I gained some fascinating data from the field, as it were, on the social behavior of the supremely drunk party-goer. I'll have to add to my previous notes about being told with the utmost gravity that certain girls across the room really really like me (which later, sadly, turned out to be an unsatisfied prediction) that drunk people will sometimes tell you stories that seem on the one hand to be completely hilarious, since the teller is laughing so much, while you, the listener, begin to suspect that precisely the funny part has been somehow removed from the surrounding narrative with great care and precision, since what is left is series of events that don't quite fit together right.
And before all this I ran into a good chunk of the population of the Sherbrook Yurt in Squirrel Hill, of whom my fondness knows few bounds. I struck a heroic pose and I think it was photographed.