Why I will never own a gun: a personal choice not to exercise my 2nd Amendment rights.

My poor neglected blog.. it's taken a national tragedy to get me to make a post.

The Newtown tragedy has obviously triggered quite a conversation about guns, gun control, and gun rights.  It's a highly emotional issue for quite a few people, and I'm not so sure I have anything new to add to the national debate per se.  But, I do have some thoughts on my own personal choice with regard to the 2nd Amendment, which is, I choose not to exercise my rights.

People can own guns for a lot of reasons, I suppose, but two of the most common are: (1) use in activities, primarily hunting, or (2) self-protection.  Here are my thoughts on each:

1) Activities

My uncle, on whose farm I spent roughly half my childhood, was an avid deer and duck hunter, and he also trapped muskrats and skinned them to sell the pelts.  I used to watch him do that in basement.  I also saw him, with one shot, shoot a large snake out of a tree by putting the bullet right through the chin.  In short, he was your prototypical rural, gun-owning, hunter-type.  But he never owned anything more powerful than a basic rifle.  Nothing semiautomatic, no handguns, he didn't walk around everywhere toting a gun, etc.  He was quite capable of bringing down a deer or any bird with his basic rifle, and I am confident he would have scoffed at anyone who went out into the woods with anything semiautomatic.

Well, I suppose I shouldn't speak for my uncle.  Maybe he wouldn't have cared one way or the other.  But I can say with confidence that *I* scoff at anyone who takes a semiautomatic weapon to hunt.  Basically, if you require a semiautomatic weapon to bring down a deer, you are not a hunter, you are a dumbass.  And pretty much the worst possible kind of dumbass- a dumbass with a semiautomatic weapon.

But regardless of weapon, hunting never much appealed to me, even though I was brought up around it.  I actually would enjoy hunting with like a paintball gun or something; you would get all the thrill of being out in nature stalking something, but then at the end you don't have to kill the nice, peaceful-looking deer.  Or duck.  Or whatever.  I would have no problem killing a deer or anything else if it were necessary to survive, but it isn't, and the idea of killing things as a form of recreation just doesn't resonate with me.  Implication: I don't need to own a weapon for hunting purposes.

Some folks own weapons just because they like to shoot them for no particular reason.  Again, I could enjoy going to a shooting range, but I wouldn't need a gun of my own to go do that- I could just use the guns at the shooting range.  I would definitely support an assault weapons ban that had an exception in it for shooting ranges, so that for all the people who just HAVE to get whatever thrill they get from firing semiautomatic or large-caliber guns, those people could go to a licensed, well-regulated facility to do exactly that.  But there's no need for the weapons to be allowed anywhere other than licensed shooting ranges.

The bottom line: there are no activities that I would ever engage in that require me to own a gun.


2) Safety

There was an interesting piece in the NYT the other day about how gun ownership is one of the most powerful predictors of partisan voting habits.  Here's the link.  I mention this because I think there's been a long-run trend in the two political parties of a fundamental divergence about the nature of the future.  Increasingly, the Republican party's rhetoric and underlying policy bent assumes a pretty stark version of the future.  And if you buy into that premise of a stark future, then your estimate of the threat level out there is going to be a lot higher, and then your desire to have serious weaponry around your house and/or on your person at all times is going to go up.

That's why, I think, you find the trend outlined in the article of Republican gun ownership rates holding steady, while Democratic gun ownership rates are steadily declining.  If you don't believe there's a threat, you don't need a gun to protect yourself from that nonexistent (at least to you, nonexistent) threat.  The modern Republican party pushes a whole lot of apocalyptic rhetoric, including:

- that there is some kind of dystopian central government that any second now is going to come to take away your rights and freedoms, and probably your stuff.

- as a corollary to that, they're going to come and take your money, in the form of taxes, just to take it and build some kind of socialist hellscape.

- since they're trying to do that, we the Republican party will oppose any kind of tax for any reason, which hey, just happens to primarily benefit really rich people, but whatever- that's just coincidence.  Of course, if we keep benefiting rich people, and socking it to the poor people, who, let's face it, there are a *lot* more of, then eventually those poor people are probably going to get pissed off and come for us, so we rich people better grab for everything we can right now, before the party is over and the mob is at the gate.  And when they are, we'd better be armed to the teeth to hold them off.

- The deficit is going to lead to a massive collapse of the dollar, the world economy, and possibly civilization.  The only way to stop it is to screw old people and the poor.  The fact that the evil Democrats have refused to do this only emphasizes the need to arm yourself to protect against the coming fiscal collapse.  It's right around the corner, we swear.  Never mind that inflation is low, borrowing costs for the federal government are lower than at any point in history, and that most of the deficit stems from either GDP operating at below its productive capacity, or the Bush-era tax cuts, which mostly benefited the wealthy... never mind all those things.  THERE IS A CRISIS ABOUT TO HAPPEN AND YOU MUST PREPARE YOURSELF!

- There's a war on Christmas, and religious freedom in general.  Never mind that Christmas shit is up before *Thanksgiving* these days, and you can't go *anywhere* without hearing annoying Christmas music, there's a war, a war I tell you!  Best to join the fight against the oppressors, and arm yourself just in case.

- All those people out there who voted for the Democrat, they're "takers".  They "want stuff".  They "want things".  Probably your things.  Arm yourself wherever you go, so you can protect yourself from the "takers".

Once you've been immersed in this apocalyptic vision long enough, the world becomes a dark, threatening place.  And with all those threats out there, of course you'd want to protect yourself.  Of course you'd want to be armed.  I mean, if I thought the zombie apocalypse was actually right around the corner, my garage would look like an army supply depot.  But here's the thing:

There's no reason to believe an apocalypse is about to happen.

I have this argument with my brother all the time, who is convinced the economy is imminently going to implode because of the national debt.  I think that perspective, while understandable, is not supported by the economic evidence.  But beyond that I look in the world and I see the following things:

- By every available measure, the incidence of violence in the world is dropping.  Wars, domestic violence, rape, murder, all of it is declining at the global level.  There are obviously pockets, in failed states or in certain areas of certain cities, etc., but the big picture on violence is positive in the sense that it is declining, and has been for a while.

- More of the world is democratic, and democracies don't fight each other.  It doesn't make any economic sense to do so.  Also, lots of people in the world are no longer poor.  Projections show that some time in the next couple decades, fewer than half the world's population will be poor for the first time in all of human history.  Does that mean we can sit back and not care about poverty?  No.  But again, the macroscopic trend is good.

- We are on the cusp of some truly amazing technological advances.  It's going to be really exciting to see what gets developed in the first half of the 21st century: in medicine, in communications, in energy, in space exploration.

So the big picture is: the world is (slowly, fitfully) growing more safe, not less so.  Now, that still doesn't address the small picture, which is: do I bring a gun into my home, and/or do I carry one around with me wherever I go, to "protect myself".  The answer is no, for the following reason:

The basic calculus you have to do is: is the risk of not having a gun and then needing it, because someone breaks in, or someone attacks you while you're out and about, greater than the risk of some kind of accident resulting from the gun?  Children who grow up in homes with guns have a dramatically higher probability of injury or death resulting from an accident with a firearm than do children who grow up in homes without guns.  Do you want to expose your children to that added risk?  The answer is yes only if you believe that the external threats/risks are even greater.  And that's why I don't have one, and likely never will- because I don't believe the external threats are greater.

Let me be clear: I'm not saying that there's zero risk out there in the world.  Murders still happen.  Rapes still happen.  Assaults still happen.  Mentally ill people still walk into public places and start spraying the area.  But, I believe the evidence suggests that people are basically good, and getting better, and that the world is basically good, and getting better, and that guns will always add more risk than they take away.  For that reason, I will not allow them in my home, and I will wholeheartedly support sensible gun-control regulation that balances the philosophical reality of having the 2nd Amendment with the practical reality of needing to all coexist in a reasonably safe way.

Balance.  Balance is the key.  I don't think we have balance today with our gun-control policies, but I'm hoping that these tragic events of the past several months will finally move us in that direction.

Adventures in Tutoring

1-on-1 tutoring is not the sort of activity that normally generates stories of the type that appear in this blog.  It does tend to generate lots of snippets that are worth making FB statuses about, and I've been trying to capture more of those moments that way.  But, here's a story from the trenches of being a tutor...

Spackalicious was in the midst of applying to colleges, and he'd developed a pattern whereby he was utterly incapable of moving the ball forward on his applications in any perceptible way unless he was in my office.  Although we almost always meet in Palo Alto, on this particular day I needed him to meet me at my office in the financial district of SF, since all my lessons before him were there.  My lesson after him was back at the beachhouse, and the lesson after *that* was via skype, so there wasn't a lot of give in my schedule.

Spackalicious being who he is ("Giving the finger to authority, man!"), he showed up nearly half an hour late, and after the usual warm-up banter, we finally got him started writing an application essay.  Given the time consumed by his lateness and the prerequisite banter, there was only enough time for us to have him create and spit-polish one essay before I had to send him home, so that I could get in the car and drive the 55-min commute back to the beachhouse.  Still, it was progress, and every bit of progress with Spackalicious is a hard-fought thing, not to be sniffed at.  I sent him down the elevator, and started get my things together to leave.

3 minutes later, my phone rang.  It was Spackalicious.

Spack: "Dude, I can't get out of the building!"

Me: "Do I have to do everything for you?  Walk out the front door and go home!"

Spack: "I can't get out the front door.  They won't let me leave.  There's like a bomb scare or something."

Me: "Wait... what?"

Spack: "DUDE THERE IS A BOMB SCARE AND MY CAR IS PARKED IN THE MIDDLE OF IT! HOW AM I GOING TO GET HOME?????"

(pause)

Me: "Wait there in the lobby.  I'm coming down."

So I headed down the elevator and found Spackalicious in the strangely-deserted lobby with Pat, the security guard who is super sweet but very terse, and has a habit of not smiling when you would expect it, and smiling (in a vaguely creepy crazy-person kind of way) when you would not expect it.  

Me (to Pat): "What's happening?"

Pat (smiling): "There's a bomb threat across the street.  You can't leave."

Sure enough, I can see police tape cordoning off the area, and right across the street, in front of the building where the action is happening, is Spackalicious's car.

Me (to Pat): "How long has this been going on?"

Pat (still smiling): "Over an hour now.  No telling when it will be over."

Me: "Is there any way out?  I gotta get this kid home."

Pat (stops smiling): "Well, they let a few people out of the loading dock earlier.  You could try that."

Me: "Awesome.  Thanks!"

So, with Spackalicious in tow, I head down the service elevator to the creepy basement of 505 Montgomery.  We wind our way around, and find the driveway that leads up to the loading dock.  The loading dock opens out onto the side road (Sacramento), around the corner from where the bomb threat is.  The loading dock door is open, and there is a motorcycle cop stationed right outside it.  We walk up to the door.

Cop: "You can't leave.  Get back inside."

Me: "Can we head that way?" I point in the direction away from the bomb threat.

Cop (pauses to consider this): "Yes, but you won't be able to come back."

Spack: "Dude, what am I going to DO if we go *that* way?  My car is over *there*!"  (points at the middle of the cordoned off area)

I considered it for a second, but my own backpack with my car keys was still upstairs in the office, so if we walked out the driveway now, we'd both be without a way to get home.

Me: "Come with me."

With that, we turned around and walked back into the bowels of 505 Montgomery, back to the elevator.  As we walked, I turned to Spackalicious and said:

Me: "Here's what's going to happen right now.  Life has given us some lemons.  So you know what we're going to do?"

Spack: "I know what you're going to say, and I'm going to punch you in the face when you say it."

Me: "What we're going to do is, I'm going to tell you to make us some lemonade, and your bitch ass is going to shut the fuck up and do it.  We should be able to get another essay or two done while they sort this out.  Meanwhile, I will call Jesse and tell him I can't make the lesson with him."

So, we headed back up to the office. At this point, it was about 7pm.  I called Jesse and told him our 730pm lesson wasn't going to happen because there was a bomb threat across the street, presumably because some fool forgot their backpack by the elevator or something.  Jesse was chill about it, and so I got Spackalicious started on the next essay, while I caught up on emails.

Time passed.

