Dearly Beloved

They say a wedding is not a marriage. And by the way some of us get married, that's probably a good thing.

Now, I'm still officially single, though happily girlfriended. Most of my friends are married with kids and dogs and mortgages and arguments about poker night. My girl is seven years younger than me, which helps alleviate any immediate pressure to run and hire a cocktail hour flutist or begin matching flatware with doilies.

But two weeks ago, we attended the wedding of two of her college friends in Vancouver, overlooking Coal Harbor and snow-capped mountains. And -- inexperienced with these affairs as she had been -- she began to look with fresh eyes at the strange ritual of wedding ceremonies.

It probably had something to do with the strange wedding officiant. She was perfectly pleasant -- smiling and serene. Then she started in with the shtick.

As a Jewish man, I'm quite familiar with the folksy wit and wisdom of a mugging rabbi with a captive audience. It's no coincidence that so many comedians come from the same tribe. But it's one thing to watch Jon Stewart yuck it up with Joe Biden on TV and another thing to have your wedding presided over by a secular Shecky Greene.

She cracked jokes about how they met and where they went on their first date (Wendy's, ha-ha). She tossed shout-outs to distinguished members of the crowd and coached us for some climactic audience participation. She was the center of attention, and all that was missing was a brick wall and a two-drink minimum.

But she didn't spoil the moment, as no one really could when all that really matters is the public declaration of love and commitment between two people.

My girlfriend's mother got married in May to her long-time, often-long-distance Brazilian boyfriend in a utilitarian civil ceremony at the Lake County courthouse in Illinois. They went by themselves, signed some papers and were handed brochures on safe sex.

A friend of mine got married in a Pennsylvania arboretum, incorporating a poetic statement of oneness by ""Babylon 5'' writer J. Michael Straczynski, a song written by Nigerian-born musician Sade Adu, and an Apache blessing into a ceremony that only mentioned God once in passing.

A Jewish friend of mine got married to his Irish-Catholic wife by a rabbi and a priest. And though I'm still not sure how these religions are compatible (Jesus being the particular divine fly in the holy ointment), there was something touching and inclusive about the irrationality of it all.

I had a similar revelation a year or so later at the wedding between an Irish friend and his Italian wife, where many of his Jewish friends instigated a completely random Klezmer hora, dancing in circles to "Hava Nagila" and lifting the bride and groom high above the befuddled faces of grandparents.

When I was in Thailand, dozens of scuba-diving couples -- mostly Westerners -- married on Valentine's Day, submerged beneath the Andaman Sea.

And a friend's wife's cousins just got married in spacesuits by a man wearing a Dracula cape and Elvis goggles whom they met while waiting on line to buy the new Harry Potter book.

I'm not sure what lesson to draw from all of this. I've known people who have spent upwards of $100,000 on the pomp surrounding the first six hours of their marriage. I guess it's obvious to say people should enjoy the moment, but focus more on the shared remainder of their lifetime.

And date 25-year-olds who are happy to wait a little while.