Most of the time, Chris and I ship “The Book” to a couple hundreds or even thousands of miles away. After FedEx delivers, we usually get a text or a call from an emotional couple who’ve just gotten through their initial viewing.

This wasn’t the case with Norma and Justin, who live in Las Vegas. Because we delivered their book in person, Chris and I got to enjoy the two looking at their book, page by page.

“It’s even better than the PDF – it’s, it’s so perfect,” said Justin as he flipped the pages while Norma looked on.

“Every little detail is us,” Norma said, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Every little detail is in here. I can’t wait to read every last word.”

Mission accomplished.

If you’re pleased with your physical appearance, skip this post. If you’re critical of your body and you have no real reason to be, skip it. But, if you’re critical of your body in photos and there is a reason why, read on.

It doesn’t happen that often, but when it does, Natasha has to duct tape my mouth shut so I don’t get us in trouble.

Since she’s – ironically – at the gym, working on her “wubby” as she calls it, I have the chance to let my hair down – another rare moment because I don’t have any hair.

I’ll cut right to the chase, because running is a theme that overlaps, or should overlap with getting ready for a wedding, if you believe you have some work to do before you feel comfortable in your own skin in front of the camera.

Here’s what irritates me to hear:

“I look fat in your photos.”

“Can you make me look thinner?”

“Why does my back fat pop out of my dress like that?”

“Why is my butt so big?

Brings me back to my high school days, when I’d “forget” to study for a test, then get mad at the teacher because the questions were too difficult to answer.

Why do some of photos make you look fat? Well, because you are fat. Or chubby. Or you have a warped view of your body which is a completely different matter – you people can skip this post, too. (You could look like Kate Moss and still think you’re fat.)

Why do your bingo arms sway in the breeze while you’re dancing? Why does your bubble butt look ready to pop, and your back fat wings make you look like a jumbo jet plane on a runway?

Because you forgot to watch what you eat. Or work out. Or worry about what you were going to look like on your wedding day. You don’t have to go overboard, but you do need to be mindful.

Kills me, because, on the average, a couple will plan for a wedding somewhere between six and 18 months – ample time to lose ample weight, or enough weight to downsize so you’re not complaining to others about how you look in photos. Also, ample time to get yourself to a point where you feel good about yourself, physically; where you feel confident in your appearance.

Can I make you look thinner? Sure, I’ve already avoided the wide lens shots and the “wrong” angles. The really bad shots? I haven’t even shown them to you.

Can I Photoshop your butt? Haven’t you noticed? I already have.

“You can’t blog about that!” Natasha will argue, when she gets home. But since she’s at the gym trying to lose a pound or two (Hey, I’m there, too – It’s a constant battle to bring back my long-lost six-pack.), I’m gonna say what I want.

All in all, I have very little to say, other than when it comes to wedding planning, be sure to schedule time for your health and fitness, just like you schedule time for venue visits and decor selection. You don’t have to go nuts, but you should do what you need to, so that you feel good about yourself on your wedding day. When you feel confident in your own body, you will look radiant in your photos. It’ll also keep us bald photographers from losing any more hair.

You are in control of how you look on your wedding day. Save your complaining for something that’s out of your control.

Uh oh, Natasha is back from the gym . . .

I like this photo Chris shot on a day trip to Rhyolite, Nevada, a ghost town, minus the ghosts. Chris doesn’t like this photo and here’s why: there are no people in it. To him, it’s a shot that anybody could have taken. It’s always problematic if a viewer can’t tell the difference between a shot a soccer mom takes with her point-and-shoot and shot a professional shooter takes.

There’s also no movement, emotion or story being told in this photo. Two more reasons why I bet he doesn’t like it. Life events, like weddings, are nothing like ghost towns and while detail shots and landscapes are pretty and deserving of being recorded, particularly when a couple has gone out of their way to infuse their event with personal and meaningful elements, photographs of these elements will never be enjoyed and cherished as much as the ones that tell a story by capturing emotion.

Are your photos you?

I know, it sounds crazy, but recently  a wedding planner shared a story with me. She planned a wedding out of the country at a gorgeous location that held meaning and history for the couple. The couple hired a photographer whose work the bride had seen in several magazines.

Sounds great, no?

But then the photographer put the couple through their paces, posing them “editorial style” (which, in the wedding industry, basically means staged photojournalism) around the property, wiping the smiles from their faces and focusing their gazes away from one another, in dramatic fashion. The photographer made excellent use of the landscape’s natural beauty, but in creating the ideal portrait, he failed to capture any sort of connection the couple had for one another. The end result was highly stylized photos resembling a pseudo Vogue or GQ shoot. The problem? The photos did not truly represent the couple.

