I feel sorry for people who just can't get enough suspension. Someone who is hungry for hanging-and whose desire is not fed-is a pitiful sight.

Recently, I went to a hanging party and saw a woman teased, seduced and ultimately scorned on the scaffold.

The party had started as most such events do, with the hangmaster suspending his assistant from a common hardware-store pipe frame. First, he hung her by her feet, with her hair gently brushing the floor. Then he hung her by her hands, with her legs spread, in the position known as the Eiffel Tower .

The hangmaster then asked if anyone else wanted to dangle, and a quiet woman walked to the Procrustean frame. The scaffold wasn't very high, but she wasn't very tall. After her ankles had been strapped to the pipe, her head did not not reach the floor.

"Do you want to come down now?" the hang wizard asked.

"No," she said.

"I'm afraid you'll have to. We're running short on time."

I felt bad on her behalf. Would she ever get another chance to be a human pendulum? To play on the devil's swing set? To be hung out to dry? I doubted it.

I wanted to give her my phone number and say, "I believe in torque. I am familiar with gyroscopic principles. I have boat winches, car jacks and meat hoists. I also have an iron spine. Your composure will snap long before mine does."

I was sure that, with me, she would go over the top, make the stretch and take the plunge.