My excoriation of bridal magazines is up at The American Spectator, a magazine that graciously published my musings on The Wire awhile back, but that counts precious few people who read bridal magazines among its readers, alas.
So if you share my disdain for those terrible glossies pass the piece along. It begins as follows:
Were a Messiah to walk the earth today, sermonizing on mounts and attending the occasional wedding, He would do well to ask before turning water into wine whether the bride prefers cabernet sauvignon or merlot or pinot noir, and whether it ought to be poured by bartenders or served by waiters from bottles or decanters or carafes, for the bride's every whim has the force of a religious diktat at the modern wedding. It is "her big day," you see. She cloaks herself in white, washes her hands of usual etiquette and tongue-lashes any heretic who crosses her.
Read the rest here.