Charleston.

In what's become something of an annual tradition, a small group of my closest friends from college, two of whom no longer live here in New York, met up this past weekend and stirred up trouble in a place unaccustomed to the likes of us. This time, the lovely cove of Charleston, South Carolina, was the backdrop for our reunion and tomfoolery.

Liz and I flew down out of LaGuardia, in a hellish ordeal courtesy Delta Airlines. Our non-stop flight was delayed, then the delayed flight was boarded and de-boarded, then cancelled, only the fine folks at Delta didn't tell anyone it was. So we sat there waiting like assholes until we noticed our flight was no longer listed as a departure, got on the standby list for a flight to Atlanta, which Liz got a seat on, but which they forgot to give me a seat on, until I frantically made a stink at the ticket counter as the flight started to board.

At one point, Liz, smile worn and hair tousled, turned to me in earnest and said, "Do I look all...Miss Havisham?" This sent us rolling into the aisles, onto a flight to Atlanta, and, eight hours late, into our terminal at the Charleston airport.

Our friend Alyson picked us up in her vintage Mercedes, when, like a jack-in-the-box in the passenger seat, our friend Kelda, who had told us she couldn't make it, leapt out. Our excitement, like so much Splenda, quickly sweetened the iced tea of our discontent.

Now, here is a quick glimpse at Things We Did in Charleston.

We:

Flew a C-17.

Flew a kite.

Jumped.

Ate.

And leaned on old buildings.

Don't you wish you were there? Especially for the leaning.

It was all great fun. Next year in Jerusalem! Er, I mean...Wisconsin?