magicbeans. nothing if not awkward.

It's never a good sign when you end the evening drinking straight out of the big bottle of table wine. You might feel okay at the time, maybe even a little under-buzzed for the occasion, but half an hour later that wine's going to hit you and you're going to find yourself stumbling out of the train at 125th Street and above ground to get some air and ease your stomach or puke in the street, whichever comes first.

The air did the trick. And so back on the subway, and home, to pass out and wake up in the middle of the night, dehydrated, and drinking again from a wine bottle, but water this time, from the 750ml bottle I keep next to my bed.

Earlier, Jack Morton Day, this year's World Day. Not being on staff, I wasn't invited to the day's events in the office, but as a sometime member of the Bank of America team, I was invited to the evening's festivities, at a restaurant in Little Italy.

Food, which for me meant about half a loaf of bread and olive oil. Wine, red then white then the aforementioned bottle, after people were leaving and the bussers took all the glasses from our table while I was talking with some people across the room. And a charity auction with items donated by people in the office and winning bids so far beyond my pay scale that it was absurd.

And no after-partying for me this year, and although I may have overdone it a little at the end, the night fell short of bender territory, and well short of last year's second most drunk I've ever been.