POWER PLAY: WEDDING BELL BLUES? I DON 'T THINK SO

Weddings, like sorrows, seem to come not in single spies but in battalions.

Unlike visits to the dentist, which are prudently spread over the course of the year to diminish the impact of the accompanying Dread Factor, nuptial celebrations are invariably grouped in close proximity on the calender.

Once again it's time to hunt for wedding presents and get fitted for a tuxedo as one friend gets married in two weeks and another follows down the path of no return in less than a month.

A cousin a couple times removed goes shortly thereafter, but I'm only giving that one half points. Although I'm in that wedding, it is only because his wife-to-be plans to have about 2,137 bridesmaids and he doesn't have an overload of male friends. In short, I was drafted. If you can't rely on your family to do things they don't really want to do, what is the use of having one.

Prior to this upcoming round my life has been wedding-free since a two-month run in the summer of 1994 when I attended no less than four such events. I guess the wedding spirit, like the flu, is infectious.

The problem with being a staunch supporter of bachelorhood exposed to heavy concentrations of wedding activities is a feeling of not keeping up the Joneses. Sort of like when everybody on the block buys a new car and you start getting the urge to dump the loyal but aging clunker.

But since I am not closely acquainted with anyone named Jones, that sort of pressure has little effect on me.

However, after a prolonged and steady bombardment of weddings I do start thinking that maybe I too should start getting to work on that first marriage. Those thoughts usually don't last very long -- generally only until I sober up.

Only two of my close friends, excluding those in the on-deck circle, remain unmarried, and as they have been living for long periods of time with significant others, they are mostly-married. Not being particularly religious, they and their mostly-wives view getting officially hitched as simply finding the time to go fill out the paperwork and pay the fee. Sort of like a visit to the DMV.

Until a couple years ago I did not believe in marriage. I believed it existed, that is, as all of the couples one encounters who claim to be married is indeed a dead giveaway. I did not, however, buy into the concept. The main reason for that I suppose is that at the time I could not fathom being responsible enough to be a family man. Not that I'm any more responsible, I'm just much improved at faking it.

I no longer oppose the concept, but I have seen the frightening things it can do to people.

One of my college roommates, for example, used to be the wildest and most insane person you could stumble across and I mean that literally. Now that he has said "I do," the only topics of conversation that hold his attention are his wife, the benefits and disadvantages of a long-term mortgage and his participation in the neighborhood watch program. He has became respectable.

The horror. The horror.

Society as a whole is probably better off since he has been domesticated, but I find it an odd coincidence that less than a year after his marriage, Anheuser-Busch announced the closing of one of its factories.

Still, for most of my friends it has seemed to take without any dire consequences. The lone exception is an amigo who married (true story) a convicted murderer. To go into detail would take an entire column, but to summarize, my guess is that he did it just to shock his mother. Mission accomplished.

Needless to say, within a year he discovered she was psychotic and promptly got divorced. I know it's probably a sweeping generalization to say that every convicted murderer lacks the qualities needed to make a good wife, but we're talking about someone who is not going to be drafted in the first few rounds.

Of course, a primary benefit of being single is that I can freely mock the institution of marriage without fear of retribution. If my buddies tried it, their wives would beat them senseless.

Even those without prior convictions.

~Marc Powers is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian staff.