-Which Wedding Shower?-

By this time, I really should know better, but I still rise to the bait when people talk about weddings. In the abstract, I'm happy when two people I know get together. Practical talk of weddings (schedules, receptions, dinner, registry) really gets to me. Why? Because at some point that I can identify, but no one else in my circle can, it becomes wildly impractical.

We fly doddering relatives great distances to attend. We learn origami for the sake of a single napkin arrangement. We spend weeks splicing photos into a five-minute flash video loop. Why?

Because it's important to her.

-She doesn't know about all of this!-

Well, not now, it's a surprise. But she won't be expecting this from us. She only expects one from her bridesmaids.

-Why aren't they throwing her a shower?-

They are.

-Two showers!?-

Three, actually; the mother and grandmother of the bride also wanted to..

This is the part where I wave my arms like a loon. Why not take this directly to its absurd conclusion, I sputter. Each and every relative and friend of the bride and groom must throw a separate shower, the amount of money spent to be determined by closeness (adjusted semiannually).

The absurd ones who have just ganged up on me by standing still and looking calm as the tidal wave of the marriage industry dashes us into the reef tell me that I am jealous. And because they aren't waving their arms like loons, I begin to doubt my position.

When I have calmed down, I seek the answer from a number of different sources, Putnam's 'Bowling Alone' providing the foil. A breakdown of community ties would make the three or more showers (one for every major social circle) inevitable. HDTV's designer brinksmanship explains the expensive obsession with "the presentation."