Around 815pm, Spackalicious finished the next essay.  My office, on the 11th floor, faces the exact opposite direction from all the hubbub, so I couldn't tell if the situation had been resolved or not.  I decided to go check.

Me: "Start the next essay.  I'll go see what the situation is."

Spack: "No way, man."

Me: "What do you mean, no way, man?  Just GET STARTED."

Spack: "I AM STARVING, MAN!  I NEED TO EAT FOOD NOW!  I'M NOT GOING TO BE ABLE TO FOCUS IF I DON'T EAT!"

Me: "omg, you are such a princess."

Spack: "Can we PLEASE get me some food?"

Me (pondering for a moment): "OK, well, if we go back down to the driveway, there's a Thai place whose door is literally like 20 feet down the block, away from the bomb zone, so maybe we can sweet-talk our way into getting into it, since it's all part of the same building structure anyway."

Spack: "YES please let's do that!"

So we went back down to the basement, around the bend, up the driveway, and came upon the loading dock, which was still open.  The motorcycle cop was still there.  I made my opening gambit- Chat The Bored Cop Up.

Me: "Wow, the situation is still going on, huh?"

Cop: "Yeah."

Me: "How long has it been going on?"

Cop: "About 3 hours now."

Me: "Wow."

Cop: "Bomb squad has been here a while, so I'm hoping it will be over soon."

Me: "Yeah.  Hey, listen, we've been stuck in here for several hours now with no food; is there any way we could just nip over to the Thai place right there (I point 20 feet down the street at the Thai place, whose door is flung wide open).  We'll move fast, grab the food, and nip right back here."

Cop: "Well, I don't know, I don't think-"

Me: "We'll be super fast and quiet.  Seriously, you won't even notice us.  But there's no food in here."

Cop: "Rolling his eyes.  Fine.  But *hurry it up*."

Me: "Yes sir!  Thank you sir!"

Spack: "Thank you sir!"

So we quickly motored up the block.  As soon as we stepped out onto the street, I could see that the side street was cordoned off up at Kearny, and so the whole block, including the Thai place, was within the quarantine zone.  We moved fast and ducked inside in the Thai place.  Which... was deserted.  I could hear a TV on in the back though.  After calling out hello, a waitress emerged.

Me: "We'd like to order some food."

Waitress: "You want to order food?"

(pause)

Me: "Um, yes, we'd like to order food.  Is that possible?"

Waitress: "Wait one minute."  (disappears into the back.  I hear a lot of jabber that I presume to be Thai.)

A few minutes later, she re-emerges, along with someone who looks like the cook.  He gives me a baleful look, and then goes over to the grill and starts firing it up.  If you're like me, you probably never would have thought it possible to fire up a grill sullenly, but I assure you, the cook fired up the grill in an impressively sullen way.

Waitress: "Here's a menu."

Me: "OK dude, what do you want?"

Spack: "What do you think I should get?"

Me: "What do you mean, what do *I* think you should get.  I don't know, what do you like?"

Spack: "I don't know.  We never eat Thai.  And I had that allergic reaction emergency last weekend up at Berkeley, and they think it might have been a reaction to nuts, and doesn't this food all have nuts in it?"

Me: "Dude, I don't know what you should eat.  Pick whatever."

Spackalicious: "DUDE I DON'T WANT TO DIE HAVING AN ALLERGIC REACTION TO SOME NUT LADEN DISH OF SOMETHING I DON'T UNDERSTAND.  CAN YOU PLEASE BE *HELPFUL*?????"

Me: (eye roll)

So, eventually we ordered some food that appeared to have a good shot at not killing Spackalicious, and we waited while they made it all from scratch.  Which, it must be said, took some time.

When the food was finally ready, we grabbed the bags and walked out the door, heading back toward the loading dock door.  About halfway back (remember, we were at most 50 feet from the door, the following things happened:

1) The loading dock door started to lower

2) The motorcycle cop standing by the door shouted "hurry up!"

3) Spack and I, toting our Thai food, started to run

4) The cops up at the end of the road started yelling something at us, which was unintelligible since we were paying attention to the motorcycle cop and were running and panicking that we might get shut out of the building.

Have you ever seen those nature videos that show the lion cubs coming across a baby gazelle, and at first the lion cubs are just chilled out, and the baby gazelle is nervous, but doesn't really know what to do at first, and then finally instinct starts to kick in, and the gazelle finally starts to run, except the running triggers the instincts in the lion cubs, and suddenly they turn murderous and hunt the baby gazelle down and kill it?  Have you seen that?  Because that's kind of what happened here.

Spack and I ran for the loading dock door, and arrived half a second too late; all we could have done was try some Indiana Jones type thing, except we had bags of food that we'd worked pretty hard for.  Approximately 0.1 seconds after we stopped at the loading dock door, we were suddenly surrounded by 6-8 cops, including one in the lead, who immediately started yelling at us.

Cop: "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?  YOU CAN'T BE HERE!!"

Me: "We were in this building, and just went over there to get foo-"

Cop: "DO YOU HEAR ME??? YOU CAN'T BE HERE!!  GET OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW!"  (points up the block to the police tape cordoning off the area.)

Me: "But, we asked permissio-"  I point to the motorcycle cop.  This serves only to change the demeanor of the cop from "angry" to "apoplectic".

Cop: "I WILL ARREST YOU!  DO YOU HEAR ME?? I WILL ARREST YOU RIGHT NOW!"

Me: "But-"

COP: "I WILL ARREST YOU IF YOU DO NOT GET OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW!"

Motorcycle cop was, of course, deliberately looking embarrassedly away.  So, Spack and I trudge back up the block, with a full police escort.  We are summarily deposited onto Kearney Ave.  It is about 9pm, and it's cold, and neither of us has a coat.  Since my backpack and keys are up in the office, neither Spack nor I now have a way home.  Spack and I find a place on the curb to sit, and I text my skype student to tell her no lesson is happening tonight, since even I can't tutor from the side of the road- at least not under these conditions.  I call Jill, who is at a work social event at a bowling alley in Pacifica, to brief her on the situation.

Me: "Hey, Jill... yeah, uh... there's a bomb scare, and Spack and I are sitting on the curb on Kearney ave.  His car is in the bomb zone, and my keys are in the office.  Which.. I can't get to because it's inside the bomb zone.  Uh, would you be able to pick me up later tonight?"

Jill: "Are you *kidding*?  I've been drinking beer all night.  There's no way I'm driving all the way up to the city.  You two are smart boys- you figure something out.  Call me later and let me know what's going on."

(hangs up)

Spack: "So, is she coming to get you?  Could I get a ride home?"

Me: "No, I'm stuck here with your lame ass, until either the bomb scare ends or we freeze to death."

Spack (smiling brightly): "Well, at least we have food!"

Me: "Yes... and remind me why are we going to die out here in the cold?  Oh right- because YOU had to have food!"

With that, I open up our bag of dinner, and examine the contents.

Me: "Well, I suppose it's consistent with how our night is going that they didn't give us any utensils."

So, Spack and I sat on the curb and ate now-lukewarm Thai food with our hands.  About 20 minutes later, the police took down the barricades.  The bomb scare was finally over.  Spack and I headed back into the building. On the way up the elevator to my office, Spack turned to me and said:

Spack: "Well, all in all, this was actually a pretty productive night.  Got a couple college essays done, you know?"

Me: (sigh)

Spack: "But you know what the whole experience taught me?"

Me: "I know what you're going to say, and I'm going to punch you in the face when you say it."

Spack: "Always check the takeout bag to make sure they gave you utensils."

Grrrr.

Nearer My God to Thee, or, A Dinner Party Weekend to Remember, 2011 edition

It has come to be something of a tradition that the annual dinner party/winetasting weekend involves some high drama, often with a near-death experience. In 2008, I nearly got Keiko and me killed right around then. In 2009, Ed ate food until he nearly killed himself. 2010 was blissfully drama-free. As a result, presumably due to the principle of mean reversion, 2011 involved some high drama..

Jill and I had dinner in the city with her friends Tam and Mac on Wednesday night. I had just finished teaching my pro bono class in the Mission District, and met the three of them at the restaurant. We had a very nice meal, and then I drove Jill back to the Daly City BART station, which is where I'd left Bubba.

Jill drove off, headed for home, while I waited a few minutes to check email on my phone, and allow Bubba to warm up. It was raining for the 3rd consecutive day, and it was unnaturally cold, so I wanted to give Bubba time to get properly warmed up. At nearly 120,000 miles, he was not so sprightly anymore.

Thus, by the time I headed out, I was probably 10 minutes behind Jill. I drove home on the PCH as I always do, and I was deep in thought, mostly on autopilot, as I passed through central Pacifica, near the exit for Sharp Park Road.

Unbeknownst to me, a hail storm had passed through the area shortly before. It's hard to convey how unlikely that is on the coastside. The temperature just doesn't drop that low, ever. Even in the dead of winter. Jill had gotten caught in it on the cliff road, where CHP was forcing everyone to drive slowly, and was placing patrol cars at the most dangerous sections of road.

I was unaware of all this, and, as I said, was just headed home on autopilot, doing approximately 45mph (the speed limit) on a mostly straight section of road.

Jill sent me a text saying the road was icy from the hail, and to be careful. I never got that text; it probably arrived one minute too late...

As the road started to gently curve, Bubba's back end started to fishtail. Startled out of my reverie, I turned the wheel into the fishtail to prevent the car from 360-ing. I succeeded in preventing the 360, but the car lost traction with the road and slid to the side. Since the road is very narrow there, I almost immediately hit the curb. I remember hitting it, and the car jumping upward. Then, suddenly, the car slammed to a stop.

All I really remember is that there was a loud bang, and the car suddenly stopped. Then I was bent over in the seat, with a pain like I've never felt before shooting through my chest. I couldn't breathe. The car was tilted toward the passenger side.
I was somewhat hanging by the seat belt, which I managed to disengage. My only thought was to get out of the car. Still doubled over, I reached over and pulled the door handle.

It wouldn't open.

I started to panic a little. I still basically couldn't breathe. I was breathing in the shallowest, shortest little breaths possible, and it was nightmarishly painful. I pulled the door handle again, but the door seemed stuck. The panic level started to rise. Finally, I pulled the door handle and rammed the door with my shoulder, which caused it to dislodge, and I managed to shove the door up and out, and I sort of spilled out onto the running board. I sat on the running board, still doubled over, trying to take in air, but in so much pain I still could only take tiny, tiny, super-short breaths. It felt like I was on the edge of suffocation.

In a few seconds, I could see a couple people come up to me. One guy leaned over and asked me if I was okay. I sort of nodded, but said I was in a lot of pain in my rib area. He said he'd been behind me and had seen the crash, and had already dialed CHP, and that they were on the way.

Because so much CHP had been nearby on the cliff road, they showed up in less than 5 minutes. The ambulance showed up less than 5 minutes after that. What followed was a lot of different people asking me different questions, while the EMTs tried to figure out if I'd suffered any brain or spinal injuries, and the CHP officers tried to sort out exactly what the accident had been.

As for me, I tried to answer questions as best I could, doubled over and clutching my side, while sitting in the cold rain more or less unable to breathe. At some point, one of the guys standing around me said, "We should probably turn the car off." It turns out that the engine had never actually stopped running. I took that to mean that I should do it, and tried to turn around to reach in and grab the keys. However, I only managed a slight twist before gasping in pain, and whoever it was that had made the comment in the first place said "Don't worry- I've got it!" and shut it off.

Finally, the EMTs decided it was time to move me, and they placed me on a gurney. Getting onto that thing was excruciating, and once I was lying down, I felt even more like I was about to suffocate. They placed an oxygen mask over my nose, but that had the effect of increasing my panic level about suffocation, and I ended up sort of holding it a little off my nose, so that I could still get air from the outside.

Meanwhile, I was still getting a lot of questions from both the EMTs, and from CHP. The CHP officer in charge was trying desperately to fill out an accident report before the ambulance whisked me away. However, because he had to keep waiting for openings in the interrogation that the EMTs were giving me, it was slow going for him. By this point, I was asking everyone who would listen if they would please get my cell phone out of the car, because I needed to call my fiancee. However, no one seemed to be in the mood to listen to any request of mine, and I was worried that we'd drive off without it. I knew Jill would soon be worried when I failed to show up at home, and I wanted to try and head that off and let her know I was okay, at least in some macroscopic sense.

