I hear violins
I've recently decided that I want to have a wedding. It's not that I am now grown up enough to make a childhood dream true (it was never something I thought about until my mid-20s). It's more that I have seen how much fun they can be. And, always having had theatrical tastes, there is really no better excuse for a full-throttle, no-holds-barred musical extravaganza than a wedding.
I must say, when I saw the Spectacular Spectacular in Moulin Rouge, I was (momentarily, knowing me) speechless. Now THAT is an extravaganza, I thought.
Not that I want to wear diamonds, nonono. I see myself in full morning dress in one of the wood-panelled ballrooms of an old Randlord house. I'll be there with all my lovely friends from around the world - yes, even those old friends in Pomerania who didn't stump up for a 11-hour flight for my 30th birthday party will have to come to this - while hordes of sexy violin chicks* in skimpy outfits play Vivaldi (I'm thinking Op.8 No. 8, and then a couple of double concertos). I'll have to sing**, of course, because it's my wedding and I can't resist an audience and, yes, quite possibly I am that tacky. I'll have to have Handel's Dixit Dominus for entertainment in the middle of the ceremony. Before saying 'I do' to my obviously handsome and devoted husband.
Please note, Universe: I do want a husband more than a spectacular wedding. I do. Well, slightly more. Let's not dwell on the current lack of real-life suitors, shall we?
Right, so now I can officially have a wedding. Sort of. If you look at it from a distance through squinted eyes, a civil union looks quite a bit like a marriage.
*I'm not sexist, that's the official musicological term.
**Don't get me started on ideas for arias, or the guests will never get to the reception.
I must say, when I saw the Spectacular Spectacular in Moulin Rouge, I was (momentarily, knowing me) speechless. Now THAT is an extravaganza, I thought.
Not that I want to wear diamonds, nonono. I see myself in full morning dress in one of the wood-panelled ballrooms of an old Randlord house. I'll be there with all my lovely friends from around the world - yes, even those old friends in Pomerania who didn't stump up for a 11-hour flight for my 30th birthday party will have to come to this - while hordes of sexy violin chicks* in skimpy outfits play Vivaldi (I'm thinking Op.8 No. 8, and then a couple of double concertos). I'll have to sing**, of course, because it's my wedding and I can't resist an audience and, yes, quite possibly I am that tacky. I'll have to have Handel's Dixit Dominus for entertainment in the middle of the ceremony. Before saying 'I do' to my obviously handsome and devoted husband.
Please note, Universe: I do want a husband more than a spectacular wedding. I do. Well, slightly more. Let's not dwell on the current lack of real-life suitors, shall we?
Right, so now I can officially have a wedding. Sort of. If you look at it from a distance through squinted eyes, a civil union looks quite a bit like a marriage.
*I'm not sexist, that's the official musicological term.
**Don't get me started on ideas for arias, or the guests will never get to the reception.
posted by vivaldifan | 1:15 AM
3 Comments:
I can see Mozart, Vivaldi, Bach and that other chappie...Wagner is his name, sitting up in that cloudy zone, arguing over who is most suitable for your nuptials!
Now, a civil ceremony is only worth it if at the actual ceremonial celebration you become quite uncivil! That's QUITE fun!
The universe has asked me to tell you though, that She* delivered a host of hubby material to the UK for you!
*Because she is a she, quite obviously!
Gosh, that wasn't pointed *at all*. I wanted to be there, okay? I did! *sigh*
Weddings do rock.
Not just you, dear. Those Joburgers who didn't come are *still* being reminded of the errors of their ways. Grudge, me?
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