So, okay. I suffer from somewhat severe acrophobia--which is not the fear of acros, but the fear of heights. It started in about 2000, and it has become steadily worse, to the point that it is now kind of hilarious.

For instance: I am not able to stand on top of a table. This will become relevant to our story in a moment.

But first I want to say that while phobias are irrational, fears are not. There is nothing wrong with being afraid of heights: When you stand (as I once did, pre-acrophobia) at the lip of the Grand Canyon and look down, you should be afraid. Because if you fall, you will die. All fears are based in this, I think--you become aware that you are at Moment X, and that occasionally Moment X is changed by Factor Y, and that Moment XY is widely know for being miserable and/or fatal.

(So, like: In his book Everything and More, David Foster Wallace argued that fear of flying in an airplane is not an irrational fear, because planes do sometimes crash. On the other hand, if we spend our lives obsessed with all the improbable-but-possible factor Y's with which our Moment X's might intersect, we'd be unable to function.)

(But on the danger of Moment XY: Once, someone pointed out that if you fall from a height of three feet, you are very unlikely to die or even to hurt yourself. That would be true, of course, if I were zero feet tall. Unfortunately, I am six feet tall, so when I am putting myself another three unnecessary feet into the heavens, parts of me--some of the most important parts--are in fact NINE FEET from the ground.)

Right so but anyway: My dear friends Justine Larbalestier and Scott Westerfeld like to tease me about being phobic. A couple weeks ago, we were at a party together, and I was staying far away from the windows because the party was on like the 12th floor, and Justine said, "How much would we have to pay you to stand on top of that table?" And then she pointed at a table, approximately dining-room-table height. It looked quite wobbly.

And I laughed, because, you know, other people were watching and I didn't want them to think I was crazy.

And then Justine said, "No, really. How much would we have to pay you?"

So I had to think of a very specific number: The number had to be low enough that the small crowd that had by now assembled wouldn't think me absolutely insane, and yet high enough that I wouldn't have to stand on top of the table.

After a few seconds of analysis, I said, "5,000 dollars." This turned out to be the wrong sum of money. Justine just nodde and said, "Okay." And I said, "Okay, what?" and she said, "Okay, stand on the table and I'll give you 5,000 dollars to the charity of your choosing."

Five thousand dollars is a lot of money. You can do a lot of good with five thousand dollars. I've seen five thousand dollars change the world.

And so, dear reader, I'm sure you can guess what happened next.

I could not bring myself to stand on top of the table. I thought of the hundreds of people I would help; I thought of the joy that I always feel at lightening the wallets of my friends Scott and Justine; and then I thought of life up there on top of that table, nine feet in the air, and I slunk off to the bar to order something strong.

And there, I thought, the story ended, until I received an email from Justine saying that the offer stood. So, okay. This weekend, no matter how hard it may be, I am going to climb to new heights for charity (with Sarah videotaping it). This, by the way, will also fulfill my outsanding debt to Lauren Myracle. Wish me luck, fearless readers. I'm gonna need it.