HOWARD MEGDAL: So wait, who is getting married? Actually, don’t tell me. I don’t care.
I have a vague awareness that someone royal is getting married. Prince Will? Not sure. And you know why I don’t know? Because it is my right as an American not to be sure.
Hundreds of years ago, my forefathers fought a war so I wouldn’t have to concern myself with who Kate someone is wearing.
Well, okay, not my forefathers: they were getting chased by Cossacks in Eastern Europe. But the forefathers of the people who kept my grandparents out of various country clubs and colleges, whose grandchildren smile uneasily because hey, we’re in your neighborhood, bitches, and if you don’t like it, we’ll call in the FHA-those people fought a war. For me. So I could ignore this wedding that may have already happened, but possibly not.
And why is this important? Because if some lady dies, and another younger guy dies, these people will be the King and Queen of England? Wow, just two heartbeats away from some ceremonial power. Such intrigue.
The monarch in England has less power than the prime minister, who until recently was Gordon Brown. Have you seen Gordon Brown? Yeah, let me watch every minute of a wedding which will involve two people who, if two other people die, still have less power than that guy.
But what about the pageantry, you might say. Sorry, when you said that, I just yawned. Did you know that pageantry was actually created in a lab, test tube baby-style, by chemically combining lace and boring?
So look, I wish the happy couple the best of luck. If my limited knowledge of royalty is accurate, they’ll need it, being closely related and with him constantly threatening to chop her head off- and not in a fun, Ralph Kramden way.
Sure sounds like something to celebrate, doesn’t it? Long live whatever else is on.
ZOË RICE: A couple nights ago, I dreamed I was at Prince William’s wedding. In my dream we had grown up together; I had known him in the old days, before he was Prince, and though we’d lost touch, my childhood chum still invited me to his wedding. But of course in real life, Wills was never not a prince. He didn’t win fame later in life – he was born into it. Born into royalty, a vestige of a thousand years of inter-marrying and family crests and political alliances and crazy nobles and jewels and dungeons and every single thing your life is not. And now he’s marrying! Creating more royalty! I mean, come on. Who wouldn’t want to peek?
In my dream, Kate’s dress was a huge disappointment: Form-fitting with weird beaded fringe dangling from the bosom. But oh, what the dress must be like in real life! A bona fide, grade A princess dress! Just imagine fair Kate in her gown and train statuestquely floating down the aisle of grand, Gothic, centuries-old Westminster Abbey…and then at the end of her journey, there’s the Prince in his military uniform with all its medals and white gloves and…okay, fine, I don’t give a crap about what William is wearing. The dress! I am waiting with baited breath to see that dress.
And how will the bride and groom’s expressions look? Will they be doe-eyed and love-struck? Or stoic and mindful of duty? Will they smile for the happy occasion or solemnly bow their heads to the grandeur of the ceremony? Pass secret looks to each other or remain ever-aware of the cameras? I know I’ll be rewinding my DVR to catch every expression of the two – as public as the occasion will be, it’s also one of the most personal moments in the lives of this couple. And we get to watch! Hi, voyeurism, may I pull up a chair?
In the dream, I got to the wedding early to get a good seat. I parked my car (mind you, I have neither a driver’s license nor a car) in the almost-empty parking lot and tried to situate myself to be inconspicuous while still close enough to take a hundred photos. When the ceremony was over, after I’d seen the disappointing dress and a smaller-than-anticipated crowd, I couldn’t find my car. So there I was in the wedding parking lot (or “car park” as those charming Brits say) aimlessly wandering and lost. Perhaps my subconscious self was telling me no wedding can be as fairy-tale magical as the world anticipates this one to be. But until Friday comes, I’m sticking to my Disneyfied fantasy of a royal wedding. When I watch all the coverage and marvel over the photos, I want to be seeing something like this.
And Howard, you may remember another war quite some time after the Revolutionary War. Your grandparents were already generations away from the Cossacks, and Britain and the US were total buddies. Just sayin’. If you turn your back on the allies, then the axis wins. And you love Hitler.