The peeps over at Point Loma’s NTC Promenade liked last year’s Valentine’s Day marriage marathon so much that they’ve decided to throw a do-over. On Friday, Feb. 13, 30 couples will either marry or renew their vows there, having been picked from a list of 160 who submitted their testimonies on why they think they’re the coolest candidates. A big fat reception is planned too, with a big fat cake, big fat music and (hopefully) a decided absence of big fat second thoughts. Marriage is one of those enduring institutions, all right, the world’s universally recognized forum for declaration of mutual fidelity – and if yours is happening on the 14th at NTC, it takes on a special significance. The only drawback is that one of the central figures in the institution’s history won’t be there to perform the ceremony. St. Valentine has been dead since about A.D. 270, brutally martyred in the service of blushing brides all over Rome. There’s not a lot to dish on him officially; in fact, the Roman Catholic Church recognizes several St. Valentines, and as recently as A.D. 1969, the guy in question didn’t even appear by name on the Church’s feast day calendar. The unofficial story, though, waxes folkloric – so as you fire up the “I dos” and break out the golden handc- – er – rings, you might want to give it up for an unsuspecting little sort who’s there in spirit, the bearer of many standards for marriage’s very public place in the very public mind. The ancient Romans held the feast of Lupercalia, designed to purify the city and promote fertility, every mid-February. Magistrates ran around naked in the streets; dogs and goats were sacrificed; crowds donned the animals’ skins, called februa, in imitation of the fertility god Lupercus; and young women lined the parade routes to receive lashes, which were thought to prevent sterility and ward off evil spirits. The whippings live on today in some Easter Monday ceremonies – other than that, Lupercalia was about as un-Christian as it gets. Christianity, after all, didn’t really take root in Rome until Emperor Constantine spearheaded its growth around A.D. 500 – but Valentinus, a Roman temple priest, precursed Constantine by about 250 years, and he came to symbolize matrimony’s otherworldly nature even then. Despite the oppressive Emperor Claudius II’s ban on Christian marriage rites, Valentinus wed young couples underground by the score. The jig was soon up amid word of mouth, and Valentinus was jailed for crimes against the state. He was eventually beaten and stoned for his trouble – incredibly, he lived through the assaults, finally succumbing via decapitation. But it’s his stretch in stir that marks Val’s place in legend. For whatever reason, the jailer Asterius took a liking to his prisoner, and his blind daughter Julia would bring the captive food on the sly, as well as messages from the outside. In return, the priest taught Julia arithmetic and her ABCs and regaled her with stories on the history of Rome. All the while, Julia pined for her sight as the key to truly experiencing the lore she could only hear. Soon, fate intervened in Julia’s life a second time. On Feb. 14, 270, her friend was whisked away to his end, but not before he’d left her a note extolling the richness life has to offer. The signature said, “From your Valentine.” What’s more, Julia could read it. Thus inspired, Julia is said to have planted an almond tree at Valentinus’ grave, near what is now the Church of Praxedes in Rome. The almond tree – like the archetypal card Valentinus left for Julia – is today a symbol of love and friendship the world over. In A.D. 496, Pope Gelasius declared Feb. 14 St. Valentine’s Day. In so doing, he started something that the secular community has run with in kind ever since. Hallmark says that it expects 163 million Valentine’s Day cards to be sent nationwide this year; in 2008, holiday spending topped $17 billion, with a “b.” In many ways, Christmas is the only other holiday that commands such public anticipation, to say nothing of lofty receipts. But Christmas, see, is a long way off. And besides, as Bob Cratchit is keen to remind us every season, it’s only once a year. Valentine’s Day is supposedly the flashpoint for romantic idealism every single day. In no way is the concept even close to the reality; according to the Forest Institute for Professional Psychology, a whopping 74 percent of third marriages end in divorce in America. Val’s probably not too happy about that, especially since his life story is designed around a diametrically opposite ideal.