Today we participated in the search for the perfect wedding venue for my son and his fiancée. If you are not currently up on the little worldlet that is the wedding industry, let me tell you, it is a jungle out there, and it’s every bride for herself. Luckily, I feel that our roles as parents of the groom are secondary, because this world scares the shit out of me.
We visited Edgefield, a hotel/restaurant/golf course/pub/whiskey distillery/winery/small concert venue outside of Portland. Today (Sunday) they had three weddings in progress and a tour bus stop whose patrons seemed to be bent on consuming vast amounts of beverages before re-embarking, or whatever one must to do to hoist oneself back up on that bus after guzzling ones body weight in Hammerhead Stout.
Turns out that for a mere $6,500 minimum food and beverage tab, one of their rather smallish wedding/reception venues could be ours (does not include mandatory gratuity, chair rental, arbor rental, outdoor table rental, florist, photographer, decorations, or any guarantee that your wedding party will not grow to include future bus patrons who wander through).
Actually, it turns out that every single Saturday is booked for 2007, including every Saturday in September 2007, a mere year and a quarter away (what were we thinking?), but, hey, there’s still one Sunday and one Friday open. That seems to be the case at all the local wedding joints. They are crazy expensive, and yet already booked up anyway.
Makes that idea of having the reception in the Captain’s union hall seem a little less skuzzy, now, doesn’t it? (I have to interject here and tell you that Word just corrected my spelling of skuzzy. I guess it’s spelled with a “k” and not a “c”. Now you know.)
It would be tough to be a bride in these trying times.
Why, I remember, back in the day, the Captain and I started making fast friends with the pastor of the cutest church in town when we started thinking about making it legal, and by the time we set a date, we had the run of the church and its dining hall for the cost of our sweet, sweet company. We decorated with ivy we picked from a neighbor’s yard who was happy to see it go, and the reception was pot luck. Of course, that was in a simpler time and a much simpler place.
If I had to get married today, I would break the union hall wide open, hook up my iPod playlist to somebody’s geeky sound system, have it catered by Baja Fresh and Argyle Champagne (from Dundee, Oregon, wine capital of the world), and wear a dress I can dance in. Maybe a skort.
Or I would get married at the Inn at Spanish Head, which looks out over the ocean (but is indoors, because you can’t trust the beach to give you a sunny day when you need one).
Or I would go to Las Vegas…nah, I don’t like Las Vegas. But I would definitely go to Virginia City and get married in the old Opera House. Or the Bucket of Blood saloon. Whichever.