I’m surprisingly calm. Everything is taken care of and pre-arranged by amazing pros. Weddings in L.A. are somehow easier.
April 8, 2007 (Press Release) --
I’m getting married in the morning…
Your volunteer videographer is your friend who directs commercials; your still photographer is a fellow journalist who usually shoots Kate Hudson and Angelina Jolie; your flower specialist is also your ballroom dance coach.
Your hair and makeup artists have worked notoriously on the Clinton’s, among others; and your wedding coordinator has done weddings to the stars ad infinitum, but I can’t tell you whose because we don’t need any Wedding Crashers, which is also a distinct possibility because of the new reality show of the same name premiering April 23rd.
But there is still one aspect of marriage that is very difficult for women of my generation, and I have yet to resolve it: Should I change my name? “Hey, this is L.A. – everyone changes their name!” people tell me. Even cities change their names: South Central became South, because of the mala fama. Parts of North Hollywood and Van Nuys became Valley Village and Valley Glen, even Sherman Oaks, because of gentrification. Parts of North Hollywood are now NoHo, and West Hollywood is now WeHo. For obvious reasons, I won’t be making that type of change.
And then there are the people – anyone who’s anyone in Hollywood changes his or her name, from Frances Ethel Gumm and Archibald Leach (Judy Garland and Carey Grant) to Thomas Mapother IV and Demitria Guynes (Tom Cruise and Demi Moore). Even Oprah used to be Orpah.
My fiancé uses a variety of names professionally, changing Mandell to Sinclair on his last album, and taking on the names of a classroom full of childhood friends when he feels the need for a different voiceover identity. He doesn’t understand my trauma over leaving plain old Lisa Johnson behind.
My real name truly is dull and common. There are more Lisa Johnson’s in my generation than Mary Smith’s. But it’s the name I’ve written under and produced with for more years than I care to mention. Granted, I sometimes go by Lola, as in my private email address or when I’m doing Latin projects, but I justify that by saying Lola is my Latina alter-ego – I’ve lived, worked and played in Spain and Mexico for a number of years, and it’s a crime if you don’t pick up a little spicy sabor along the way.
My radio mentor, Lisa Osborn, who heads up Lisa.FM, says I need to start going by Lola Mandell. “It sounds glamorous, like an old time movie star,” she told me. To me it sounds like an old yenta who dies her hair red, smokes three packs a day and tells your fortune on the side.
And our wedding officiator, who’s been a friend since first grade and is now a California State Judge, is enquiring how we want to be introduced after she marries us. It’s traditional to say, “I now present to you Mr. and Mrs. James Mandell,” which effectively obliterates my previous identity in a few short seconds. Where’d Lisa go? I am now hidden somewhere inside my husband’s moniker.
Source: http://www.msn.com
Your volunteer videographer is your friend who directs commercials; your still photographer is a fellow journalist who usually shoots Kate Hudson and Angelina Jolie; your flower specialist is also your ballroom dance coach.
Your hair and makeup artists have worked notoriously on the Clinton’s, among others; and your wedding coordinator has done weddings to the stars ad infinitum, but I can’t tell you whose because we don’t need any Wedding Crashers, which is also a distinct possibility because of the new reality show of the same name premiering April 23rd.
But there is still one aspect of marriage that is very difficult for women of my generation, and I have yet to resolve it: Should I change my name? “Hey, this is L.A. – everyone changes their name!” people tell me. Even cities change their names: South Central became South, because of the mala fama. Parts of North Hollywood and Van Nuys became Valley Village and Valley Glen, even Sherman Oaks, because of gentrification. Parts of North Hollywood are now NoHo, and West Hollywood is now WeHo. For obvious reasons, I won’t be making that type of change.
And then there are the people – anyone who’s anyone in Hollywood changes his or her name, from Frances Ethel Gumm and Archibald Leach (Judy Garland and Carey Grant) to Thomas Mapother IV and Demitria Guynes (Tom Cruise and Demi Moore). Even Oprah used to be Orpah.
My fiancé uses a variety of names professionally, changing Mandell to Sinclair on his last album, and taking on the names of a classroom full of childhood friends when he feels the need for a different voiceover identity. He doesn’t understand my trauma over leaving plain old Lisa Johnson behind.
My real name truly is dull and common. There are more Lisa Johnson’s in my generation than Mary Smith’s. But it’s the name I’ve written under and produced with for more years than I care to mention. Granted, I sometimes go by Lola, as in my private email address or when I’m doing Latin projects, but I justify that by saying Lola is my Latina alter-ego – I’ve lived, worked and played in Spain and Mexico for a number of years, and it’s a crime if you don’t pick up a little spicy sabor along the way.
My radio mentor, Lisa Osborn, who heads up Lisa.FM, says I need to start going by Lola Mandell. “It sounds glamorous, like an old time movie star,” she told me. To me it sounds like an old yenta who dies her hair red, smokes three packs a day and tells your fortune on the side.
And our wedding officiator, who’s been a friend since first grade and is now a California State Judge, is enquiring how we want to be introduced after she marries us. It’s traditional to say, “I now present to you Mr. and Mrs. James Mandell,” which effectively obliterates my previous identity in a few short seconds. Where’d Lisa go? I am now hidden somewhere inside my husband’s moniker.
Source: http://www.msn.com
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