Nine years ago today, at a Ben Folds Five concert at the late, lamented Liberty Lunch, I met my now-wife Allison Baker. I thought she was a knockout, and she suspected I was gay. Two days later we met for drinks, and five days after that we went out for a proper date. She stayed the night, and never left.

Somewhere in there, we were sitting on my crummy couch, smoking Camel Lights, drinking Pepsi (my two passions, for most of my adult life, both sadly now relegated to special occasions), and watching Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, which she'd never seen. It was probably "The Visitor," the series' best episode, but I can't say for certain. When the credits rolled, I got up to eject the tape, sure that she'd be ready to move onto something else, and glad that she'd been patient enough to sit through one episode. I was halfway across the floor when she said, "Do you have any more?" I knew, right then, that I would marry her. We ended up watching nothing but DS9 for days, which only served to seal the deal.