Finally, one of the EMTs came by and said "Uh, we couldn't find your phone.. there's a lot of glass and stuff in there." That completely failed to register, and I tried to explain that it was in the cupholder right next to the driver's seat, but then he left, they slammed the doors shut, and off we went. (With the poor CHP officer forced to glumly give up trying to get his form filled out.)

The ambulance ride to San Francisco General Hospital was, by my estimation, almost 3 weeks long, and definitely the most painful experience of my life. By the time we finally arrived, I was having thoughts like "I'm not so sure I'm glad I survived this." Every little bump or turn reverberated in my ribs, which I didn't need any doctor to tell me were broken, and I could barely breathe, and the oxygen mask, which was meant to make breathing easier, mainly made me feel like I was suffocating. They took me to SFGH rather than the tiny urgent care place in HMB, because SFGH is a Level 1 trauma center, and the EMTs were worried I might have neck or spinal injuries.

When I finally arrived at SFGH, there was no room for me, so I spent some time parked in the hallway wondering just how long the suffering was going to last, and wondering if Jill was freaking out yet. It's hard to say how long I was out in the hall; I'm not good at measuring the passage of time even on my best of days. But since the hospital was so packed that my final destination was the equipment supply room, I don't think it's just my imagination that I was in the hall for quite some time.

Eventually they did park me in the equipment supply room, and a very nice nurse named Jamie dosed me with morphine, which, I have to say, is both more and less powerful than you might think. It is quite powerful in the sense that it takes the edge off the excruciating pain, and if you're in that kind of pain, taking ANY edge off it is really quite a relief. On the other hand, it doesn't actually make the pain go away completely, or even mostly. It just dulls it to the point where you don't necessarily wish you were dead. It's not obvious to me how one gets addicted to it, but I was only on it for one night.

Pretty soon after they put me in the room, a social worker came in and asked who he should call to explain about my situation. Fortunately, I have Jill's cell phone number memorized (helpful life hint: have at least one emergency contact number memorized, in case your cell phone gets destroyed), so he took that down and left to call her.

And so I lay there on the table, trying to breathe.

And lay there.

And lay there.

And lay there.

Aside from Jamie checking on me, the only thing that happened for a while is that one of the other nurses kept having to come into the room to retrieve various pieces of equipment- not really surprising, given that this was the spare equipment room. The reason this particular detail sticks in my head is that my bed was in the exact center of the room, and each time she came in, she needed equipment behind my bed, and then in the process of getting it out from there, she banged it into the corner of my bed. For me, I'd come to a place where, with the morphine kicked in, I felt the pain/discomfort was manageable as long as I didn't move in any way. So when she'd bang a large piece of rolling equipment into my bed, the reverberation made it as though someone was stabbing me in the ribs.

The thing is, I could have lived with it happening once. But she came in like 5 times in an hour, and she banged into my bed literally EVERY time. Thank god she went into nursing, and not, for instance, selling fine china.

When Jill arrived, I felt a mixture of 90% relief and 10% mortification. The 10% mortification part was mostly what I'd thought about in the loooooong ambulance ride home. Remember, at this point I still had no idea that the car was totaled; I assumed I'd probably caused a couple thousand dollars damage to it- ruined a tire, bent the front fender, etc., probably negating what we might have gotten in selling it. Since Jill's mom had just offered 3 days prior to give us her old Prius, we'd decided to sell Bubba and use the proceeds to help pay for the wedding. Thus, I felt that I'd probably freaked Jill out, plus stupidly squandered an easy opportunity to defray some wedding costs. It was embarrassing, and I was prepared for her to be pretty upset with me.

Which, she wasn't. She was very sweet, and immediately set up next to my bed and began interrogating Jamie whenever she came in the room. Within minutes, Jill was the unquestioned queen of the equipment storage room, and Jamie had her keep an eye on my oxygenation monitor, with instructions to find her if it dropped below a certain level.

By that time, I'd had a number of scans and such, which had revealed multiple broken ribs (duh), but also a minor lung puncture that did not *appear* to be big enough to cause my lung to deflate, but which they wanted to keep me overnight to monitor. If my lung started deflating, they would need to do an operation to insert a chest tube.

Sadly, keeping my blood sufficiently oxygenated required consistent breathing, which still ranged from enormously uncomfortable with morphine kicked in, to excruciatingly painful when the morphine wore off. Jill stayed up all night watching the oxygenation meter like a hawk, periodically forcing me to breathe whenever it fell below the minimum threshold. That's how we spent the entire night.

In the morning, at about 7am, the doctor came and decided that I was probably not in danger of lung deflation, and could go home. He gave us a prescription for percocet and sent us on our way. The drive back to HMB naturally took us right by the scene of the accident. As we approached, we could see where I'd impacted the tree. About 3 minutes later, I had to ask Jill to pull over to the side of the road so I could spill out of the car and dry heave. I think this was the first time I started to get a sense of the gravity of the situation.

When we finally got home, Jill helped me climb into bed, a process which underscored just how painful absolutely every basic motion was going to be for a while, and I tried to sleep. Jill went to go find my stuff in the car, which had been towed to Daly City. She was gone for a while, and when she returned, she burst into tears upon seeing me. She'd arrived at the towyard, asked to see my vehicle, and been pointed toward one end of the yard. "I don't see it," she said. "There. Against the wall," the guy pointed. Apparently she'd passed right over it, because she wasn't expecting to see this:





That was when it really hit me, how close I'd come to actually dying. It made a lot more sense, in retrospect, why the emergency responders all kept saying that night "I can't believe you walked away from that."








Socci was due to arrive at the house that evening, and the rest of the NYC crowd was due the next day, so Jill set about spreading the news of the accident. She asked me if I wanted her to tell them not to come, but the last thing I wanted was for this to stop everyone else from coming and having a good time. All of them ended up offering not to come, but hey- the wine-tasting weekend extravaganza happens rain or shine, incapacitated host or no incapacitated host.

In the evening, Socci showed up, and he and Jill got the place set up for the others, and Jill started laying the groundwork for the dinner party Saturday night. Meanwhile, I continued to lay in bed in a percocet-induced haze; the only exception was that I did a skype tutoring lesson from my bed. God bless the internet for making such things possible.

It was a bittersweet moment when everyone showed up Friday night; I was happy to see all my NYC friends, but sad that I couldn't so much as get out of bed to welcome them. Getting in or out of bed was an extraordinarily painful act; I quickly learned to roll over onto my side, and then kind of fall out of the bed onto my feet. I couldn't push myself up without straining my ribs; it turns out that almost any kind of motion of your upper body involves your ribs. These are the kinds of things you never think about until something is broken.

Socci had, sometime over the last year, befriended a local group of Italian old men who got together to play music at one of the local eateries. They'd had need of an accordion player, so he'd taken it upon himself to learn the accordion. And, had taken to it quite quickly- so much so that the old Italian dudes had bestowed upon Socci the nickname "Tommy Squeezebox". Socci brought the accordion with him, so I got to listen to him regale everyone into the night with songs on the accordion. It was fantastic, and a surprisingly great thing to fall asleep to.



Tommy Squeezebox!!









The next day I was determined to have the dinner party happen, so I managed to get out of bed and help Jill do the preparations. Truthfully, she did 80% of the work, and we simplified the menu somewhat since I wasn't going to be very much help. But, we still managed to put on a dinner party in the spirit of our tradition. L came and joined us, and brought along a most delightful gift: a cake, with a roadway and a racecar on the top, to which he had added a broccoli tree and a little Aladdin figurine he borrowed from his girls, which he laid out next to the roadway with strawberry jam clumped around Aladdin's head. He'd had the baker write the wrods "Stop running into trees" on the cake. It was hilarious; here's a picture of it that Alison took:



The most hilarious cake I've ever had.








Upon unveiling the cake, Rose spontaneously altered the "happy birthday" tune into "happy alive day", and everyone sang it to me. It's hard to say how awesome it is to have such great friends, particularly when you're going through a time like that.



Good food, good drink, good company.








After a long, awesome meal, and much great wine (or so I'm told- I wasn't allowed to mix wine and Percocet, according to nurse Jill), everyone turned in, and we got up the next day to head to wine country. We'd tried something new, and instead of all getting hotel rooms, we'd rented a house in Napa. That turned out to be a brilliant idea; the house had a pool and hot tub, and plenty of space. Thus, although the trip up to Napa was not easy for me, I was able to go straight to bed and sleep for a few hours while the rest of the group went wine tasting. We had dinner reservations at Ad Hoc, which is Thomas Keller's (of French Laundry fame) other restaurant in Napa. NO WAY was I missing that, broken ribs or no broken ribs.

Sure enough, Ad Hoc was everything we'd hoped it would be. The food was absolutely out-of-this-world good. I could barely keep myself up in the chair for the entire dinner, and there were times when I wondered if I would make it (I hadn't gone such a long time without lying down to take pressure off my ribs since the accident), but it was well worth it. Great food is such a delightful experience.

The next day, the NYC kids did an entire day of wine tasting, hitting 8 wineries. That's commitment, let me tell you. Our experience of the previous year, when we'd all gotten totally wasted hitting just 6 wineries in a day (over the course of which I'd sent Jill numerous increasingly drunk, increasingly less coherent texts), caused everyone to be better about pacing themselves, and when they all got back, everyone was surprisingly not hammered. I was very proud.

Meanwhile, over the course of the day I had just lain in bed alternating between sleeping and pondering the mysteries of the universe. A couple times I got as far as the hot tub, which was heavenly. The first time I got in the hot tub, I realized after a few minutes that for the first time in several days, I didn't actively feel any pain. It's very hard to describe how nightmarish constant pain is; I don't know how people who suffer from chronic pain deal with it. Eventually the heat forced me out, but for a brief time, I felt human again.

Jill stayed with me all day and in the afternoon helped ready dinner for the crew. For her, it was another day of quietly taking care of me, and basically the entire group. At one point, while I was lying in bed thinking about one of the more vexing questions on my mind- who should be the officiant at our wedding- the clouds parted in the sky and like a vision straight from the heavens, the answer revealed itself...

me (weakly croaking): "jill..."

(no response... Jill is in the other room, preparing dinner for everyone)

me (slightly louder): "Jill..."

(still no response... I can ear all kinds of rustling in the kitchen)

me (mustering all my strength): "JILLLLLLLLL!"

(Jill comes running into the room, apparently concerned that I was about to die or something)

Jill: "ohmygodwhatisitareyouokay?????"

me: "I have it!"

Jill: "What?"

me: "I HAVE IT! I HAVE THE ANSWER!!"

Jill: "You have *what* answer?"

me: "JOHN ROBERTS!"

Jill: "Are you delirious right now?"

me: "No, wait- John Roberts should be our officiant! What do you think???"

Jill: "Ooooooh, that's *perfect*. That's a great idea!"

me: "Yup. I've made my contribution for the day. Uh, I'll just lie here now and bask in the warm glow of my brilliance."

Jill: "Yeeeahhh, you do that. I've got shit to do."

So, that evening Jill and I asked JRob to be our officiant, and we were delighted when he said yes. We celebrated with champagne, and I even got to have a glass myself. Delicious.

The next day, the last day of winetasting, I managed to get as far as the first winery, and even had a few tiny sips. Sadly, by the time we arrived at the second place, I was in so much pain I couldn't even make it inside, and Jill ended up having to take me back. Then once we got back to the house, we realized that we'd neglected to get the key from Ed, so we had to call Socci and use the magic of internet GPS locating software to meet at a random point halfway between the house and the winery (which were not at all close to each other) so we could pick up the key. Even in a severely weakened state, my ability to sow logistical mayhem was undaunted.

I spent the rest of the day in bed and in the hot tub again, until everyone returned and we could head back to SF for our traditional dinner at a steakhouse somewhere in the city. I loves me some steak, and I actually felt well enough to make it through the entire dinner without any significant discomfort. Then we dropped the NYC crew at the airport, and bid them goodbye.