In fact, it was only two years later that the bride ran into her planner at another function. They reminisced about the bride’s destination wedding. “Everything was perfect,” shared the bride. “Except for my photos. I actually get mad when I look at them. I hate them. They are not us.”

Weddings are a celebration. A wedding couple epitomizes the human connection. These elements occur spontaneously at a wedding and when captured by a photographer, provide images that reflect the couple.

“Editorial” portraits, however, are designed to showcase details and locations while showing a couple in a fantasy or staged environment.

The way we see it, if your love is real, let your photos be real. Why stage it? – Natasha Chornesky, WriteShot

Photo caption: Though appearing as if it could be a so-called “editorial style” shot, our accompanying photo of Lauren and John was captured during the couple’s bus ride from church to reception. “If there’s one thing I hate,” says WriteShot primary photographer Chris Cozzone, “it’s setting up unreal shots in phony scenarios.”

Due to the disturbing trend in the overuse of sunbleached filters for that ’70s vintage film look, and chopping off people’s heads in wedding photos, I’ve decided to jump on the bandwagon as a self-styled photographic executioner.

“Off with their heads!” I say. “Let’s bleach ‘em down and soak them in a urine-colored hue, too.”

What bride and groom wouldn’t want to look through their treasured wedding album, five, 10, 50 years later, and see headless bridesmaids, best men, and, of course, the (assumed to be) happy headless couple?

It will require some work, not to frame my photos, but to lop off what has always been the most essential part of a image – someone’s face.

I bet I’ll get more clients. Maybe the trend-happy brides will think I’m really cool and book my services.  I can probably justify an increase in rates, too, since I’ll be doing an overabundance of cropping and that takes time. I’ll also have to purchase all those actions I’ve despised these many years, as a photography purist hell bent on retaining any sort of image resembling real life.

In fact, when I’m shooting boxing, i’m going to cut off heads, as well. I bet ESPN or Ring Magazine will love to see that! They’ll talk about how innovative I am. I’m going to chop off my dog’s head as well. My dogs will think I’m pretty nifty, too.

Chris and I are honored to shoot for Flashes of Hope, tomorrow.

You can’t dispute the fact that Toy Poodles continue to inspire couture bridal design year after year.
This year, it’s Maggie Sottero’s Yasmin ballgown with a sweetheart neckline and corset closure that’s gone to the dogs.

None of the seven Toy Poodles entered in this year’s Westminster Kennel Club Toy Group competition could beat out GCH Palacegarden Malachy, the Pekingese who resembled a mother-of-the-bride disapproving of both, her daughter’s taste in decor, and men.

Photos courtesy www.maggiesottero.com and www.westminsterkennelclub.org

Somewhere between the Antipasto and Filet Vesuvio, the crowd sang “Happy Birthday,” a violin played effortlessly, and I received a kiss on each cheek, in addition to a bear hug, from the Chicago Cubs famed number 14, Ernie Banks. Banks, who turned 80, celebrated his birthday at Chicago’s Harry Caray’s Italian Steakhouse this past Saturday.

Photo by WriteShot.

Reprint of 1956 Cubs Card courtesy of 30-Year Old Cardboard Box Blog.

Starbucks is out. Café Grumpy is in. Starbucks has been out for a long time, in our book. Unfortunately, with all the traveling we do, we often find ourselves in the position of having to go there for what we call coffee-on-the-run-in-unknown-territory. But that doesn’t stop us from hunting down alternatives, whenever we have the time. Last week, we had the time.

It had just snowed in NYC and we gave ourselves plenty of time to relax before meeting our clients in Chelsea. We shared market plates at Westville, a favorite of mine that a client turned us on to last year. I love it. Chris tolerates it. With an hour to kill, we headed over to Café Grumpy on 20th, between 6th and 7th Avenues.

Ahhhhh. Café Grumpy. How I love thee. Beans measured, ground and brewed to order. Ahhhh, the wait for the piping hot cup, served in either a ceramic mug or to-go version, both tattooed with the Grumpy logo.

Best of all? No tap, tap, tap, tap. That’s right. Grumpy’s is a no laptop zone. Instead, people read the paper (NYT strewn everywhere) and talk,  to each other not to somebody on their cell phone a million miles away. It all seemed so novel. Good conversation, newspaper ink on your fingertips and a killer cup of java. Heaven. Especially on a snowy day.

