Category Archives: Uncategorized

Chairmen and Women of the Wedding

So one of the things about throwing a budget wedding, as many of you fine folks know, is that sometimes you have to do little things that maybe you didn’t plan on doing. Like serving pizza, for instance. Or getting married on a Thursday. Or asking friends to make appetizers. Or asking guests to please wash, rinse, and dry their plastic utensils so we can re-use them.*

*Still debating that one.

Anyway, this right here is a chair:

Ring a bell? It should. Odds are you’ve either sat in one today, are sitting in one right now, or have designs to sit in one later today – or all three. Last year, Americans sat in an estimated 900 million chairs. OK, that’s not a real statistic, but it sort of sounded like one, right? Am I right? I think I’m right.

The Point, though, besides being an awesomely odd animated movie from 1971, is that one of the odd little budget-y things we’re going to do is to ask all of our guests to move their chairs indoors from the patio when the ceremony is over. Of course, if anyone is unable to move their own chair, or opposed to it for religious or ethical reasons, we’ll have waivers available on every chair prior to the ceremony so people can opt out. It’s only fair, after all.

As with many of these types of logistical/budgetary issues, a simple Pro & Con list reveals what we suspected all along: it just makes sense.

The Great Guestular Chair Relocation of 2011 | Pros & Cons

Cons

  • Unusual.
  • Tacky? Is it tacky?
  • Potential logjam of 150 confused guests, running wildly, heads jammed inside half-folded chairs, screaming and gesticulating, sobbing into their suits, bawling into their shawls, ensuring a visit from the Park Rangers summoned to shut the party down and revoke our right to ever set foot in an East bay Regional Park ever again.
Pros
  • It’s kind of fun, right? Right?
  • Excellent opportunity for excellent photos.
  • Group spirit; camaraderie.
  • The reception is being held mere yards from the ceremony patio.
  • Good blog fodder.
  • It’s kind of fun, right?
  • Opportunity for exercise before guests gorge on pizza and beer.
As you can see, the Pros list emerges the clear winner, and plus, if item #3 on the Cons list ends up taking place, well… I can think of worse wedding stories than that.
I really do think it’ll be fun. I’m not just saying that.
Right guys?

Thumbs Up Everybody For Rock And Roll!

It is imperative that everyone watch this video of a little boy’s message of inspiration following his first bike ride.

He’s kind of like a mini Harry Caray.

Happy Friday, everyone. Rock And Roll.

Gotta Get Down On Friday

Photo by Drew Beck

Happy Friday, everyone. Have a great weekend and I’ll see you next week.

Love,

Bret

Hair: The Post

I got my hair cut a couple days ago.

See?

See, it's shorter now

I’m not a “hair guy,” which is an expression I’ve made up just now to describe a “guy” who pays close attention to his “hair.” I rarely pay my hair much attention. A few years ago I noticed my hairline receding a little and some Male Pattern Baldness settling in, and I freaked out a bit, probably bit my nails extra a lot, and braced myself for the inevitable.

But when I finally realized that it’s actually progressing VERY slowly and also that the ceiling light in the bathroom of my former workplace shone down unflatteringly upon my thinning hair, I relaxed, and now have mostly stopped caring. Plus, Jessica’s already agreed to marry me, so ha!

Just kidding. Not about the marrying part. About the “ha” part.

It’s an occasionally sad thought that pops into my head: I have never done anything with my hair. No new cuts, styles, lengths, colors. Just the same old thing year in and year out. If we venture into facial hair, I did experiment once: I grew a beard a few years ago when I lived with my three good pals Drew, Andrew, and Julien, and Drew even made pins for us for a party that said “ask me about my beard.” People did, and I told them all about it. The pin worked! My beard was dark and full and I never truly embraced it, though I was told it looked pretty good. I liked the way it looked, sometimes, and then other times it just seemed like I had this dark cloud on my face that had no reason to be there. One day, for no particular reason, I grabbed a razor and took it off, and that was that.

But as for my hair – the hair on the top of my head – well, the most daring thing I’ve ever done with it was to go several weeks after optimal cutting day, which is totally dangerous and I’m a bad-ass for doing it. Mohawks? Leopard-spot dying? Feather extensions? Please. Try letting your hair grow out 1/2 an inch longer than usual.

