Last night I found myself marveling: at the fact that I'd (we'd) finally moved to the city, at the fact that it allowed me to be quite a bit more social than I normally was, but mostly at the fact that I was wandering drunk down Market St. toward 8th, where I'd pick up the bus to take me home, at 10pm on a Monday night thoroughly enjoying the sensation, at least in part because I didn't have far to go.
I'd just come from Hotel B[*]...something, a shishi wine bar where I'd met up with Salim and, coincidentally, Aram, and just spent a lovely few hours.
The other source of my amusement was something I'd put together before, but I don't think I'd shared it here: alcohol tolerance is a function of (among other things) body mass. My own tolerance has gone down perceptibly now that there is 24% less of me. I'm becoming a cheaper date. I never remember that up front. That's what I get for drinking so much wine on an empty stomach.
[*] Every time I try to remember the name of the bar I think "Hotel Baronni" as in Baron Greenback's yes-man Stiletto's "Si, Baronni", and start giggling. It's actually Hôtel Biron.
