Results tagged "New York"

It’s been a week and one day since we were told to go.

And, although we returned this past Tuesday, the whole “get your family off of the island” train of thought has yet to find a comfortable place in my heart. You know, that nice cozy corner where I keep other random things like Philly Cheese Steaks, V.C. Andrews novels, Chris Botti and pedicures with extra long leg & foot massages. Because if you’re going to get the massage, why not go for the extra? V.C. Andrews, by the way, was brilliant when it came to simplifying incest. Like those kids HAD NO CHOICE, right? Step Mothers were evil, Mother in Laws were absurd… even the REAL Mothers wouldn’t flinch at poisoning their own, I mean EVERYTHING was wrong about those novels… which I still think about fondly whenever faced with being marooned during a natural disaster. Because there’s nothing like adolescent light reading for the virgin imagination, especially when paired with meat, cheese, and eclectic clarinets. I tried to add the pedicure back into that scenario, but I don’t think that the nail salon has their power back on yet.

But there wasn’t anything imaginary about this ORDER OF EVACUATION, which actually saw us vacating our home last Thursday in an effort to get ahead of the mass exodus off Long Island. And it was a quick decision too, seeing as how we had nothing to do for the weekend, really…. Aside from waiting for something–So why not wait somewhere else? And so we went. Annoyed. While I rolled my eyes all over the East End of Long Island — damning the media onslaught of what could maybe possibly happen. I jammed bags full of toys and clothes for all weather scenarios. Calmly of course, while the three year old attempted to understand the reasoning behind our immediate departure.. One minute playing outside — the next scrambling in a FOR THE LOVE OF GOD– ESCAPE!!! I packed up our cooler. I convinced the dog to get into the car. Then the kids. Chumps Are Us, I thought as I watched the Mayor of New York suggest that he might not screw up this time by shutting down New York City…. and then I turned off our TV and headed North, in-land. Fools, damn you.

On the phone with a friend as I was driving out of town I felt embarrassed. Where had my coastal mentality gone? Why was I not out stocking the house with booze for day-long hurricane parties and WHY was I driving so fast?

But in the end, it didn’t really matter. I mean — things happened here, trees down, limbs dangling, flooding, docks washed away, but the only real loss was in our gardens, which were crushed by the elements. Damages that are certainly recoverable over time. We only decided to return to find the lovely notice above when our power returned on Monday night. And we never really did escape, as the fury of all things Irene simply said “Oh – they went that way”, and followed not so lightly to, in many circumstances, worse situations.

And we were safe. And dry. And not being blown around in gale force winds that look ridiculous as they hit the news reporters on the beach. We may have acted a little typical, as we ran for cover… And the storm may have been completely blown out of proportion… But never before have I taken my cynicism by the throat and decided to go the route to safety. Kids, I tell ya.

“I can’t believe I forgot her formula”…

As my eyes locked with those of the cashier. “I can see it on the shelf — it was the whole reason we came to the store today… I’ll be right back”, as I grabbed the three year old, my other hand wrapped around the infant carrier strapped to my chest. I didn’t miss the moans and exasperated sighs from the lengthy line behind me… “She’s just getting the milk for her baby, the poor thing” I heard the cashier attempt to explain.. As if I were some feeble creature, obviously in need of guidance.

Was I the poor thing, or my baby? We hadn’t yet paid for the rest of our groceries, and 30 seconds later when I returned with the infant formula, the glares of hatred that I received didn’t have to blink twice before reminding me that this is August. August in the Hamptons… and what took me so long? Didn’t I notice the other people waiting? The people that don’t live here year round and shop in this very store at least twice a week. The people that never forget ANYTHING. And the people that don’t seem to realize that, despite having dropped college-tuition-amounts of money to be here, they are in fact, on vacation…. which I happened to just look up on Google and, despite my attempts to cause ruin, still means ‘An extended period of recreation…A period of time devoted to pleasure, rest, or relaxation’. How could I be so selfish?

But this comes as no surprise… in fact, the surprise only comes when the random act of kindness appears — such as the woman yesterday that commented on how well behaved my son is. That, coming from someone that just described waiting in the deli line for a grilled chicken breast as “Hell on Earth”. Because, dear Lord, WHY does she have to wait. Why are the deli-people doing this to her? What did she ever do to them? Don’t they know? WHY DO THEY HATE HER SO MUCH?

