I read a few chapters of John Blesso's memoir Sharehouse Confidential: Sex, Drugs, and the Single Life Inside an Epicurean Beach House last night and woke up with a serious headache. Is it possible to be hungover just from reading about the epicurean lifestyle? Maybe it's a flashback hangover from those long ago single days of my own. Although, I doubt I ever had as much fun as these people. I'm happy for John. This endeavor is perfect for him -- he loves to entertain and is always the consummate host. I don't know anyone else who could run a sharehouse with as much panache.