I was chastised for writing about the horrors of Jonestown on morn of my best friend’s wedding. As a matter of fact, this was not meant to be prophetic; I had been thinking about the film since I saw it and was prevented by illness, sleeplessness, and travel from being able to address it until it came pouring out yesterday in a cathartic burst.

But I should talk about Viki and Steven’s wedding in order to clear the air. The ceremony took place in a cathedral of the Greek Orthodox faith, which has the distinction of being the religion I am least compatible with on belief.net’s Belief-O-Matic quiz.* The church sported gorgeous earth-toned decor that would compliment any ritual, although the priest came bursting out of a cage dressed like a Fabergé egg and singing an interminable song about god or something. According to the flyer they handed out, every stage of the ceremony was to happen three times, and the Fabergé egg made sure this promise was carried out to the letter. There were fun moments like when he put crowns on the couple’s heads, and they all scooted around the table in a game of marital Duck Duck Goose. Seriously, though, it was lovely. You may gather from my current writing that I disapprove of religion, but this sort of thing is what it was made for: to give glamour and magnitude to the transitions in our lives.

Afterward, we all met up at the Walters Art Museum for the reception, where the swanky marble statues were complimented by the fabulousness of Spuds’s bagpipes and Viki’s coterie of disco-dancing gays. Yes, it was raining men, thank you, most of them dear old friends it was a joy to see again, if only for an evening.

So, no overthinking it . . . it was a wonderful experience that I hope brought the happy couple much joy.

* To no one’s surprise, I am most compatible with Liberal Quakerism and Unitarianism, those bland soups in the religious salad bar.