Letter From America.(Las Vegas wedding)(Brief Article)(Statistical Data Included)

Robert Venturi apotheosized Las Vegas as an icon of American culture. What would the great post-modern architect say of it today? There is the Luxor, with pyramids and a Great Sphinx. Paris, with a half-scale Eiffel Tower. The Venetian, with canals and gondolas. Who says Americans aren't interested in the world?

Vegas is the kitsch of high capitalism run amok. License, instant gratification, dreams made real. Small wonder 35 million Americans escape here each year, 110,000 of them to be married.

That's why we're here. No need to say more, except to intimate a shotgun and note that we are proud parents of a darling little girl, 6 months old and cute as a bug's ear. So out we flew, without cares or plans, arriving at Caesars Palace a little after 1:30 a.m.... to find our room reservation had been fuddled. "But we're getting married," protested my bride-to-be, with guile and a smile. "Now?" inquired the receptionist, offering the services of the Neptune Villa, the hotel's private chapel. In Las Vegas, she added, "you can do it anywhere, any time." Then she bumped us up to a suite.

The next morning we checked out the chapel. Sounded great from the brochure: "A dramatic double-balustraded marble stairway sweeps up two stories to encircle a tranquil koi fish pond and a gentle waterfall... The raised altar is draped with white chiffon and accented with a hand- painted mural of ancient Rome..." So what was this little room, featuring a single stained-glass window of a dove, and a clutch of chipped gold-gilt chairs? Where was my mural of Rome, my sweeping balustrades? "Oh, that was long, long ago--almost a year," said the attendant, bespeaking volumes about time in Sin City. The price, with limo and live pianist: $1,095. His and her commemorative candles were $75. (Only $50 if you bring your own.) Hmm. Slot machines aren't the only bandits in Vegas.

The County Court, where we go for our State of Nevada marriage license, is a riot of multiculturalism--Mexican, Korean, black, white. But like only rarely pairs with like. A slim black man with dreadlocks holds 3- month-old Elijah while the Hindu mother fills out marital paperwork. "June 17," he says, turning to me. "Don't ever forget, pardner. It's game over if you do." The clerk stamps our certificate without checking ID. "That'll be $35, please."

It's time to chapel shop. If convenience ruled, we'd head across the street to A Chapel by the Courthouse. Feeling ...