It's rough; I'm the lone authentic drunk person. Wish I could do more.

The above was written last night. This and below in the aftermath.

Learning the lessons of Friday night, I engaged myself with strong drink early, and at a retail price. I'd played host and East Village guide to my friend Jessica -- a rich tradtion that I pass on with relish from my Aunt's first welcoming me to New York. Jess is engaged to my friend Dave. Sometime in October they'll cease to be living in sin. We ate a great meal at Acme and ended up at a newish Jazz joint somewhere in alphabet city where they charged around $10 for a glass of whisky, which is what they're allowed to do now I suppose.

The city is changing. There are lots of new building around, most quite ugly and out of place. There are police barriers around the Astor Place Cube. The trajectory was clear when I left, but the arc has continued high and long.

Learning the lessons of Friday night I braced myself with a few large bottles of Pabst to go with my Greenpoint Chinese food, and purchased a half-pint of Beam en route to the bar; guzzled brown-bag style on the walk and finished off seruptitously in a back booth. It was my friend Kristi's birthday, so the crowd was good and friendly. People I'd not seen who I pestered with whisky quesitons and oogled on the sly. I oogle now. It's another thing I've picked up.

And when I got bored I called good old Julia who was a few blocks away at a Lawerly apartment party. I came a-calling and spent too long talking to some girl before going up on the roof to get some air, where I somehow spilled my party cup of wine all over my white thermal shirt, which sort of put an end to that conversation. Destroyed my credibilty I believe. It was a frustrating affair anyway. Better time talking with Henning in any case; I attempted to give a piggyback ride on the way to the L-train and collapsed, skinning my knee and bruising my left eye a bit.

The subway and walk home are a bit of a blur, but I'm confident it included Palace Fried Chicken because I can still pick it out of my teeth now. And I now know for a fact that there's a leak in my Thermarest.

What have we learned? That the patterns of behavior you remember still exist, but are potentially more expensive. That people you know are in medical school or getting married or working real jobs. That your friends may or may not still be in touch all that much over the years. That the feeling you had of wanting to grow up a bit when you left was held pretty much in common and everyone still wants to change their lives. That it hasn't happened yet and that it doesn't feel like it's in a hurry to.

If you are sad and lonely, and have no place to go
call me up, sweet baby, and bring along some dough
and we'll go honky tonkin'...