It was sad to see them go; having the company around was actually instrumental in keeping my spirits up. Still, the greatest thanks goes to Jill. She took care of everyone all weekend, most obviously, but not exclusively, me, and did so without complaining, when frankly she had many reasons to do so. There are many ways to say "I love you"- some are grand gestures, like elaborate proposals with diamond rings. Others are more straightforward and obvious, like just saying the words. But I think that the most meaningful ways we say "I love you" to each other are in a thousand small actions throughout a day: helping the other get dressed because they can't do it themselves, making them meals again and again, taking care of their friends. It's easy to overlook or take for granted the little things that our loved ones do for us.

People often ask me: did the accident change you? Are you different because of it? The answer is: partly yes and partly no. To some extent I was insulated from the near-deathness of the whole experience, because I had no idea how close I'd come until nearly 24 hours later, when I already knew I would be fine (eventually). I am definitely a little more edgy when I'm driving in the rain. But really, the big change for me was seeing in a whole new way how amazing Jill is, and experiencing in a very real, concrete way how strong our bond had become in such a very short time. At one point she said to me "We can't live like we used to live anymore- we're not responsible just to ourselves, we're responsible to each other."

And the truth is, she's right about that. So perhaps the greatest change of all is that I feel keenly a sense of responsibility to her. Put another way, it's possible that the accident caused me to grow up a little bit. Me being who I am, I guess I had to nearly die in order for that to happen, but hey- we've all got our quirks. As L said, "Dude, you can't be Peter Pan anymore." I guess he's right.

And, that's ok.

A Modest Proposal, Part 6: Denouement

I started writing this post in January, when Alison came to visit. But then I got busy, and then almost died (more on that in a future post), and so it's taken me this long to do the final installment...


You may be moved to wonder, dear reader, why I have chosen to tell this story the way that I have: in several stages, some of which included some relatively personal detail. The answer is that everything about the way I proposed to Jill involved a very deliberate choice- all the details tied in some way to the story of how we came to be together. By now, if I've told this story even semi-competently, you can see that it is an unlikely story- a long and rambling journey of persevering, overcoming obstacles, despairing that the story would ever have a happy end, and then finally triumphing. And so I felt that the manner of my proposal should reflect that unique journey that we had each taken, both separately and together. Now that you know the whole story (or at least, all of it that's fit to print), you'll be able to see why I made some of the choices I made.

I also told the story this way because if you *didn't* have the relevant details, my proposal plan would sound like it came from a crazy person. Who knows, you may still end up thinking that by the time it's all said and done.

For that reason, I told no one the details of the plan. Only a few people even knew the proposal was coming: L, SP, and Anne knew, because they were involved in the procurement of the ring. (Which, btw, is a story for another post.) And Jill's best friend Alison knew, because I recruited her as a secret agent, to play a role in the whole event.

Alison, you recall, I first met when I went to DC that first time in 2006, to ask Jill if I could see her more regularly. And, she was part of our merry trio in Belize. So she had been there throughout the whole arc of the story, and I needed someone I could trust. So I called Alison in July and told her how I felt about Jill, and what my intentions were. I also asked for her blessing, as Jill's best friend. I was both honored and relieved that she gave it enthusiastically.

Then, I asked her if she wanted to play a role in the event itself.

Me: "So, my last question is: would you be willing to play a role in the actual event?"

Alison: "Wait, what? You want me to be a part of the proposal?"

Me: "Yes. I need someone involved that I can trust. You're the best person for the job, and, frankly, the *only* person for the job. Will you do it?"

Alison: "Well, what exactly is it that I would be doing?"

Me: "If you're willing to play a role, then what I need you to do is get on a plane to LA the morning of 8/25. You'll be flying back to DC from SF on Sunday 8/29. That's all I can tell you."

Alison: "That's all you can tell me because you haven't worked out the plan yet, or that's all you can tell me because you're not telling me anything else."

Me: "Oh no- I have the whole plan worked out. It's a complicated plan. But I can't share any more of the details with you."

Alison: "WAIT! Why don't *I* get to know the plan??"

Me: "Because, Alison, when you first encounter Jill, she will not be expecting to meet you, nor will she have any idea what's going on at all. Consequently, in those first moments when she meets you, if she has even the slightest idea that you DO know what's going on, she will waterboard your ass until you spill all the details. She is ruthless. She is relentless. You are her best friend- you *know* this to be true."

(pause)

Alison (laughing): "OK, I get it. You're right- she *would* totally waterboard me. Better that I don't know the plan. Actually, I think it's going to be kinda fun."

Me: "I promise you'll come out of this with a good story to tell. That's a guarantee."

Thus, having successfully co-opted Jill's best friend, I set myself to plotting all the details. I had to create a spreadsheet, and every night I would review the plan, start to finish, once from my perspective, once from Jill's, and once from Alison's. As I did, I would ask myself the kind of questions Joel would always ask when something was being planned: "OK, that gets delivered there? How does it get delivered? What's the backup plan? If it's getting delivered, that means it got made? When does it get made? Where does it live between when it gets made and when it gets delivered?" etc., etc.

By doing that every day for 3 weeks, I'd gotten to the point where I had a remarkably detailed spreadsheet, and I didn't really start relaxing until I'd managed to get through my routine of reviewing the plan 5 days in a row without thinking of some new logistical detail I had previously overlooked. It got trickier once Jill moved in; the spreadsheet, the ring, and many supporting items were in the house, and I had to make sure she didn't discover them. It was not easy.

All along, I had been telling Jill that since August 26th was the 4-year anniversary of the day we met, we should be sure to spend the day together, and maybe take a few days to go somewhere. I'd left it that where we'd go that day would be a surprise for her. And that leads me to state one of the core principles of the whole experience: I wanted to pull it off without ever lying to her. So, when I said we'd be going somewhere, it was true. When I said it would be a surprise, it was true. When I said that it would involve driving, and hiking, both those things were true.

As the day approached, I revealed that "our trip begins on 8/25." Also true. Jill made a spirited effort on numerous occasions to get details from me, by saying such things as: "How will I know what to pack if I don't know where we're going?" But I got around that by giving general advice, plus saying I would pack her stuff for her.

The evening of the 24th, I had Kiddo email me to ask me for a skype lesson late at night (since she was in Israel). We had just finished packing, so I apologized to Jill and said I'd need to stay up late "dealing with Kiddo" and loading the car, but that departure in the morning would be 8am sharp. Thus, Jill went downstairs to go to sleep.

After "dealing with Kiddo", who was excited to play this small role in the event, I began executing the plan in earnest. I had said there would be hiking, and that we would use as our daypack the fancy new backpack that Jill had gotten for me just after we got back from NYC. There was a very specific way the bag had to be packed, and it took me a while to do that. Then, I got out a couple things I had made in preparation for the day: first, I giant message written on a huge sheet of packing paper, which said: "Do you trust me?" Attached to the sheet, at the bottom, were 2 envelopes- one marked "Yes" and one marked "No". The one marked "No", when you opened it, contained a sheet of paper which said only:

Liar.

But you just had to open this one, didn't you?


The envelope marked "Yes" contained Jill's instructions for the next day. Why leave instructions? Because I wasn't going to be there. I was leaving a clue for Jill to follow. The clue was embedded in a discussion of how the next 2 days would parallel the unique way in which our story unfolded, and that therefore, the first stage of her journey would be for her to get into her car at 8am and go back to the very beginning. The very beginning our of story, as told in Part 1, occurred at the Sportsmen's Lodge in LA, and I trusted that Jill would correctly identify that.

Having placed the sign and the envelopes on the glass door to the deck, I tiptoed downstairs with my stuff, Jill's stuff, and the backpack, and went out to load Jill's car.

Here is where the plan started to go awry. It is said in the military that no plan goes according to plan- that something always goes wrong. This plan was no exception.

I loaded the things Jill would need into her car: her suitcase, my backpack, which I had packed with two different hidden items, and, underneath the driver's seat, I hid the first letter I had written her but never mailed her, which I had written 3.5 years before in response to the letter she wrote me saying, essentially, that we could not be together (for a recap of that part of the story, click here.) But when I closed the back gate on her Ford Explorer, the inside light refused to go off. Now, since the plan had Jill leaving in the car at 8am, on a very tight schedule, it would be a serious problem if her brand new battery got killed because the goddammn inside light wouldn't shut off. I waited, and it stayed on. I tried opening it and shutting it again. No luck.

Thing is, HMB is utterly silent at night except for the waves, when the tide is coming in. And the tide was out, which meant total silence. Plus, Jukebox the Territorial Terrier was sleeping upstairs in the living room, and he *loves* to bark loudly at any perceived violation of the house's perimeter, which, based on his pattern of barking, appears to extend northward to the outskirts of Seattle, southward to Tijuana, eastward to the Mississippi, and westward to the end of the continental shelf. Thus, I had to be careful not to close the door to loudly, or too repeatedly, because if Jukebox went off the gig would be up.

After about 10 minutes of failure, I decided to go take my stuff and load my own car, which I had carefully stowed on the street 2 blocks away, so that when I started it up, it wouldn't wake up anyone in the house. I loaded my stuff, and then crept back to the house, trying to figure out how the hell I would solve the inside light problem.

[Note: for the record, I didn't realize until months later that the back gate on the Explorer has TWO latches- one for the window only, and one for the actual gate. I must've inadvertently tripped the window latch before getting the gate latch, which left the back window cracked. And that's what caused the light to stay on. But I had no idea about that at the time.]

However, as I crept around the corner at the end of the block, I froze- the light was on upstairs in the living room. And in the kitchen. That could mean only one thing- Jill was awake, and was upstairs. Which means, she'd found the note. She was not supposed to find it until the morning, so that I would have time to make my getaway. At this point, it was only about 2am, so now I was really screwed. Plus, that goddamned inside light was still on.

At that point, I made an executive decision. I figured that if Jill was up, she'd come down to the car soon, and fix whatever the issue was with the light. Maybe the door just needed to be slammed hard. But no way could I go near the house- this was all going to end really badly if I got caught now. So I turned around, ran back to the car, jumped in, and drove off.

The first text from Jill arrived as I started the car. She was FREAKING OUT. I wish my phone had enough space to save all those texts that came, but the 3rd one I remember said only:

YOU LEFT ME

Uh oh.

I had said in my letter that Jill would have to trust me, and if she did, then at the end of a 2-day journey, we would be together on our anniversary. But, we each had to travel separately for a while, and that while we did, we would have no contact with each other. But, in this case, I figured I had to do some damage control, so I responded to her texts. I said I was already on my journey, which was true, if only by 5 minutes, but that if she needed me to turn around and come back, I would. But I hoped she would trust me, and follow the directions I'd left. Then the texts stopped. So, I figured either she was willing to trust me, or I'd just caused us to break up. Only time would tell.

Now, I will introduce the guest post feature of this part of the story. Both Jill and Alison are here this weekend, so I'll turn the computer over to them at various parts to tell the story from their perspectives. I think you'll enjoy it. Here is Jill:


"First I would like to say that it's totally rude that EVERYONE duped me. Gus' family is exempt from my wrath but MY OWN MOTHER AND BEST FRIEND. That is so wrong. Good thing Gus didn't say anything to my Kevin or Amy because THEY would have let on (because they love me). They are true and honest and will inherit my lottery winnings someday. The rest of you can f***ing bite me.

So this all begins with the original "lie" that Gus had to help Kiddo with some sort of project late on a weeknight. See, that was my first mistake, trusting him not to lie about work. Now I have to question every late night in the office with a "are you going to leave me in the middle of the night again?" Kiddo can't be implicated in this part of the plan because her innocence was clearly being taken advantage of. Poor Kiddo. Don't fall for his tactics...question everything.

So I woke up after I heard Booba bark (which is rare in the middle of the night since he's usually up my ass passed out for 14 hours at a time) and thought that the lack of hearing voices (Gus and Kiddo--not the ones in my head) and keyboard clacking meant that Gus was either asleep on the couch or reading another 150 page Paul Krugman editorial. I wandered upstairs and he was nowhere...not on the computer nor on the couch, not in any of the spare rooms or bathrooms. I went outside and his car was gone. I was baffled. I checked the time. Where could he have gone that late? I sat for a few seconds wondering WHAT THE FUCK. Then I started texting. Nothing. Then after hateful pleas he confirmed that he had left and that I was going to have to figure it out. Figure out what? THAT YOU ARE A BIG FAT JERK? Done. Got it.