Those of you who know Chris and me personally, know that we own thousands of books. We’ve got books stashed everywhere . . . in the house, in the garage, in storage. It’s not like we’re pack rats; we just have a hard time getting rid of books – which is probably one of the reasons we got into the book-making business.

Unfortunately, books take up room, and can seriously clutter your house. Feng Shui? Yeah, right – not in our house. “Let’s get rid of some of ‘em,” I tell Chris, and sometimes we’re able to do just that. But there’s always a reason not to purge our stacks and shelves. What if we want to re-read something? What if someone we know needs this book or that one? What if we need it for reference?

Once in a great while, we’re able to do a massive purge, however. This is the Age of Kindles and iPads and uncluttered, Zenlike homes, isn’t it? I mean, c’mon, are you really going to re-read that torn-up copy of Stephen King’s It again? “Keep your Hubert Selby and Jose Saramago books where they are,” I tell Chris, “but let’s purge some of the clutter.” So we do.

But after doing so, we are torn between what to do with them. We’ve donated books to local prisons and have had Catholic Charities come to pick up stacks to be redistributed to those who could use a free book or two or 10.

A couple of weeks ago, I thought it would be fun to visit local used bookstores in Las Vegas. Whenever we’re on location somewhere, we always try to make time to visit a used bookstore (like we need more books.) We love the smell. We love the mystery. We love it when we find an edition of something that is valued at way more than the penciled-in price the store owner has carefully written inside the front cover. Most of all, we love it when we find a book that, for some reason or another, means something to one of us–something that nobody else can relate to–a book that nobody else wants.

In anticipation, and after our latest purge, I culled through several hundred books and loaded a bunch into the car. I drove around with them for two weeks before we had time to visit two stores in Vegas. The first one – Dead Poets – rejected our books outright.

“They’re not mass market paperbacks,” said the woman stuffing her face with Christmas candy behind the counter. “They won’t sell. I’ve never heard of these authors,” she added as she sifted through a stack of books whose authors included Martha Beck (Beck writes a monthly column in Oprah Magazine); Ellen Gilchrist , also featured in Oprah Magazine (and a winner of a National Book Award for Fiction); Christopher Moore (a darling of both The New York Times and Chicago Sun-Times). I could go on and on with the all-star cast of authors we presented her.

We left that store and headed across town to another. Dead Poets?  They could use a new name, because if they don’t believe literature will sell, there is no way they can possibly sell poetry books, as they certainly won’t sell. How about “Live Trendy Writers?’

Next, we gave the “Book Lovers” used bookstore a try. Chris and I entered with our bags full of books. Just as we opened the door, the phone rang and the clerk unhappily screeched into the receiver, “Book Lovers. Whaddu you want?”

It was obvious she hated books. Or at least hated her job.

She sifted through our books and poked fun at the titles. When she got to When the Nazi’s Came to Skokie, she got so freaked out, she called her brother. In hushed tones all we could hear the clerk say was, “I don’t think Dad would buy any of this crap, but he’s not here. What should I do? These books won’t sell, no one knows who these authors or titles are.”

When she got off the phone, I tried to explain that the Skokie book was assigned reading at Harvard Law, where I was enrolled in classes for my master’s degree. The author painfully follows the story of the most poignant case in defense of the First Amendment in the entire history of the United States Constitution.

She didn’t care, but as I recapped the authenticity of the book,  I was transported back in time back to winter in Cambridge, reading the book while on the elliptical trainer at the Law School’s Hemenway Gym. Books do that. They take you back to where you were when you first read them.

“I’ll give you ten bucks in trade for these books,” declared the clerk. “The rest you’ll have to take outta here. They won’t sell. No one knows who or what they are. We can’t have them in here.”

“‘Book Lovers,’ my ass,” Chris muttered.

So much for used bookstores being the last refuges for hard-to-find, or discarded books.

“Amazon,” Chris stated the obvious. If you want something no longer published, you go to Amazon – not trek cross town to the nearest, unfriendly used bookstore.

“Isn’t that sort of like resorting to Starbucks every time you want coffee?” I asked.

“Yup.”

Sad, but true.

In the end, our piles of used books ended up at a local library where, we hoped, someone would find something in the stack worthwhile. The librarian, at least, welcomed our books with open arms. Here, we’d met kindred spirits, instead of Kindle-minded folks.

Thank you, Lane Smith, for your wonderful children’s tale It’s a Book.