Picture me, all dressed up in bouffant taffeta—with a “when in Texas” hoop skirt, yeeHa!—with nowhere to go point my remote. Not at CNN or Fox News, for their wall-to-wall, all-Rice-all-the-time coverage (Condoleeza arrives; the happy couple departs in a hailstorm of hurled long-grain).
Not at E!, for Ryan Seacrest’s probing red carpet interviews with wedding guests (“Whose formal flight suit are you wearing, Mr. Air Force Secretary?”). Not even at C-SPAN, for its live cutaway to the vows from a scintillating roundtable discussion on the history of organ music played at presidential children’s weddings.
It seems like there should be a law against any sort of First Daughter Nuptials Broadcast Blackout. But, alas, there’s not. Apparently Congress has endless time to devote to silly “niche” issues—gas prices, home foreclosures, figuring out if we like France enough again for official Senate “factfinding” tours of the Riviera this summer—but none for this one matter of critical importance to all Americans.
Talk about taxation without representation! Do they really want us to redirect our loyalties to Great Britain, which, say what you will about its bad weather and teeth, recognizes its patriotic duty to marry off its leaders’ offspring on live TV (true story: I sobbed just as much during the Charles-Camilla civil ceremony three years ago as during the Charles-Diana extravaganza in 1981).
I suppose an argument could be made that the Bushes are actually being excellent parents by making this wedding all about Jenna and good old whassisname. Then too, some particularly bitter types—political opponents, celebrity-mocking bloggers, any woman who’s ever been forced to carry a frilly parasol as a bridesmaid—might want it to be on TV because they hope to see something go horribly wrong.
Me, I’d be watching for the complete opposite reason.
A wedding is all about optimism, and not just because it involves a couple starting their life together with an abundance of good wishes (and new toasters). Frequently, it’s also about a member of the wedding party arriving too late or too drunk to participate. Or one of the doves that’s been trained to soar at the sound of “I Do,” and dyed to match the best man’s pink cummerbund, unexpectedly starting to run in the hot sun. Or—shudder!—an unanticipated jumbo shrimp shortage mid-reception.
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