I went to my car and searched it. I looked through our bags. I looked through the house and even tried to call up his internet history. I found nothing and the goddamn computer was password protected. Hello Anger...my long lost friend. Oh how conveniently you have shown up at a time like this. Let's have a drink and catch up.

It was after some angry stomping around the house, cursing every breath that I discovered the poster on the glass door. I opened the YES envelope first. Read his treatise on "If you love me enough you'll find all the horcruxes and save the world"; threw that on the floor and read the "NO" envelope. This didn't help the anger level. Welcome to the red zone. I lay in bed FOR HOURS crying and angry and vowing to refuse his gauntlet and just stay at home. I got maybe an hour sleep. I spent the wee hours plotting my revenge.

The first clue wasn't too hard. Go back to where we began? Well DUH even I am smart enough to figure that out, Professor Snape. Maybe that's all there is to it...Los Angeles was easy enough. I could get there. I could wring your neck and be at Baja Cantina by 8. Done. You're on.

By 6 AM I couldn't come up with any unique ways to punish him. I was stuck on the idea of imposing celibacy on him for the next few years---say 100. It was actually a more complex plan than that but given that this is a family show I'll refrain from details. If you have ever heard of the Marquis de Sade you should know that he's got nothing on me."




Now, as the editor of this story, I would like to point out one important thing about the above re-telling: that I *never* lied to Jill. As I said earlier, that was one of the core elements of the plan- that everything be accomplished without once having to lie to her. I was extremely careful about that. Consequently, I asked Kiddo to email me saying she needed to skype with me, and when she did, I said to Jill: "Kiddo wants to skype with me tonight." And by the time I said it, it was true. Anyway, back to the story...

Meanwhile, at about 230am CA time Alison was on her way to the DC airport, to get on her flight to LA. I had to start texting her the news about Jill's state of mind. Alison's flight routed through Dallas, and had her on a couple hour layover that coincided with the 8am departure time that Jill was instructed to follow. I told Alison to communicate with Jill during that time, and make sure that Jill was headed to the right destination.

Alison had multiple roles in the plan, and one of them was to be the outside check that Jill was on track and correctly following the clues. Another was to keep tabs on Jill's state of mind. I told her that the 8am communication with Jill would be instrumental on both counts.

I had also snail mailed Alison an envelope with more detailed instructions for what would happen at the Sportsmen's Lodge. The way I envisioned the plan working was that Alison would arrive at the Lodge before Jill (who would be driving all the way from SF, departing in morning rush hour), and place another envelope with another clue in it into the room I had reserved for Jill. In fact, I had spent some time on the phone with a woman at the Lodge, going back into the records from 2006 to figure out which exact room I had rented, and I had that exact room rented in Jill's name. I also had a room rented in Alison's name, and arranged with the woman at the Lodge that Alison would be allowed to place the envelope in Jill's room before Jill arrived.

The envelope contained another riddle, which was that Jill would have to go to the exact spot that our story began. That spot was beside the pool, and I sent Alison a picture of the pool area, and circled on it where she should set up camp. I figured Alison would beat Jill to the Lodge by a couple of hours, so I told her to bring a swimsuit and a book so that she could chill out by the pool until Jill arrived. Jill, of course, would have no idea that Alison would be there, and I told Alison to be careful when she made the 8am communication from Dallas. Finally, I also told Alison to say to Jill when she first arrived, that she should look under the driver's seat of her car, where I had left something for her.

Of course, the Sportsmen's Lodge part of the plan didn't exactly go perfectly either. Here to tell her side is Alison...


"When Gus called me in the middle of the summer to ask me to "help" him propose to Jill, I said "sure!!" I mean, of course, why wouldn't I want to be a part of a joyous occasion and enjoy a free trip to Los Angeles on Gus's dime? How much effort could this possibly entail?


I should have known, knowing the elaborate measures Gus had taken to woo Jill in the first place.


My first hint that this was going to be a complicated scheme was the 2-page long email he sent me with a description of my role in his "schemes and plots" (a direct quote from his first email to me on the topic). The email explained, in step by step detail, that my role was basically to fly to Los Angeles, get to the Sportsmen's Lodge, and make sure that Jill also made it to the Sportsmen's Lodge without ever letting on to her that I was part of the scheme or even in her time
zone. I was to arrive at the hotel before Jill, place an envelope on her pillow (an envelope that Gus had sent me via snail mail the week before), and then lounge by the pool until she arrived. Gus, helpfully, had provided me a map with a sticky note showing me EXACTLY where I was supposed to sit next to the pool.


This is exactly where I told Alison to be. Jill was sunbathing with Chris in precisely this spot (surrounded by a pack of admiring men) when I first met her.




Snag #1 occurred at about 4am EST, about which time Jill wigged out when she woke up to find that Gus had "abandoned" her. I woke up at the crack of dawn in DC to catch my flight, and I already had received a series of text messages from Gus explaining that the plan had hit its first snag. Jill was not amused and actually was quite upset at being sent on this mission. Gus used all of his powers of persuasion
to convince her to follow the clues he had left.

So, at this point, I knew that Jill was upset, but I couldn't call her and comfort her, because I wasn't supposed to know anything about this little adventure. Jill had told me that she and Gus were going on a secret anniversary trip--that's all I knew, from her perspective. During my extensive layover in Texas, I sent her a text message asking something innocent like, "Hey, so where is Gus taking you for the
super-secret anniversary trip?" At which point the floodgates opened, and Jill explained (using colorful language) that Gus was sending her on some treasure hunt and that she was NOT AMUSED. She explained that Gus's riddle suggested that she should head to Los Angeles to the Sportsmen's Lodge, but that she wasn't sure. She even had tried to hack into Gus's password-protected computer and had torn the car apart looking for clues and assurances. I tried to encourage her to "follow her instincts" and "trust herself," using every cliche at my disposal to push her in that direction without letting on that I knew she was on the right track and that, in fact, I would be there waiting for her.

At this point, I am feeling very very very guilty about participating in this little escapade, because Jill was clearly upset. I called a friend in DC and asked her advice--should I tell Jill the truth? I seriously considered spilling the beans to her and encouraged Gus to at least hint to her that "someone" would be waiting for her to help her. Gus immediately sent me a text message telling me to "STAY STRONG" and "DON'T GIVE IN" and "DON'T BE A PUSSY." I somewhat reluctantly listened to his pleas.

The plan hit Snag #2 after I arrived in Burbank and rented my car. I was waiting for the rental car shuttle when I received a text message from Jill, saying something like "I am 20 miles from the Sportsmen's Lodge. Gus better be there. Asshole." Again, the idea was that I was to arrive at the hotel before Jill and plant the envelope. Gus had told her to leave their house at 8am, but apparently his superb math calculations did not account for the fact that Jill would drive like a bat out of hell to Los Angeles. I knew I was going to have to improvise. I get my car and head toward the hotel. I am literally three blocks away when I get a panicked text message from Jill saying "Gus isn't here. Asshole. Do you have time to talk?" I text her back and say "I'm in a meeting, can you wait 5 minutes?". By "meeting," of course I meant that I was making an illegal left-hand turn into the
hotel parking lot. She proceeds to the hotel bar to wait.

I park the car and wander into the hotel, trying to pick her out of the small crowd of people sitting at the hotel bar. I wasn't sure how to announce my presence, so I just walked up to her and said hi. At which point she bursts into tears and says, "WHAT ARE YOU GUYS TRYING TO DO TO ME?"

From this point on, I became Gus's puppet. He sent me a text message with instructions for Jill, and I communicated them to her. My primary duty, however, was to make sure that Jill made it through the afternoon and evening without vomiting, screaming, crying, or deciding to drive off to Mexico. On several occasions, Jill made comments like "There better be a FUCKING CARTIER DIAMOND at the end of this scavenger hunt." I stayed mum on this point."


And now, here's Jill's re-telling of this part of the story:


"So I get out of bed. Angrily throw my shit together and then grumpily stand in line for Starbucks. It was a Wednesday before work hours and all the locals were getting their lattes to start their day. Smiling, chit chatting, enjoying a beautiful HMB day. I was just starting my revenge, and triple venti mocha with extra whip topped with spite was a good way to start. An hour later I had hit the 5 and at 95 mph, I was well on my way.

On the way over the hill from HMB I texted Alison that our surprise, romantic weekend had turned into an angry, tear-filled disaster and that I was on my way to LA. Yes it was sort of cute that Gus wanted to meet at the place we met. Ok, I'll give him a few gold stars on being cute but...I couldn't get over being ditched in the middle of the night. She thought it was cute and I thought to myself "WHO IS SHE RIGHT NOW?" (She's a traitor, clearly.) So I get a few messages from her throughout the day asking me how it's going. I appreciated her interest. Kevin though was sympathetic; although he too thought it romantic. I still needed convincing. I called my mom and got her machine. EVERYONE let me down. WHERE was my MOMMY? WHERE?! Hmmmm....I wonder…

I made it close to Santa Clarita and I texted Alison that I was almost there. She responded: "wow you made good time." YEAH I DID. I couldn't drive fast enough. I got to Sportsman Lodge, snapped a pic with my phone, and texted it to Mr. Asshole who had promised he would refuse to answer me.



(The text I got from Jill. Plan is proceeding somewhat shakily, but proceeding nonetheless...)






Fine...then you can view the progression of my photographic journey of pain. I get to the front desk and am at a loss:

"Uh...um...is there a room in my name?"

"Let me see. What's your name?" said the victim behind the counter.

"Jill Morris...I mean Gus Mattammal...I mean...what about a message?"

"Yes...I see…wait just a moment please"

waiting...WAITING...W.A.I.T.I.N.G

"Oh yes, Miss Morris (SMILE) we have a room for you (SMILE) but it's not ready yet (SMILE). I can give you a key to the pool if you'd like to wait (SMILE)?"

"Fine. I'll wait at the pool. How long?"

"It will be ready at 3"

At this point I call Lori. She and Eric are dog sitting at the beach house and since EVERYONE ELSE ISN'T PLAYING ALONG I needed empathy. I got it. I told Lori about my night and day and I cried. She cried too. I felt better--promised to call with an update. Where's the bar? I get there and order a beer...then another. I text Alison that I need to talk. She writes back "give me 5 minutes". That's fair. She's at work. I've probably been way too dramatic over this and she's a good friend to listen anyway. Ah...booze...I feel better already. BTW where is that MF Gus?!

I sip my beer. It's hot. The folks at the pool are having fun. I am at a loss. What next. WHAAAAAAT NEXT?

"BEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!"

The part of my brain that is recognizing the sound but can't compute the reality starts to quiver! I turn around. There, on the other side of the pool fence, is Alison. Smiling. SMILING.

"Uh, W H A T R U D O I N G H E R E?! !?" I stutter.

(SMILING)

"SURPRISE!"

Gus had flown her out. Um, why? How? Wait? You were emailing me from work? DOH! Foiled by the false pretense of the BLACKBERRY. BASTARDS. EVIL.

I cried.

I really cried. Then Alison cried. I ordered another beer. A whole separate, thick layer of weird was just slathered on this. I text Lori. I text Free. I text Kevin. I text Paul and Susan. I am OUT OF MY LEAGUE HERE. AND WHERE THE HELL IS MY MOTHER!?

Alison checks in the hotel and immediately I take to interrogating her in the best Ice-T as Law & Order’s Detective Fin technique I got. She clearly doesn't know much. She hands me another letter from Gus in the tell-tale Advantage Testing grey linen envelope. I follow directions and proceed to go rip my car apart. There it was, the envelope under the seat. DIDN'T I LOOK THERE ALREADY!?!?!?! DAMMIT.

Drat. He's too smart. He's really outdone himself. Hmmm. Jerk. We go to our rooms. I throw my shit all over the place. I stomp around. I need more beer. We go to the pool to dissect. We eat nachos. We drink beer. It's time to call in the SWAT team. We meet Paul and Susan for dinner at Nook. I love Nook. It holds some awesome memories. Paul is well connected there and I need comfort and I get it. Paul and Susan never disappoint in their ability to be rational, funny and comforting. I can't eat. I couldn't even talk straight. We hypothesize about what could happen.