But they don’t. They don’t hate you — that is to say that they don’t want to hate you. You spend your money here… which in turn makes the big bad economy go round, so please — be welcome. But really. What is with all the stress? The anger? This might be typical New York and you might be trying to relax, but before you get into that car and attempt to speed demon yourself down main street, TRY HARDER. Some people are backing out of parking spaces in vacationer euphoria — THEY DON’T SEE YOU COMING.

Because, I know that you paid for what they think the Hamptons should be — which is each individual’s definition of high priced perfection. But please, your vacation is stressing me out. Watch that blood pressure, and lay it on back… We have a few weeks to go.

_____

This post is being repeated over at Southampton Patch… because it’s fun to share.  You can go there, or stay here… do whatcha like.

Anyone can call themselves anything, but it doesn’t make it so…

To begin with, I’m a Designer — a title that I’d like to think that I earned while climbing the somewhat thankless rungs of a career that requires a certain amount of skill that, on occasion, borrows from bursts of talent. To say this talent is consistent is a brilliant lie — no one is perfect and being “right” about how things should appear is one of those “grey areas” that we can all role our eyes at while pretending that we don’t really love Rob Lowe and {TOTALLY} can’t wait to read his auto-pilot book about being a man-slut. Regardless, along this path I’ve had the occasion to design a laundry list of things — for a laundry list of people and companies that have either led to pride beaming successes or unfortunate and mismanaged disasters, but each experience has led birth to something concrete that I can walk away with. AND, while I typically win in the end, I’ve worked hard  — sometimes designs are easy and others impossible, but they all deserve the same respect — anything less would be unheard of. Many times I’ve felt that falling into this career was by way of not being very good at other things. Starving, for instance, wouldn’t ever work for me, so being a traditional Art for Art’s Sake Artist was a little out of the question… I really didn’t have any hope when it came to a money management role (obviously — let them eat cake!) and, by way of a complete lack of interest, all things politics, law, religion and science were totally out of the question… that’s not to say, however, that they aren’t {TOTALLY INSIDE}. Because, when it comes to knowing right and wrong — what works and what doesn’t… what SELLS and what DISTURBS, it only makes COMMON SENSE that when putting IT OUT THERE, some things, you just shouldn’t do.

{IN OTHER WORDS, YOU SUCK.}
{THIS DESIGN IS BAD. EVERYTHING ABOUT IT IS WRONG. YOU MAKE ME SICK. GO AWAY. DO IT OVER. OPEN APPLE Q. GET A LIFE. STOP. DON’T EVER DO THIS AGAIN. POWERPOINT. WRONG. ANTI. AMATEUR. THROWING UP. GET OUT. JUST LOOK AWAY}

BUT, aside from my vast expertise as a full-time resident of the Hamptons and self-proclaimed design guru, who am I to critique the work of another, right? Where is my license to point out the obvious — Another new free Hamptons publication, The Daily Dan… Published and produced entirely somewhere else by another “local-yet-not” publication, Dan’s Papers — Aimed at making life between Westhampton and Montauk look ridiculous. Obscene. Absurd. Retarded. And, they employ an Art Director – Photography Director, Designers and probably a whole swarm of freelancers — all of which I’m sure have EYES. Because, yes… When I step out of a fake pool with an airbrushed body and horribly photoshopped jewels, overlaying typography that drips and oozes with amateur monkey brains… I {TOTALLY} know that you need to see what’s INSIDE. AND — I will tell you how to buy a husband, live on a mere $1.3M — WHO TO CALL WHEN YOU’RE DRUNK. Because I need you to know all of these things… while my legs and hand get chopped off at the water line and my head might not even be my own… I’m not questioning your intelligence AT ALL… Or blaming you for picking up the magazine — while the gooey airbrained contents barely stick to the pages of Über-gloss and canned editorial, leaving slime and stain on your hands as if a crime was committed. Because this is {TOTALLY} what you need to understand life in the Hamptons.

And while the opportunity to share the real Hamptons with, albeit, the people that already LIVE HERE, has officially been snuffed out like an obnoxiously cheap cigar, I can only react from the sidelines — turning my nose up and looking away from the waste and disaster as the contents start to leak out all over the summer’s beginning…  Because someone obviously doesn’t care about looking good — especially the powers that be at The Daily Dan.

I took this picture the day before Josephine was born. I remember thinking that I was all wrong about this baby coming earlier than predicted… I even muttered that she was right on for the target date — May 23rd. A few short hours later I was in labor… a few even shorter minutes later, she was here. Now she’s gurgling in a baby “soother” next to me while I type.

