are trounced by will and action. At the worst, they will remain there taunting me and prompting me to work so as to avoid the impending sense of inadequacy that is my detested (yet wonderfully motivational) bedfellow. A guilty conscience is the friend you love to hate.**

But yes: long story short is that no news is as much good news as anything else can be these days. Work proceeds, albeit planning permission is awaited for the last construction work to begin. Life remains steadfastness in its boredom for the most part. After the interesting few years it follows, the boredom-of-a-sort is welcome relief.

* I would love to like poetry or at least get a sense of appreciation beyond “Well it’s all very nice for those as likes it, innit?”, but without a contextual entry point I just feel bewildered. I presume this is what it is like for someone who would like to read comics but has no idea which issue of Uncanny X-Men will allow them to not go blinkered with information-overload or bewildered from an absence of same.

** Or hate to love. Relationships based on mutual disdain can be confusing in their fetishisation.

Half of the work in this Wedthing seems to sprout like a new hydra head from the sputtering neck of matters already vanquished. Right now we’re in the process of trying to align all the locations for a single date, but also have a new and shiny list of additional matters to consider. Chief among them: what do we do afterwards?

I am by no means a traditionalist, and I suffer an allergic reaction to a lot of things people like to do at weddings. Chief among these? Sing-songs. I freaking hate sing-song sessions. I hated them in college, I hated them when I worked in bars and to this day, my ire has not diminished any. They’re not soulful, they’re not bonding, they tend to be mawkish or obnoxiously political… When you can’t sing (or dislike being serenaded), they’re just boring. I dread sing-songs sessions when I’m out because I have to sit there and wait it out with a gormless smile on my face. I know I’m in a minority in this. I know that this sort of event requires compromise. But you know what? It’s a day for me and she, and I should be able to enjoy that. Which brings us to the problem of what to do.

Oh, what to do?

The poll above counts some of my better ideas so far. Doing some research has turned up neat ideas that probably are not very practical given the realities of who we expect to turn up, verging on potentially embarrassing for all parties concerned (On the Spot Poetry seems like a great idea until you add the context that unless you come from a family of poets, the results will be meant well…) It’s not even a case of expense, which is a nice change, albeit not making the matter any easier. I don’t want to bring a group of people together only to have a section of it feel as bored as I would be by a session. So to the peanut gallery I doth implore: what would you like to do that is atypical of a wedthing setting?

Meanwhile, who would ever have thought that a guest list would be so difficult? This is entirely sourced in my not having seen some people in years and wondering if 1) they would like to be invited, 2) were happy to forget I existed, never mind get an invite, 3) they will be annoyed that they weren’t invited when a shared acquaintance is or 4) I am, as with all things, vastly and inexorably over-thinking the matter and I should stop worrying and just do as I please [mix and match as applicable]. I’ve mentioned this before, but existential ennui is a bosom buddy of mine of late, and this all ties into deeper issues within my life I would prefer not to face as I will then be able to fight the eventual anthropomorphic personification of same in an awesome kung fu duel and DESTROY THEM. So: repetition!

At least the location issue is finally nearing its conclusion. I wanted those invites sent out in July

Bearing in mind that you will be affecting the haute couture of Cian, Shane, Alex and myself…

Suggestions are welcome, as I am making vital decisions that will affect the future of being awesome!

The weirdly appropriate My Year in Lists is rattling through my head like a meme on the meta-amphetamines.

Trying to assemble a guest list is an interesting cliff face to mount. You have people you want there and will be there, people you want there but you don’t know if they want to be there, people you haven’t seen in years and would love to see now but you don’t know if that’s placing undue pressure on them because you’re kind of embarrassing to know, people you don’t want that desperately wish to come out of a misplaced sense of a affection, people who have kids that you don’t know have kids and said kids don’t get invited so that when they see other kids you knew about present begin to seethe in That Way, people you have to invite because if you don’t will kick up such a fuss with Our Maureen that you will invite simply to spare poor Our Maureen because frankly who deserves that kind of abuse, people you want to invite but don’t because you don’t think they would want to come, even though they do…

Of course, I have been known to over-think these things. I have already been advised by people who have survived the war before me and know better to just do what I like and screw the white noise. But when have I ever listened to good advice? That’s just what they want me to do! Right now, I’m a weird mixture of a self-doubting coffee fiend and Lt George.

I think the safest way to move forward is play the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion and plow through the current list before I hit bat country.

We’ve just purchased the rings. Holy crap, this is really happening, isn’t it? How many panics, freak-outs and general male sillinesses am I allowed between now and December?

(P.S. I can assure you that I am in truth quite alright.)

What no one really tells you before anything weddingish occurs is that you will be walking a twine-like tightrope over a pit of social jags and spikes that will admonish and glower you to death if you are not very especially and dedicatedly careful with every inch moved forward. They won’t tell you this during or afterwards, mind you, you’ll just discover it for yourself and wonder how girly it would be to weep into an open bottle of vodka. Russian vodka. Russian vodka that has wrestled with the deadliest of vicious bears in the coldest heart of winter and bested said bears in those pankratic arts. GRRRR.

This is very likely just me, however. I have a tendency to read too much into everything and then generate a moral crisis which will drive me into a berserker frenzy. So how much previous to this then is just a standard Brianist nonsense?

Olivia for the most part has a better sense of how to plough on than me. While I meander on trying to contextualise the pinball bouncing that is my approach to everything (in part due to not really having a clue how much anyone wants to know about any of this), she has been busy assembling information, preferences and ideas at her shiny new blog, Lif Laugh. Terrifyingly, the few days work there is a fraction of what she has put together.

There are some things that ladyfolk really are just inherently better at than their Y-chromosome genetic randomisers.

As I vaguely intimated in the previous post, as much as we try to define and create our own event as distinct from the ‘mainstream’ edition, we find ourselves being repeatedly drawn back to at least the structural elements of the very same. Social evolution has optimised the beast that is a wedding, to the point that we have relented in a lot of ways by even calling our plans a wedding, if only as a shorthand. Having tried and failed to apply a number of different names to it (each time getting shot down because they were confusing people or taking too long to explain), it was that or lose a lot of patience very quickly. Our only working alternative was in calling it a commitment ceremony, since it’s a more accurate expression, but I was loathe to do that not due to having issue of association with gay culture but rather because I didn’t like the idea of appropriating anything from a population that is already pretty heavily shafted by law, policy and religion. It’s also very likely that I’m being too sensitive, but screw it. Better over than under. There is a certain resonance, even if the motivation is completely different, and just a little bit selfish as regards myself.

This isn’t the vertiginous issue I was referring to at the start, by the by, just where we have ended up by the glorious vagaries of stream of consciousness.

The weird thing is that I started writing about this long before even the blog existed, but in a weird narrative diary where I was almost looking from the outside in at the event. Aside from the weird (il)logic that brought me to that point (quickly abandoned as when you make yourself an external observer of your own life yo will by default create some strange issues for yourself), I have found myself looking back on the first few months in a similar sort of way, and the relationship as a whole betwixt that. The last few months have been crazed with business, only recently calming and about to go nuts again in very short order, but I’m finally getting a grasp on all of it and a part of me wants to resume what I started.

Which, dang it, would add a third personal written project to my schedule, along with artwork owed and undrawn, an educational avenue to follow, a third party script to format dot dot dot et cetera. I clearly take some grand issue with myself and am determined to bring it to an end by drowning under a literal sea of paperwork. Oh well, I’ll live. I’m functionally immortal anyway, having not aged since college.

What, dear reader, would you care to see me discuss, as I dwell further on this Thing that Weds? Answers on a postcard or in the comments section are e’er welcome!