Me: "I bet that bastard makes me hike Angel's Landing. He always said he wanted to do it and I always refused. Damn me and my big mouth. Ugh. Just UGH.”

In a moment of unintentional clairvoyance Susan says "I hope there's a big diamond at the top of that mountain". I tell her no. We aren't ready for that."


Back to my side of the story:

So, all things considered, Day 1 of the plan was a success- Jill had gotten to the place I wanted her to get to, she'd found and read the letter I'd hidden for her under her seat in the car, and I'd successfully planted her best friend there as emotional support. And, of course, to play double agent for me.

Meanwhile, I arrived in Las Vegas late that Wednesday night- well, technically arriving at almost 1am Thursday. After an adventure getting to my hotel, I had more adventures trying to check in (finally get checked in after an absurd wait, find when I get to my room and put down my bag that I've been stuck in a smoking room, call downstairs and ask to be switched, they say to wait there and they'll send up someone with a key to a different room, I go out in the hallway to wait since the room itself smells disgustingly like smoke, then after 10 minutes, with no one yet arrived with a new key, I hear the phone ring inside the room. I try to go answer it, except that I discover I neglected to bring the room key out into the hall, so I'm now locked outside and my bag is still _inside_. So I'm forced to go down to reception, have to wait an absurd amount of time *again*, and discover the bellboy left a few minutes ago to take a new key for the new room. I get assigned to a third room, then have to get *another* key to the original room so I can retrieve my bag.)

Finally ensconced in my room, at shortly before 2am, I started writing the clues for Thursday and assembling them for placement. By the time I had everything written, had procured some supplies I needed from the local 24hr drugstore, had assembled everything properly, and had reviewed the plan for Thursday again, it was 430am. And I had to be up at 6am. Thus went my 2nd consecutive night of essentially no sleep.

An hour and a half later, I awoke to verify with Alison that Jill had received the next set of instructions, which had her headed to Burbank airport to check in at Southwest. Neither she nor Alison knew what the destination would be, but I was clear about what time Jill would need to be at the airport. Once there, she discovered at check-in that she was scheduled to be on the 9am flight to Las Vegas.

While Jill was in the air, I'd gotten my own stuff together and went down to the Advantage Rent-A-Car at McCarran airport, where I'd rented 2 cars- one in my name and one in hers. I picked up my car, and while at the counter, I explained to the women working there that I had rented a car for my girlfriend, and that it was our anniversary, and that I'd been leading her on a multi-day, multi-state scavenger hunt, and I needed to leave the next clue there at the car rental place. The women were all tickled pink to help out, and so they hung the envelope with the next clue on the bulletin board in the back office.

The clue at Advantage was this: that the first stop on her journey related to the first episode of our relationship- the weekend we met. I told her that she was close to me now- we were in the same city. But where in Las Vegas was I? I told her that she would know where I was by thinking about the *second* phase of our relationship. Figure out where that was, and she would know where in Las Vegas to go.

The second phase of our relationship, as told in an earlier episode, occurred when we had 3 dates in New York City (read about that part of the story here.) I had chosen a very nice hotel room for us in the New York, New York hotel and casino, and was counting on Jill to be able to figure that out.

I texted Alison to tell Jill that when she landed, she should proceed to the Advantage desk and pick up the car in her name, and the clue which would be on the bulletin board in the back office. Then, I jumped in my car and began making my way north.

To Zion.

Now, at some point early in our relationship, Jill noticed that I had many pictures of the Angel's Landing hike in Zion National Park. Somehow it came out that I've done that hike with every long-term girlfriend I've ever had- Tasha, Sarah, Nacole, and Keiko. I've also done the hike with 3 of my groomsmen- Laszlo, Jeffrey, and Ed. Jill observed that I'd broken up with every girl I'd ever taken up there, and so she vowed that she would never, ever, EVER let me take her up there.

On my way out of town, I had to pull off the highway and into a parking lot so that I could make a couple of work-related phone calls. I figured that would be OK, since it was only 930am, Jill's flight didn't land until 10am, and then she'd have to get to the car rental, figure out the clue, get to the hotel, check in, and then find the clue I'd left for her in the hotel, which was a brief note on the bed telling her to look in the bottom of the main compartment of my backpack. I had hidden there, in a gray bag the same color and material as the inside compartment, the second letter I'd written her 3.5 years ago and never mailed, which I wrote the morning after Chris and John's wedding. I included with that letter instructions sending her to Zion. I figured by the time she got to the hotel and read the letter, Jill could not depart Vegas earlier than 1130am, and that therefore I had about a 2.5 hour head start on her. That's 150 minutes.

30 of those minutes I burned making work calls. 20 of those minutes I burned getting back onto the freeway, since it turns out I chose very poorly which exit to randomly get off on. I ended up wandering around North Las Vegas for a bit before I finally got back onto the 15 north.

I also was rapidly becoming famished, since I hadn't had a meal in the last 18 hours by that point, so when I got to St. George, Utah, I pulled into the In N Out and waited in the longest drive-through line in the history of fast food. I burned 20 minutes there. I got back on the freeway and continued along, although I was driving much more conservatively now since I was eating. In fact, I was so focused on eating that I missed the exit for Zion, and didn't realize that I'd missed it until I came to the north entrance to the park, which is not connected by road to the main section of the park, but is connected to the 15 freeway. It was there that I discovered that I'd missed *both* possible turnoffs to the main park entrance, the southern one (the first one I passed), and the northern one. Finding that out from the rangers at the north entrance cost 10 minutes. I then burned an additional 10 minutes getting back to the northern turnoff. That's 90 of my estimated 150 minutes of margin already burned.

At that point, just as I was getting on the north turnoff, I got a text from Alison saying that Jill was just a few miles away from the southern turnoff, and that she had left at *11*, and was driving like a woman possessed.

Uh oh.

If she left at 11, that means I'd only had *120* minutes of margin, plus I'd assumed she'd be driving no more than 5 mph over the speed limit, which seemed to be her normal approach to driving. If she was just a few miles away from the southern turnoff, it meant my lead on her was down to as little as 10 minutes.

Shit. Shitshitshit.

I drove like a bat out of hell on the windy northern approach to the main gate of Zion. I made reckless passes, drove 15-20 mph over the speed limit, and got to Springdale, which is the town outside the mouth of Zion, in record time. I was helped a little by having familiarity with the road, familiarity with the town, and the advantage of the northern route into the park being slightly shorter and straighter than the southern route in.

I parked my car in Springdale and took the Zion shuttle to the Visitor's Center. There, I went to the backcountry desk and again gave my spiel about the scavenger hunt, etc etc to the two 22-year-olds who staffed the desk. I told them my girlfriend would probably arrive within the hour, and then went to catch the shuttle to the Angel's Landing trailhead. From the shuttle, I sent the last text to Alison, telling her to send Jill to the backcountry desk at the Visitor's Center.

At that point, I was deeply worried that Jill was as little as 10 minutes behind me. Thus, when I got to the trailhead, I started moving *fast*.

Here now is Jill's recounting of getting to the trailhead:

"That night I barely slept. My latest instructions tell me that I'll get more instructions at 6:30 AM. Yeah well, bite me. I lay awake...in the same goddamn room he stayed in at JOC and Vanessa’s wedding. Damn him. DAMN HIM. And how did he manage all this. I mean this IS Gus...the man who jumps out of planes, nearly gets swept out to sea, pukes on the BART, gets a $250 parking ticket, etc, etc.

6 AM instructions: go to the Burbank airport.

I look at my stuff and repack. I consolidate all my stuff into MY backpack because the one he sent with me is his and it’s so big and bulky and not necessary. Mine is packed solid. No room for anything else. I wake up Alison who seems excited and yet complacent. I ask her when she’s leaving, etc. WAIT...what? You are flying OUT of SFO? WHY? WHHHHHHHHHY? Hmmmm....BASTARDS...all of you.

I get to Burbank in record time. I miss the cheap parking. F-It...I don't have time to think. I open my trunk and realize..."wait if I have Gus' backpack...what is HE carrying?" Then I start to feel bad...that I had over reacted. Clearly the guy had put A LOT of effort in this. I thought I'd be flying to NYC for our "second date". So I guess I should take his pack to him. I just picture him carrying all his stuff in a plastic Safeway bag (and I wound up being right about that). Awww...my soft side kicks in. FINE. I repack into HIS pack.

I get to the Southwest Terminal. Check in. Flight to Las Vegas. LAS VEGAS? huh? This doesn't make sense. We've never been there. We've hardly even talked about Las Vegas.

WAIT.

Nevada. I check the maps in the Driod. Vegas is only a couple of hours drive to UT...ZION.

Dick. I have you figured out. HA. I GET IT. TPPPPPPPHHT.

I get to Vegas. I text in my status. I am told to go to the rental car counter. Much like my experience at the Sportsman Lodge, it went like this:

"Hi...uh...do you have a car in my name...Jill...Morris?" (awkward smile)

"Uh. Let me see....hmmm...Where are you staying?"

"Uh....uh....my BF made the reservation. Is there a message for me?"

"Huh? Oh....wait...YOU"RE THE ONE! YOU'RE THE....”(SMILE, SMILE, SOMETHING IN SPANISH TO THE GIRLS IN THE BACK). Everyone piles out of the office smiling at me.

I am forced to tell them the story. They are smiling. I am not.

"He was just here about 45 minutes ago...you can probably catch up to him."

AH. HA. The HEAT is on!

She's typing away and another lady hands me an envelope. I read the letter from Gus.

What?

Huh?

I don't get it.

I look at the clerk in dismay.

"WHAT DOES IT SAAAAAAAAY?!!?!?!?!?!" (SMILE) She sings.

I explain that it says that I need to go to the place where we had our first date. But we had our first date in NYC...at a French bistro on the upper east side. NOTHING ABOUT VEGAS SCREAMS FRENCH BISTRO ON THE UPPER EAST SIDE. I DON'T GET IT. It doesn't make sense. It was NYC. NEW. YORK. CITY.

The clerk was all smiles. Her co-worker was all smiles. I felt really vulnerable.

THAT'S IT! I can't figure it out. I give up. This is too hard. I am tired and hungry and tired and tired. No. I am dumb. I don't deserve you. I am not smart enough for you. I failed. I FAILED.

I start to tear up and the clerk looks sad:

"WAIT...you had your first date WHERE?"

"New York…city."

"Hmmmm....NEW YORK...Where in New York?"

"Upper eastside of Manhattan. THIS DOESN'T MAKE SENSE."

"Have you ever been to Vegas?"

"Well, YES a dozen or more times BUT NOT WITH HIM. I. DON'T. GET. IT."

"Well, I wonder WHAT he was thinking when he wanted you to come to VEGAS when you dated in NEW YORK CITY."

(Blank stare. Tears. Blank stare)

"Hmmmm. NEW YORK....HMMMM, VEGAS....wonder WHERE YOU ARE STAYING?" she says.

"I guess in a casino, naturally. Maybe The...maybe...(I rack my brains)...The...THE..."

She tilts her head in the most "sweetheart you ain't so smart are you" sort of way. I blink.

"NEW YORK NEW YORK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

She slaps the key on the counter while everyone cheers and says "GO GET HIM!!!"

I am furious. Half way in this ordeal and I almost lose it. I race down Las Vegas Blvd and snap a pic of NY NY, text it to Gus. HA. I AM ON TO YOU.

I get to the counter with renewed confidence:

"I would LIKE to check IN to MY ROOM PLEASE!"

The clerk types in my name and says "Hmmmm....seems you checked in yesterday."

BLINK, BLINK.

"OH I DID, DID I?!" She gives me a key and I race upstairs. I get into OUR room and I see Gus' stuff. 


AH HA. I HAVE YOU NOW...jerk...wait...where are you...(looks around empty room).

There's a note on the pillow. It tells me to look in the bottom of his backpack. I look.

Nothing.

I look again.

Nothing.

I turn it upside down and shake the shit out of it.

Nothing.

I grab the bottom and pull with all my might.