Since then, things have become more and more clear despite the rather chaotic scene that surrounds me. But when I say “clear” I have to admit that I’m focused almost entirely on the smallest of small…. Like details that I missed or couldn’t grasp in a pregnancy haze. For example, we had been talking for weeks about finally adding the missing leaf to our kitchen table — so as to allow dining comfort for our growing family and the host of guests that have already been penciled in for the upcoming months. And I know — this is way beyond boring. I mean WHY am I blogging about this? Who cares — and more importantly — WHY ARE YOU READING THIS? But the point isn’t about how small the universe becomes when there is an infant in the room… it’s about how much bigger all of the small things seem to be. While we tried and tried to pull apart the table so as to accommodate the missing leaf, our frustrations grew and grew. Why hadn’t we ever attempted this before? We paid for a big table — were we EVER going to get to use it? The whole thing was beginning to feel like a ShamWOW! commercial when suddenly, whilst I was dozing off for a few minutes in the wee hours, I remembered the latches underneath the table. Unhook them and let the growth begin. In our haste and impatience we had cursed the table to no end when really — all we had to do was look underneath. Life, my friends, should never be so difficult.

Yum.
(click here for the recipe)

In other completely unrelated yet related news, Pregnant Women ARE smug… it’s true. Elly posted this on her site yesterday… I thought it was worth the repost in case you missed it.

Subtitle: Ryan doesn’t get her shopping center…

via Curbed Hamptons

But, believe it or not, this really wasn’t about me. I know, it really is hard to believe that a town as large as Southampton could turn its back on someone with such clout and circumstance as myself, but sadly, its true. And who cares that the developer is a really genuine business man that I know personally…. Someone that has built his independent wealth BY HIMSELF (gasp) and gives graciously to local charities. They still held the door open for his departure without giving him the respect of a blink. But, believe it or not, this really isn’t about him either.

No. This is about change. Period.

And I’m really really tired. I went to one meeting as an advocate of the Tuckahoe Main Street project, as some of you may recall, and I would have gone to more — but not only were they strategically scheduled at the absolute most inconvenient times, I also didn’t want to return to that oh-so-unfresh feeling of a recently soiled diaper being wrapped around my naked body as I gurgled and crawled on the floor, whining in order to bring attention to myself by acting like the rest of the town’s anti-change committee… That being the wall between old and new. Because SOMETHING has to change.

So while I might be at fault for not voicing my opinion as graciously those that have perfected the art of spitting on the floor and acting like a crowd of heckling fifth graders — especially when good intentions rear their ugly heads, I also didn’t feel that making myself the pregnant housewife poster child for a new grocery store was really a good look for me. Although, yes, I do have the spatula and apron collection to pull it off in fabulous and unabashed grandeur. And while you may think that I’m just whispering here on my own personal blog that only a few thousand might stumble upon, nationally… Locally, we have serious problems.

I’m not a sociologist (gasp). I’m not even into politics other than what makes for common sense, but I did own a small business once upon a time which has to qualify me for some level of the SAVVE, so bear with me while I lay it out…. Progress equals jobs, which equals revenue, which equals ECONOMIC RECOVERY. So while the current year-round residents of Southampton sit here, watching our neighbors attempt to sell their homes to move to OTHER cities and towns where OPPORTUNITIES are being CREATED, we get to see every other business closing its door due to JUST THAT. Not to mention the hypocrites that seat themselves in opposition to change — as each designer or specialty boutique in the village closes it’s doors for months at a time or indefinitely… How many of them are actually PATRONS or better yet… HOW MANY EVEN NOTICE? Or, how many of them are just like me? Shopping online or packing up on an almost daily basis to head to OTHER cities and towns where shopping is actually affordable?

WHEW, and while I catch my breath… (I said lemon in my iced water, please!) I knew this would happen. It was beyond predictable that the powers that be in our little WORLDWIDE VACATION DESTINATION would clutch the edges of their seats until the whites of their knuckles matched the hideous March snow outside. I mean, REALLY. They won’t even allow for new trees to be planted at the park in town — who was I to get my hopes up that dangerous and trouble attracting VACANT LOTS would be dealt with in such positive and hopeful dreams of infrastructure when the typical attitude takes over …“if it ain’t broke, I don’t know what is broke.” (via 27east.com) — Now that mind is just WIDE open.