But really, in the end it doesn’t bother me. If I don’t care, then, I don’t care. I’m not going to force myself to get all excited about hair. It’s a little bit like jewelry – I’m astoundingly unknowledgeable about jewelry. I have a hard time even with a binary view of it; that is, deciding whether an earring or a bracelet or a ring is pretty or not. Sometimes I’ll be thinking “huh, that necklace seems kinda pretty” just as Jessica is talking about how garish it is. Or vice versa.

Anyway, I got my hair cut the other day. It was getting a little on the scruffy side, and so I made an appointment with a woman I’ll call “Sarah” at a place I’ve been going to for over a year now. Her haircuts are $15, take about 30 minutes, and she’s fantastic – she even throws in a rinse and a quick head rub for good measure. She spends the haircut asking me questions about life, work, love, and cooking – especially cooking. She’s from Vietnam and tells me stories of her life there when she was younger, of her family, and of how different her life is now.

“I get married when I was 20,” she told me the other day, “and it was too soon. Too young. Not mature. We make mistakes. But I still love my husband, and he still love me.”

I knew from chatting with her over the past year or so that she has an uncomfortable relationship with her in-laws, because, as she tells me, they are very traditionally Vietnamese – highly demanding and overtly critical of their daughter-in-law. She used to be extremely intimidated, always nervous around them.

“But my husband,” she said, “he stand up for me. He say to them, she my wife, you respect her. I love her and you need to try to love her too.”

She beamed with pride.

It was touching not only because she clearly still loves her husband very much after being married so long, and not only because he has stood up for her in fairly rare fashion, but also because she rags on him so much. She complains about him during the haircuts, says he can’t cook, can’t clean, and can’t do anything around the house. Says he was stupid to open a pho restaurant in Vietnam without knowing the first thing about making it. But she says it all with a smile and a laugh.

Now, she says she gets along fine with her in-laws. They’re old, she sees them only rarely, and she’s a lot older too. She stands up for herself now. She no longer feels the pressure of always needing to impress them.

I find that as I approach the world of married life, it’s even nicer to see living, happy examples of couples who have made it. Couples who dealt with adversity as it came along and worked through it. Couples who have found new things to love about each other as they age together. We hear and read so much about divorce rates being high, about how gay marriage is threatening the very foundation of love and happiness*, that it can be easy to forget that a lot of marriages succeed, too. And when they do succeed, well, it’s a beautiful thing.

*At least, that’s what Republican men keep trying to tell me so it has to be true.

Sarah knows that my wedding is approaching, and there are a few things she tells me several times during every haircut: “You so handsome!” and “stop losing weight!” (even though I haven’t lost any for a long time), and recently, “Don’t forget, you come see me, day before wedding. I make you handsome.”

I tell her that there’s no one else I’d have cut my hair, and that I’ll be there for my very important haircut.

Me, But Clay

This is how Jessica envisions me were I made of clay:

Hi, I’m Bret Turner, I Love Shrimp, Have We Met?

At work today, Jessica called me. I found the one spot at my entire school where I get any kind of cell phone reception.
“Bret,” she said, “tonight for date night I think we should go ALL OUT.”
Tonight is Date Night, by the way.
“Whoa,” I said, “what does that mean to you?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, “like do something fun or special or something. What does it mean to you?”
“Hmm,” I said, thinking. “I’ll have to think on it.”
“OK, you do that. Let me know if you have anything you want us to make for dinner ’cause I’m going to the store.”
“Well, definitely get some beers with a high alcohol percentage,” I said, and went back to work.

Later she called me again, as she was about to leave.

“Bret, do you like shrimp cocktail?”
“Like… shrimp with cocktail sauce?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Hi,” I said, “I’m Bret Turner. I LOVE SHRIMP. Have we met?”
“Oh yeah. Duh! Well, Date Night is going to be CRAZY. We might not eat until 10:00.”
“Holy crap.”
“The only thing I know for sure is we’re having shrimp cocktail. Oh, and a version of pigs in a blanket but fancy.”
“Oh like with fancy sausages?”
“That’s right, baby.”

So really, no one knows for sure what tonight has in store. But I’m pretty stoked about it.

The Impossible Choice

Sometimes, Jessica asks me if I like her better with long hair:

…or with shorter hair:

And all I can think is, “are you kidding me?!!???!?”

I mean, that’s like asking me if I’d rather have a couch made out of chocolate in my living room, or a guitar made of moonbeams.

An Impossible Choice.