It gives way. There's a grey bag in the bottom. It's the same color as the bag so I didn't see it the first 145 times I went in to that bag in the proceeding 36 hours. I rip open the envelope. Now I see that it's another sweet letter but I don't have time for this. I unravel the riddle and indeed I am to go to UT...to Zion. At record speed I change clothes, repack the backpack for hiking and gather my map to hit the road. It's mid morning and I don't have time to waste.

Now I have to back up here and tell you, dear reader, that not only is there all this drama and stress on very little sleep and no food, but also that the week previously I had injured my foot. REALLY BAD...probably could have used a stitch or two so I am limping a little. So I field dress my still smarting, gushy and bloody wound, so that I can go hike what turns out to be Kilimanjaro. At this point NOTHING is going to stop me from getting revenge!

I race to the car. I fly down the freeway. I hit AZ. I hit UT. I find the exit for Zion and I text Alison. SNAG. She isn't sure I am going to the right place.

WHAT? This MAP can't lie. IT's GPS, MF! Apparently Gus took a different exit. WELL AT THIS POINT I AM SUPPOSED TO TRUST HIM?! YOUGOTTABEKIDDINGME.

So it's finally determined I carry on. And from Alison's tone she gives away that I am hot on his trail. Finally her loyalties return.

I floor it. I make Zion in record time. I am instructed to go to the Back Country Desk. I do so to find a 20-something blonde chick smiling at me. I am not amused at this point.

"How long is it going to take me to get to the top of Angel's Landing?"

She's smiling.

"At least 2 and half hours. You'll need lots of water and here's a map that..."

I take the map and walk off. Run actually. I go and get the backpack. Look at it in scorn. It's big, heavy and it's HOT in Zion. Very Hot. Utah hot in summer hot. I hop the bus and have to rebandage my foot. Someone sitting next to me even mentions how bad it looks. YEAH I KNOW."



We'll leave Jill for the moment and return to my side of the story. I am now about to head to the top of Angel's Landing. Some things you should know about Angel's Landing:


Interestingly, Ed said to me in early August: "Maybe you should propose to Jill on Angel's Landing. You know, break the curse." I almost cracked and told him the plan then...




The Angel's Landing trail is about 2.5 miles each way, and ascends 1500 feet, 500 of it in the last half mile. That last half mile features chains cut into the rock, ledges no wider than a sofa with 1000-foot drops on both sides, and, at the end, a spectacular view of Zion Canyon. Even the first 2 miles feature super-steep switchbacks, including a section of 21 hairpin turns called Walter's Wiggles, that are pitched at an angle of elevation that makes you want to die. Having done the hike 7 times in my life already, I had a very steady pace for it- 2.5 hours up, 1.5 hours down.

On this occasion, fearing that Jill was right behind me, and might even end up being able to see me on the cliff face ahead of her, I made it to the top in just over an hour. I basically ran up the first mile and a half. And for that, my legs ached, and I mean *ached*, for days afterward.

But, I did manage to stay far enough ahead that I had time to sit at the top, drink some water, rest my weary legs, and work on my speech. I figured I should have a little speech. So that's what I worked on while I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

I don't know exactly how long I was waiting up there, but I'd begun to get nervous. What if she'd gone on strike and just decided to wait me out at the bottom? I couldn't stand the thought that the plan would have worked only up to that point. But just as I was almost out of faith, I saw a head of black hair appear above the ledge.

And there was Jill.

Looking at me.

We simply stared at each other for a while from about 20 yards apart. I was sitting under one of the only 2 trees up on the top of Angel's Landing, which is a little scraggly thing that provides precious little shade, but does afford a view of where hikers first emerge onto the Landing, which is why I'd camped out there.

After a few minutes, Jill climbed fully up onto Angel's Landing and came over to me. I saw she carried the backpack, which I'd carefully instructed her to do. Now, where we were sitting wasn't really the best part of Angel's Landing; that bit was about another 100 feet or so ahead, just over a last small crest of rock. As Jill approached, I said- "Angel's Landing is really over there- I thought we'd do the last little bit together."

Jill lay down on the rock, in the small bit of shade, and we stayed there more or less quietly for several minutes. Then she professed to be ready to go the last distance, and so we went to the very edge of Angel's Landing together.

For a little bit, Jill told me about how she'd made it to the top, and how hard it had been. I wanted to give my speech, but there were several people around, and I waited for them to go. As they were leaving, I noticed a group of guys approaching, and I realized I probably wasn't going to get actual privacy up on top of one of America's premier hiking spots, in the middle of the afternoon in the middle of the summer, so I bit the bullet and jumped into my speech.

I said that our relationship had involved a brief period of wonderful time together- both in the first couple months we new each other, back in 2006, and in the last few weeks, since Jill had moved in. Then our relationship had entered a long phase in which we had to make separate journeys of discovery, both from late 2006 until Belize, and again over the last 2 days. And in that time of journeying separately, neither of us could know for certain that we would end up together at the end; the only thing there was to do was follow our hearts, and follow what clues there seemed to be. But in the end, both then and now, we had ended up together.

At this point, I bent down and picked up the backpack, and started rummaging in the pocket where I normally keep a stash of pens. While I was doing that, I gave the second part of my speech, in which I said that I believed in the importance of symbolism, and that in her letter to me all those years ago, the one which responded to the 5 letters I'd written her telling her our story in the form of a fairytale, in that letter she had alluded to the many challenges of her life, challenges which she was still dealing with, and which made it not possible to accept what I was offering her then (in 2006), but which she felt she had made progress on and believed she would make more progress on in the future. In that letter, she used the metaphor of climbing a mountain, and said that she felt she had already climbed a mountain, and that all she needed to do was turn around and see how far she'd come.

"So," I said to Jill, "here you are. You've climbed the mountain. Now look, and see how far you've come."

The truth is, we had each climbed a literal and metaphorical mountain to get to that moment. I told her that being with me for life would not be easy, that there would surely be many times when, as on her hike up to Angel's Landing, she questioned whether it was worth it to keep on going. I asked that whenever those times came, she remember this day, and remember the decision she'd made to stick with me. I promised her that if she made the decision to stick with me, as she'd done this day, then there would always come a time when she'd look back and be glad she did.

And the last point I made was this- that in putting together this complex plan, I'd made a decision to trust Jill: to trust that she would follow me, even not knowing exactly where she was headed, to trust that she'd figure out all the clues, and to trust that she'd not give up, even when it seemed hardest. I wanted to have the opportunity to demonstrate how much I trusted and believed in her, and I wanted her to have the opportunity to prove to herself that she really did want this. Finally, I told her that everything she needed to succeed, everything necessary for us to be together, she'd had with her from the very beginning- some things she'd known she had: the intellect to figure out the clues, the determination and perseverance to follow them; but she'd also had some things with her that she *didn't* realize she had: letters stashed under her seat or in her backpack, for instance. And, I said, there is one more thing you've had since the beginning, that you didn't realize you had. At that point, I'd emptied out all the pens from their little pouch in the backpack, found the tiny ziploc bag I'd safety-pinned to the bottom of the pouch, and pulled out the engagement ring I'd bought for Jill- the ring that unbeknownst to her she'd been carrying for two days, across four different states and all the way up the mountain.

And so there, on Angel's Landing, I asked Jill to marry me. She started to cry, and then said: "Yes of course."

The group of guys who had joined us on Angel's Landing could see something was up, and one of them took some pictures of the event. I've included them here:





We are right at the cliff's edge. Either she will say "yes", or throw me to my death. Either way, I figure I get what I deserve.










She said "yes!"


















Hooray! Now let's get the hell off this mountain before the storm that is rapidly bearing down on us from the left of this picture arrives...
















Here to tell the story of getting up the mountain is Jill:



"I get to the trailhead and look up. FUCK YOU AUGUSTINE MATTAMMAL. I hoof it. I am almost at a jog. Back and forth, up a small incline, up another, slow down, get passed by an old Indian couple. Fuck. Nearly get passed by a deer. Damn. Tired. Hot. Thirsty. Limping. Hot. Slowing. Slowing more.

It's early afternoon and knowing how slow I'm getting I am losing my lead. Damn. I get to the ever famous switch-back Walter's Wiggles. Fuck you Walter. I have to stop every 6 feet and pant. The Indian couple waddles past me AGAIN. I've been on this trail almost an hour. I can do this, right? RIGHT?! SIGH.

I get to the sandy area just below the rock climb and I look up. Fuck and FUCK YOU. It's steep. But I made it this far. I've made it this far in life and it's not been easy I am not going to stop now. I am not going to let some crusty hill and smartass, funny man foil me. I am Hippolyta.

I start climbing. And by climbing it's really scampering carefully hand over hand over large and small boulders and sandy spots while clinging to chains. It's hot. VERY HOT. No cover. And the whole trail is a foot wide and the cliff is no wider than 10' in most places.

I reach the first apex. Whew. I am tired. I am sweating. I am determined. I look up to at least 50 feet of more rocks and chains. I start up.

I get up there and have to ditch the iPod. I can't listen to anything but the voices in my head that are cursing the existence of god, Gus and the sun.

I reach another apex and sit. How much more of this will I have to endure? Wait...Is that ANOTHER chain I see WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY up there? Yes it is.

I climb. I climb more. I skin my knee. I finish one of the bottles of water. I curse. I see a man coming down and I wait.

"Did you go to the top?" I growl.

"Yeah, It's not THAT much further." (SMILE)

Honestly, I am tired of the smiling.

"MY BOYFRIEND BETTER BE UP THERE GOD DAMMIT!"

Startled, the nice, graying, middle-aged man says "Oh he is".

I know he's lying...just telling me whatever I want to hear. He scampers away.

I look down. I think I may die. It's hot. It's REALLY HOT and I try to huddle under a scrawny tree. I am dirty, sweaty, tired, hungry, angry, scared. I drink a big gulp of water and then throw it up. Fetal in the dirt I think: "this isn't worth it. I can't do it. I am too tired. It's awful. I am not good enough. Maybe he should have married one of the other 6 girls that could actually make it up here. If I lay here long enough SOMEONE will find me."

Then I thought. WHAT IF HE'S NOT UP THERE? Something exploded in my brain. What if I get up there and there's another note. I. WILL. KILL. HIM. AND. NO. ONE. WILL. BLAME. ME.

I get up. I struggle. I slip. I cry. I stare at the thousands of feet of air below me. I see the top. I drag myself hand over hand up the chain. When I get to the top I see...

MORE ROCK AND MORE CHAIN.

There is no god. If there is a god he/she clearly HATES ME and in turn I HATE HIM OR HER (and Gus).

At some point shortly after that (or not so shortly since the heat has me blurry) I see that the rocks level off. I see a tree and I make it up to it and a flat rock. The horizon becomes flat and I see Gus sitting off at the distance. I stand there and vacillate on my ability to move. I know I can't run. I can't talk. I can't cry. He's standing there waiting MOTHERFUCKINGSMILING. Ugh. Death.

I can't move. I start to sway. I stand there a few minutes and stagger the last 30 yards to him like John Wayne at the end of True Grit. When I arrive he's SMILING and says:

"It's just a few feet over here to the end."

"IAMNOTGOINGANYWHEREWEAREGOINGTOSITRIGHTHEREASSHOLE"

How can he still be smiling? Oh that’s right, he’s been up here for HOURS (with his books and laptop, and water).

I see the smallest tree on the planet that couldn’t even shade a chipmunk and we park it right there.

It takes me a few good minutes to gather myself. This is the point where Gus is lucky I have ZERO ability to think or move or he would have been a memorial greasy spot at the bottom of the rock.

Me: stares out at the sky and rock.

Gus: smiling, rubbing my back, smiling.

Finally I talk:
“thatwasreallyhardandunfairandyouleftmeinthemiddleofthenightandflewalisontoLAand…and…and...”

I think at this point he went on and on about how he knew I could make it and how he was so happy that I was able to hang in there and follow his little plan.

Me: still staring…at this point thinking I just wanted to be back in Vegas in the AC, napping, eating real food.

As we sit there I manage to eat and drink a little more and share some trail mix with a very aggressive little critter. I think it’s the first time in my life I didn’t scream with delight to be within touching distance of something so squee. Screw you chipmunk.