Hello there… won’t you please come in.

I’ve been hoping that you would stop by — there are so many things going on these days that its hard to keep track — What haven’t I told you lately?

Did I tell you about how inconvenient it is that I moved my computer to the basement? Yes. It was a bad idea. Now almost every time I need or want to compute, I have to slink off under the guise of doing laundry. It was also rather inconvenient that my accountant moved his office from the neighboring town of Hampton Bays to a place called Aquebogue…. Which makes me think that I have to borrow Mr. Sal’s thigh high fishing waders and head out into the bogs of Long Island while carrying peace offerings so as not to upset the natives. What’s that? Long Island doesn’t have any bogs? Really. ARE YOU SURE? Because I just googled it and therefore must BEG TO DIFFER.

Do you know what else Long Island has? PINE BARRENS…. Masses of pine trees huddled and mopped together to form clumps of forestry so thick that if you were to stick your hand in, it might just take DAYS to pull it back out. Right? Although I’ve never actually tried this, as I drive to places like AQUEBOGUE, I can envision this happening. Which is not only why I’m more afraid of Pine Barrens than I am of a bullet riddled Hood — But ALSO why I’ve chosen to write a blog post that seems to be about nothing. Because I spent a good part of the past few days reading through Mommy Blogs and I have to say that writing about nothing might be a better choice for time well spent.

It all started rather innocently, with my perusal of a few really good blogs that I enjoy on an almost daily basis. I would never consider these blogs to be “Mom Blogs” because they don’t focus solely on the lives of the writer’s children. Instead they blather on about idiosyncratic topics OF WHICH I feel compelled to compare my own life with and THEREFORE consider to be nothing short of GENIUS. At one point, as is what usually happens here in this conundrum of the internet, I clicked on a link… and then another… and another… and another until I was lost and wandering aimlessly through a sea of angry and heavily drinking Moms that seem to not only loathe their daily lives, but also have no qualms about sharing these rather sad and insecure feelings about their kids, husbands and general STATI-Q in life.

A lot of these blogs, of which I’m too nice to actually link to so that the Moms don’t hunt me down and force me into the Pine Barrens, focus on really personal things… like cute pictures of kids coinciding with posts about not having enough time to ones self anymore… or how so-in-such’s life could be so much different today had she not married while pregnant and, yadda 3 more kids later, she’s lucky to get one night out a week away from the dirty bastards. The bastards, of course, being her kids… not the chain gang of friends that she also has photographs of on her blog, in what I can only assume is her home, doing keg stands and smoking butts–Blindingly F’d up, while the kids, I mean BASTARDS, hang around at knee high vantage. And, while I am sitting here, beating myself up for inconveniencing myself by moving my computer to a place in my house that is seemingly impossible to get to… I would MUCH rather hang out with my kid, not complaining.

SO, what’s going on here? I mean, aside from the good Mom Bloggers — of which I liken to Gilda the Good Witch, there are also some rather talented writers out there that AREN’T MOMS and also know that this is ALL WRONG. Could it be that the lives of other semi-celebrity, self-proclaimed Mommy Bloggers have made it such that others feel the need to TELL ALL online? Do they think that there is the same status waiting for them at the end — along with SWAG and personal assistants? Fame & Fortune… And her little dog too! And when exactly DOES IT END? When the dirty bastards, aka CHILDREN, finally escape from the lives that their Moms have told us all about in some aspect of pride? REALLY? And is it worth it? Because, even though I’m writing this from the TALLEST PEDESTAL IN EXISTENCE,  if attempting to write seriously about hating motherhood is the new white, then I remain cloaked in BLACK (seeing how it’s spring-n-all).

One would think that taking a little trip North would be easy enough by now… a simple road trip… no flights to worry about — we don’t even bother with the Cross Island Ferry. Instead, we act as die-hards, driving like maniacs along the border of New York City and Westchester County, braving the possible delays due to traffic build ups and congestion of competitive road ragers. You’d think that after NINE years of traveling throughout New England we would have learned our lesson. But no. We haven’t. Not to mention that within the nine years we have always traveled with the Bluedog who refuses to be kenneled; We added a child in carseat — AND are currently in the last three months before we have to add YET ANOTHER carseat for the pending babe. Next thing you know, we’ll be traveling with one of those HUGE clam shells on the top of our already oversized SUV — like a meteor sized status symbol that not only exacerbates that we ARE the spitting image of the yuppies that we made fun of until this very point in out lives, but also, downsizing is not an option for years to come….

