Picking the perfect minister for your wedding, one circuit at a time

I've been married several times. This doesn’t make me an expert in marriage (quite the opposite, in fact), but it has made me something of an authority when it comes to weddings. I can arrange a catered affair with a good band, elegant table settings and carefully thought out seating plan—in my head. No need for notes or a “wedding planner” book.

I never do any of this planning, of course, because that’s the bride’s duty. I’m not sure who devised this rule, but it seems to me a good one. The point is I could do the job if I ever needed to.

So far, though, the only job I’ve been allowed to handle is finding the minister.

My first wedding was presided over by a friend from high school who became a minister after graduation. The reverend at my second wedding I don’t remember; all I can recall is that he was too smart to fall for it when I told him—moments before the ceremony began—that my fiancée and I had decided to include the “honor and obey” thing in the vows after all. It’s probably a good thing he omitted these items, since that particular wife never even pretended to do either.

At my last wedding, the minister was some guy I found in the phone book. He looked great; bald with vaguely Catholic ministerial robes and a big Hassidic Rabbi beard. I felt like Rasputin was conducting the ceremony.

Yes, I’ve hired some cool ministers over the years. But none compare to the minister who will be doing my next wedding. This one’s going to cost more than all the others combined, but it’ll be worth it, I think.

She’s only four-foot tall and so far she’s performed only one other ceremony, but I’m hiring her anyway.

She’s a robot. A Japanese robot.

She’s the “I-Fairy” (yep, that’s what her Japanese creators, still reeling and confused from Godzilla’s last attack, apparently, have named her). She sports flashing eyes and plastic pigtails, and she’s licensed to perform weddings, at least in Tokyo.

She recently wed Satoko Inouye and Tomohiro Shibata. The bride praised Japan’s state-of-the-art robotics industry, saying people want robots that “serve some kind of purpose.” Coincidentally, Inouye is employed by Kokoro, the company that manufactures the I-Fairy as well as the “Hello Kitty” line of children’s toys.

Since the first time the bubble-headed automaton from “Lost in Space” warned Will Robinson there was danger nearby, I’ve wanted a robot of my own. Thanks to the Japanese, the only excuse I now need to get one is to get married again.

For 6.3 million yen (about $68,000) I can buy my next minister outright rather than pay the usual rental fee. I figure, judging from my previous marital track record, that I’ll get at least six or seven ceremonies out of the I-Fairy before I die. This results in some significant overall savings, based on the per marriage fee most ministers charge.

Despite the coolness factor of robotic minister, the technology really is still in its infancy. Maybe if I wait a while to get hitched again, the good folks at Kokoro will come up with a robotic bride as well.

I wonder if she could be programmed to honor and obey?

More Reality Check online at http://mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com or www.mlive.com. Email Mike Taylor at mtaylor325@gmail.com.

Poor memory equals loss of wedding cake opportunities

I missed my buddy Bob’s wedding last Saturday. It was—from what I hear—a nice event; casual, fun, romantic. Everything a wedding is supposed to be, but without all the uncomfortable, formal hoo-hah associated with many such ceremonies.

I missed Bob’s first wedding, too, but that was mostly because his first wife hated my filthy guts. Probably still does. I am not universally loved, especially by my friends’ wives.

Apparently, I am a bad influence.

Bob’s new wife, however, is a real sweetie who doesn’t hate my guts. At least, not yet. So I got an invite.

I had been looking forward to the reception for weeks. Bob and I grew up together and all our old friends—Nosepick, BT, Blub and Frizzy Bri, among others—all were going to be there. I couldn’t wait to catch up.

But when the big day arrived, I forgot. It was as simple as that. I just plain forgot.

How, you might ask, could someone just forget something this important? I wish I had an answer for you, but I don’t.

Somehow, Bob and Tally’s wedding just slipped my mind.

So instead of attending a pleasant wedding, followed by a reception populated with good friends, conversation, and great food and drink, I instead did yard work, putted around the house, clipped the dog’s toenails. I feel so cheated!

And all because I have the memory of a 98-year-old recovering alcoholic with a severe cranial injury and late-stage Mad Cow Disease.

I get no sympathy from The Lovely Mrs. Taylor. According to her, my tendency is to “forget” things like roof tile mending, snow shoveling, grass mowing, and trash taking-outing. Also, she rightly notes that I never forget to buy beer, watch the opening credits to Baywatch or pick up new batteries when the two in the TV remote start getting weak.

I’m not sure why I’m so scattered. My schedule is full, but not Type-A-personality-overbooked-stress-inducing-think-I’m-gonna-have-a-major-coronary-by-age-30-die-young-leave-a-frazzled-looking-corpse full.

I stop to smell the roses. I take the path less traveled by. My mind is not chock-full of things I simply must remember. In fact, through a careful mix of avoiding responsibility whenever possible, volunteering for nothing, and cultivating a reputation for being an utter flake, I’ve managed to construct a lifestyle that requires me to remember very little.

Yet, too often, even those few things I should remember—that I want to remember—I somehow manage to forget. Sometimes, my forgetfulness results in nothing worse than a trip back to the grocery to pick up whatever it was Mrs. T wanted me to get while I was there buying beer. Sometimes, it means I miss a good friend’s wedding.

I’m like the dumb uncle in It’s a Wonderful Life, the one who manages to misplace the bank deposit.

Hopefully, my buddy Bob and his new wife will be as forgiving as Jimmy Stewart was in that movie. You know, the one we were talking about a minute ago? I forget the title.



More “Reality Check” online at http://mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com or www.milive.com. E-mail Mike Taylor at mtaylor325@gmail.com.