So Gus convinces me to go closer to the edge (not a good idea if you know Gus). I comply because now I realize my revenge…he’s carrying me down. We take photos, chat, etc. There’s no one else on the rock. He goes over and digs in his backpack, the one I’ve been carrying and comes back.

This is what I hear: “BLAH BLAH BLAH…I love you….BLAH BLAH BLAH…I know that this was hard and you were upset but you made it, I knew you could…and BLAH BLAH BLAH (something about how everything I ever needed to get here I had all along).”

Now’s not the time for him to be poetic.

And I see a group of dudes coming up the hill. I look at Gus and he’s still talking and I look down at a ring. It’s very pretty ring. Very art deco, very shiny, something I would love. I think:

“wow, that’s pretty. He’s giving me a ring, that’s nice….”

(that’s right kids, I thought it was just a ring…I didn’t have the capacity to realize that it was THE RING—sigh—but it’s his fault my IQ had dropped 50 points from dehydration)

WAIT-A-MINUTE!

And I assume this is the part where he actually ASKED to marry me. In the 45 seconds it took me to figure out what was happening all I could say was “of course” to any and all interrogatives.

THEN IT HITS ME.

And I cry (for the 1400th time in 2 days).

Then I try to shove this gorgeous ring on my swollen like sausage of fingers. Voila.

WAIT…

WASTHATRINGINYOURBACKPACKALLALONG? HAVEIBEENCARRYINGMYOWNENGAGEMENTRING?

Yes.

Stunned. My drama cache is bankrupt. I can’t even register any emotion over this other than to tell him the story about how I ALMOST DIDN’T BRING THE BACKPACK to Vegas. At the moment of this conversation my engagement ring could be sitting in my car at the airport in California. THEN WHAT WOULD HE DO?

Also please note that when I was in the Burbank airport I poked around in the very same pocket it was in. Due to this incident, Gus has used up his ability to hide stuff like that in plain sight. Every crevice in his life is subject to my constant TSA-like scrutiny. Yes, every. Since then we have had several backpacks enter our lives- so far, no additional diamonds squirreled away. My oversight has 100% reliability now.

So, the dudes coming up the mountain catch what is happening (glad someone did) and snap our photo! Thanks! I LOOK LIKE BOILED DEATH.

Then all that drama disappears. I was stunned. He did an amazing job planning and executing this whole ordeal. He has NO idea how many times it almost all fell apart. He’s very brave. I felt bad that I reacted so hatefully, when all he was doing was executing the most ridiculous marriage proposal on earth. I am one lucky girl.

Really? You really want to marry me. Are you sure? Because you can have more time to think about that…

We sit and smile and cry and laugh and on the horizon creeping up on us is the biggest, blackest cloud in Utah. It’s about to rain on our parade. Not just rain either. It looks dangerous. Going down was easier or at least mitigated by the shiny rock on my sausage finger. Before we even got to the end of the trail we were picking out dates. But alas, the scheme had not ended..."


Back to me:


And so it came to pass that I tricked Jill into agreeing to marry me by waiting until she was near death from exhaustion and dehydration, and therefore sufficiently relieved of her mental faculties to say "yes of course" to any question I asked. Single men out there in the world may wish to take note of this strategy.

Sadly, there wasn't a lot of time to relax and take in the moment. We could see a pretty nasty looking squall headed down the canyon, and on top of Angel's Landing is not really where you want to be in a thunderstorm. Plus, we had to hike all the way down and drive the 2 hours back to Vegas that night.

So, we headed down the mountain together. As we hiked, Jill recounted the trip up the mountain for me. In a way it was all so very surreal- all the planning had paid off, from a big picture perspective everything pretty much went as planned, despite all the complexity, and she had said "yes." Mix all that with the exhaustion of all this activity, and a grand total of maybe 3 hours of sleep in the last 60 hours, and I was in a daze.

We got down the mountain, got to our cars, and drove back to Las Vegas. I had a bunch of people to call, and did the best I could- cell phone reception in the Nevada/Utah/Arizona desert is spotty. We pulled off the road in St. George to have a celebratory meal. I decided to take her to the place best suited to celebrate our new engagement:

Denny's.

mmmmm, Denny's. The St. George Denny's is a good one- I've eaten there several times. And anyway, it's not obvious that there are a lot of better options at 10pm in St. George, so don't judge me.

We finally rolled into Las Vegas quite late at night, and exhausted, we used the nifty in-room hot tub and then went to bed.

In the morning, Jill went out to do some shopping while I stayed at the room to do some skype tutoring. When she came back, she fixed me a look of daggers.

Uh oh- looks like someone has finally heard the last piece of the story.

You see, dear readers, some of you might have noticed a gap in storyline: I left the house at 230am on Wednesday, and then arrived in Las Vegas at 1am on Thursday. You might wonder where I'd been for 22 hours- Vegas is only an hour away from SF by plane, after all..

I left the house at 230am on Wednesday and headed to SFO to catch a 6am flight to Atlanta. It was from the airport that I texted with Alison, warning her about Jill's state of mind. I got on the flight, failed to get any real sleep, and arrived in Atlanta at about 230pm local time. I rented a car, and drove the 1.5 hours to Homer, GA, where Jill's mom lives. I arrived shortly after 4, and marched up to the front door and ran the doorbell.

After a few minutes, Jill's mom (Jane) came to the door. I could see her look at me, recognize me, and then look to the side of me, obviously looking to see if Jill was with me. She opened the door.

Jane: "Well, hello there.."

Me: "Hi Jane, how are you?"

Jane: "I'm just fine, thanks. Um, Jill's not with you.."

Me: "No, no, Jill actually has no idea at all that I'm here. She's on a little trip of her own."

Jane: "Well, what brought you all the way out here without Jill's knowledge?"

Me: "Jane, I came here to tell you a story."

Jane: "You flew all the way here to tell me a *story*? Why didn't you just pick up the phone and call me?"

Me: "Well, I think some stories are best told in person. I think you'll agree that this is one of them."

Jane: "Come on in then, and tell me your story. Though I kinda think I might know what this story is going to be about.."

So we went inside to the living room, and I began by saying that while I knew Jill had told her the story of how we had come to be dating from her perspective, I thought she might want to hear the story from my perspective. And so I told her all the things I wrote about in the first 5 installments of this series. It turned out that Jill had left out many of the more subtle details, so Jane seemed pretty interested. I ended by saying that I loved her daughter very much.

Jane: "That's a very nice story. Jill told me a lot of it- not all the details, but the important stuff. And she does look happier than I think I've ever seen her. But you didn't have to fly all the way here just to tell me that."

Me: "Well, there is a little more..."

And then I told her that it was my intention to ask Jill to marry me the following evening, and that I had come to ask for her blessing. I then said that I understood that once upon a time, another man had come to ask a similar thing, and that given that that situation had not worked out so well, plus the fact that Jill and I really hadn't been dating all that long, I wanted now to take the time to let Jane air any concerns she had, and ask all of her questions, which I would attempt to answer as honestly and fully as I could.

And so, the second half of our conversation was my addressing Jane's understandable concerns, and answering some questions about my own upbringing, attitudes about family and marriage, personal history, etc. It was very cordial, and I didn't mind answering any of the questions at all. When all was said and done, Jane did give her blessing, which I was very grateful for.

Jane: "By the way, how did you know I would even be home?"

Me; "Well, I remember Jill said you work half-days on Wednesdays, and I saw from the flight schedule that I would arrive late-afternoon, which I figured would be late enough that you would be home from work, but early enough to catch you before you went out for dinner or something. Truthfully, I didn't have a real good plan on this part- I really needed it to just work. And it did."

Jane: "Do you need a place to stay tonight?"

Me: "No, I'm actually on the 10pm flight out of Atlanta, so I can't stay too much longer."

Jane: "You're flying back out *tonight*? Well, would you like to get dinner before you go?"

Me: "Dinner sounds amazing. I actually haven't had a meal since... since I think dinner yesterday."

So we went to a nice dinner, and then I bade Jane goodbye. As we were getting ready to go, I said:

Me: "Like I said, Jill has no idea that I came here. And... I'm not going to tell her. If she says yes tomorrow, you will be one of the first people she calls. I'll leave it to you to be the one to tell her. It can be your surprise."

Jane seemed to enjoy that, and wished me good luck the next day. And off I went, on the drive back to Atlanta. At that point, I had now gone about 36 hours without sleep, and by the time I was nearing the outer edge of Atlanta, I was having to drive with the windows down, occasionally slapping myself across the face, to keep myself from falling asleep at the wheel. But I did make it back ok and on time, and got myself to Las Vegas.

Now, here's Jill again, recounting how she came to hear about this piece of the story:


"We drove back to Vegas calling everyone we know. I reached my mom pretty late and she sounded surprised and happy and said we’d talk tomorrow. I didn’t realize she was still in on it. We stopped in St. George to eat our first meal as a betrothed couple…at…Denny’s, of course.

It took me forever to get back to the hotel thanks to construction and traffic on The Strip. And when I got there Gus looked like he was about to pass out. I guess weeks of planning and hours of me hot on his trail wore him out. When I woke up the next morning he was already awake and before I was fully able to focus my eyes he said “so lets plan a wedding!”. He was up and calling his future groomsmen. I really didn’t need to call Alison SINCE SHE KNEW ALREADY! He had sent her a picture of the ring. I did manage to get the rest of the crew on the phone. It was reassuring to know that SOMEONE was surprised.

And then I hear the story about how he went to ATL.

Standing on Las Vegas Blvd near Barbary Coast my mom calls. I start telling her about the events and she asks me what my ring looks like. I started to tell her and then she interrupted me and said that she also thought the sapphires were more me than rubies.

WAIT…WHAT? IHAVEN’TGOTTENTOTHEPARTABOUTHTESAPPHIRESYET. How did she know? Wait? Did I post it on Facebook? Did I text it? Did I tell her last night? Nope. Gus told her.

WAIT? GUSTOLDYOUWHEN? “When he came to my house yesterday?”

“SHUTTHEFUCKUPWHAT?” Half of Las Vegas Boulevard came to a screeching halt.

After I got over my initial reaction to “oh god, I hope my mother doesn’t think he’s a stalker” I realized what a good plan that was. He was smart to do that. She was in on it all and now she’s gleefully smug that I was so duped by everyone, especially her. When I got back to the hotel he was on skype with a student. So I sat there staring with imaginary giant exclamation points swimming around my head and when he was done:

“YOUDIDWHAT?!YOUWENTTOGEORGIATOSEEMYMOTHER?!”

How in the world did he pull that off? HOW? That’s about as possible as me winning the basketball pool (oh, wait, currently I am)."


Editor's Note: As of this editing, _I_ am now winning the basketball pool, having taken over the top spot from Jill. Which has caused much consternation in our household, let me tell you.

We passed a blissful Friday at New York, New York in Vegas, having dinner at Paris, and checking out the local burlesque show. In the morning, we flew back to Burbank, and met up with Alison at the airport. Then, the 3 of us took all day and drove up the PCH all the way back to the beachhouse. Jill again:


"By the time we got back to Burbank to retrieve Alison I was spent. Totally spent. I only half enjoyed the ride up PCH to SF. Gus’ brother Mikey was in town for the night and as we recounted the story again Mikey said “did you tell Sweet Pea this plan because she never would have gone for this”. Gus is very lucky he didn’t tell anyone he didn’t have to. He’s lucky that my mother loves seeing me had over keeping his secret. He’s lucky that Alison didn’t doubt this union and tell me to run. He’s lucky that everything he wanted to happen did, just like he wanted when he wanted (don’t get use to that). But I am the lucky one. I am the one who gets to marry Gus (that is if he doesn’t change his mind)."


Final Editor's Note: The truth is, I'm the lucky one- I get to marry Jill, who is the most amazing woman I have ever met, and who has totally changed my life. This engagement story is complex, messy, and long. There were a million places along the way where it could have, and probably *should* have failed. But because of our determination, our love for each other, and the support of the people in our lives, in the end the story has a happy ending. And in that respect, this engagement story is the perfect metaphor for the relationship we have.

So thanks for reading it. If you actually read all this, you must be one of the special people in our lives. We thank you for that.