AND SO, with flying by the seat of our proverbial pants NOT being as WOOHOO ROADTRIP as we’d like it to be or as it once was — coming home and settling back in takes about a week or two…. But this trip was special, so aside from the regular getting back into IT, there was the euphoria of reliving our lives before nine years ago… of finding things changed, but still the same. You know, SPECIAL. Almost, but not really as special as this hideously hot aired introduction… Because nine years is a really long time.

Portsmouth, New Hampshire is too cool for us. Really. I mean — there’s a good chance that it ALWAYS WAS, but when we were living there — participating in daily life, who’s to say. AND, I do have to mention that this was our 2nd trip back in the past nine years — the first return in 2005 was clouded by my career that was in the middle of slowly melting my brain… so I can’t remember very much other than copious amounts of vodka and stress…. Things are better now.

The weather was perfect -  – you know, not your usual 30° below zero for a weekend in February…Tugga tugga tugboat…

The whale wall by Wyland — the famous muralist… we think it’s time for a retouch, but it was kind of comforting to see that the scrubbing of graffiti is only resulting in exposed brick… When we were residents– walking by the wall several times a day, someone was obsessed with spray painting a giant penis on the mother whale… Not that I’m against graffiti art or anything, but there are TONS of unpainted walls to take advantage of — let alone a lesson in anatomy wouldn’t hurt. Let’s keep it real, people.

The city is as eclectic as it is historical… A lot of new construction has taken place — but it was much needed AND it is all very appropriately keeping in character with the rest of the town… Character which is oozing from ever crack in the pavement… every building — old and new. And dirty. Portsmouth is a scrappy place — grunge is comfortable here… vagabonds, seriously hard core — if its too cold for you then GOOD, get out. Smoking was banned in bars and restaurants since we’ve moved, but the live music and art scenes are still as strong as ever…

And we were such tourists! If only for a night — less than 24 hours in time where we ran around with our camera exposed. Soaking it all in as much as we could, knowing that it would only be a matter of time until we were back to New York — Long Island… where the ultimate cool is only for pretend. I took pictures of our favorite restaurants, bars, shops — But only as we were walking out the door… the sound of the locals grunting and rolling their eyes following us like a red flag through the cobble stoned streets.

(I love this window)

And then we stayed at the Wentworth which was rebuilt and taken over by Marriott — but still just as haunted as can be, I suspect — without a straight line to be found… the building was fabulously broken down and near extinction while we lived in town… I can’t decide what’s more suitable, but the stay was lovely…

Needless to say, Portsmouth remains our haven… A place where we lived for years among friends and irreplaceable memories. I can only highly recommend — and while summer is still considered the season for all of coastal New England — a visit this time of year is almost more appropriate for those of us that like to really live in our surroundings…

We are heading North.

via http://www.portsmouthnh.com/

And I know. Today was finally nice outside… meaning that 20 layers of goose downed garb was not necessary for walking outside.. So why would we go and leave this 50-something degree heatwave and go to a land where ice loves you so much that it sticks to your face? Well… I’ll TELL YOU.

I think I’ve mentioned before that Mr. Sal and I lived in Portsmouth New Hampshire for YEARS AND YEARS before moving to the bitter death end of Long Island. And yes. It isn’t quite true that Southampton is the edge of the universe — it is the Hamptons, after-all (snickering). But…. ye not be unequally yoked, SAY I! It might be all shiny and glossy on the outside… but on the inside, we are still AT THE END OF AN ISLAND. An island that is equal to that of an enormously overdeveloped sandbar… One with famous people that enjoy pretending not to be famous — but don’t you dare treat them as such… As well as the overgrown populous of Trustifarians (thanks to the two Anastasias for the terminology) … Otherwise known as self-proclaimed hippies that drive Land Rovers, only eat organic and live “status” free green lifestyles thanks to that of well endowed trust funds… Also known to cluster in popular ski resort areas, University towns, The Berkshires, and of course Portlandia. It would be remiss to say that they can’t be found in Portsmouth either… It’s just that you’re too busy scraping the ice off your eyelashes to notice most of the time — Plus, any town that reeks of Patchouli as a CLEANING PRODUCT kind of passes the not-a-poser test right away.

