Yesterday at dinner K, JS & I took advantage of the ‘Kutsche’s brown paper tablecloths and made lists: five small superpowers we’d like to have, potential autobiography titles.(JS’s was Covered in Lipstick or a series of puns on his actual name, which invites them; K’s was Sexualize at Will, I think, though we might have eventually come up with a better one.) At midnight JS turned twenty five, and, since K had a headache and had gone home early, this meant that I got roped into accompanying him to his friend’s co-worker’s party, which was a bro-fest beyond imagining. I found a corner from which to observe and the makings of a gin and tonic and settled in to wait the thing out.

At some point one of the guys, who I had absolutely never met before, wandered away from the beer pong table, found me, and laid his head on my shoulder. “Listen,” he said, “I just want to let you know that I’m sincere.”

“About what?” I asked.

He took his head off my shoulder. “ABOUT MY LIFE” he yelled “I AM VERY SINCERE ABOUT MY LIFE.”

So at the very least 2011 has given me this: Very Sincere About My Life: The Zan Romanoff Story.