The last wedding I attended was for Oakland friends on a beach in Carmel, five years ago. It was an elegant occasion, covered by global media outlets, including The Guardian.
The bride wore white lace, her bouquet outfitted with fresh, large buds of cannabis. Instead of an end-of-ceremony kiss, the bride and groom united at the altar by taking “dabs” (i.e., inhaled cannabis concentrate). Infused cotton candy, joint-filled gift bags and a dapper pot sommelier provided 70-plus reception guests with an array of event enhancers.
I always imagined my own nuptials would more closely resemble the extended wedding scene in the 2008 film, Rachel Getting Married. Tragic lead character drama aside, the scene depicts a weekend of bohemian bliss: A steady stream of multicultural musicians plays, while friends and family pontificate about love amidst an abundance of flowers, bejeweled and feathered samba dancers, and endless plates of Indian food and barbecue in the backyard.
Now, I’m not married, but this month I’ve entered a union of a different kind: editing this magazine.
Previously I’ve edited and written for publications throughout California and Hawaii. Oakland has been my home, happily, for the past 14 years. And it’s a real joy to discover the wealth of local resources we have for all things celebratory and matrimonial.
Everything from offbeat venues to catering tips, custom-order bakeries and data to support your impending proposal is here to bolster your big event. Plus there’s a bit of local country twang and Parisian decadence, since we’re into that sort of thing.
In its own way, this magazine is a celebration of love—for the East Bay. I’m grateful to prior editor, Daedalus Howell, for crafting within these pages a dinner party worth attending, as he suggested in our premiere issue. While he continues his prolific editing elsewhere, I’m thrilled to catch the figurative bouquet (sans buds) and expand our party into a grand, near-monthly affair.