BECAUSE… like I was saying before completely losing track of myself, we are going back to Portsmouth later on this week. We haven’t been up for a visit in a few years and I think that if we stay here — despite the hints of spring, at the end of this void where you turn one way and see the same thing you saw two seconds ago, we might just start locking our jaws and talking like Lovely and Thurston from Gilligan’s Island… I mean — IT WOULD MAKE SENSE.

And so, whilst we are away — clamoring the ice and dirty snow mounds of the city where we once lived… in complete and total SIN… please have a nice week. Enjoy the spring-like rouse before Mother Nature notices, takes a big swig of her martini and then blasts us with another 40 feet of winter before being tempted away by the Easter Bunny… I’ll catch you cats on the otha-ahh side.

To preface this post, I receive quite a few ‘Dear Ry M. Sal’ emails with questions varying from serious life changing situations to what color to wear in accordance with one’s house color… All important issues, all with merit and concerns that I appreciate and can almost always find alliance with. Usually, when I receive these emails, I read… give them careful consideration and on occasion, have been known to answer — but only via email, which is apparently a form of biometric information, so why keep it confidential?

For the most part, I tend to immediately discount myself as being an authority on anything…laughing at the possibility that I could gleam (not glean, mind you) any sort of knowledge in pretty much any given situation… because assuming that I know the answer would immediately insinuate that I know what I am talking about… which would be completely hypocritical… and therefore completely and totally in line with this blog and everything that I do and don’t mean, right?

I have, in turn, decided to scrap my practice of only responding to the ‘Dear Ry M. Sal’ messages in private. In doing so, I really don’t have any guidelines other than keeping the subject matter and tones of topics in line with the level of discrepancy used in most of the almost daily observations found on this blog… in  other words, completely and totally irreverent with anything having to do with anything.

This first email is from a regular reader and commenter that has known me for MY ENTIRE LIFE (echo echo echo). I know — snarfing your drink through your nose never feels good, especially when its some crazy holiday extravaganza/pumpkin concoction made up by the marketing geniuses at Dunkin’ Donuts… the brains on them. Let’s try not get intimidated… MY ENTIRE LIFE (echo echo echo) is only a line in the proverbial sand, right?

Dear Ry M. Sal,
This is not a comment on this actual blog, but rather a request for advice. Two things happened today. We received an invitation to a wedding in NYC; and, we received in the mail an Urban Outfitters catalog (intended for a younger, former resident.) Of course, we do not live in NYC. My question is: Should we shop for clothes for our visit to NYC in this catalog?

I have one other question. What do you think of the phrase “cool-guy-beer-commercial beards.” I saw this phrase in a popular NYC magazine this week. As an aside, the phrase reminds me of my favorite aphorism from a beer commercial: “They don’t take anything seriously, except the things they take seriously.” Do these people live in NY along with the Urban Outfitted?
–Dave Sage

First of all, congratulations on the NYC invitation, I do hear that it is going to be THE event of 2011… who knows, maybe it will last for 364 days. My advice on all NYC dress-code related topics are all about PERSONAL STYLE — of which, Urban Outfitters has none. Yes, that is right — NONE. Case in point — you can either look like a member of the Beastie Boys when they were worth looking like, OR you can fly under the radar with a “who is that guy” understatement — always sure to draw a crowd, AND you won’t look clueless doing so. For the ladies, I feel confident in saying that no one wants to look like a cave-dweller… ugly shoes are optional. Any NYC’er will be happy to tell you that they have not been Urban Outfitted… choice of language and body usage, to boot, will be creatively entertaining. In other words… It seems that only the Urban Outfitted take themselves seriously, and you can see where THAT is getting them.

One suggestion, if you are looking for some serious advice, is to consider this hat for the evening:

The Helmut, via Etsy

Not only will The Helmut keep your head warm (considering your current tropical location) but it comes in a variety of colors that will blend nicely with the black & white theme of the evening….

As for the term ‘cool-guy-beer-commercial beards’, I am at a loss. I’d like to say that I ‘think’ I know what it means, but as I do a little research, I am coming up rebuffed. Perhaps I’m taking it all a little too seriously.

All in all, I don’t think that you should worry too much about the fashion details surrounding the wedding. You will find the crowd to be open minded and accepting of just about anything… that is with the exception of velvet (someone is rather particular). In short, and to finally end this before it gets ahead of itself, we look forward to seeing you very soon!

And in postscript of this post, if you have a question, please do not hesitate to ask -  ry@rysalcreative.com.