Dear Reader, I have some terrible news. Are you sitting down?  There was a very bad accident yesterday-- a tragic accident--and we lost someone we all care about. Let me start from the beginning. Hopefully we will all get some closure.

It all started in the infamous blizzard of 2010 (yesterday). After snowshoeing to work all the way from Brooklyn, only to find most people didn't show up, I was peeved to say the least. Most other offices in the city let their workers out early, but no! The noble work of educational technology must go on! Let no spreadsheet go un-aggregated, no div tag unclosed! We thankless souls slaved as the snow fell, designing the rubric to end all rubrics, the scantron of the future.

Around 4pm, I was trying to determine the least uncomfortable place I could sleep in the office, if, in fact, I couldn't get back to brooklyn at all. The New York One weatherman had been screaming "apocalypse!! Save yourselves, for the love of God!!" all day, while I watched poor, underdressed hipsters fly by my window, caught up in gusts of snow.

Finally, I had had it. I was going to go brave the elements, take on that primordial monster the F train, and get home to my dog. But on the way, why dont I stop and get a little bubbly to make my evening more festive? It was champagne wednesday, after all. And that wine store right on the way to the subway was surely God's way of telling me I should drink more alcohol.

So I got my perfectly acceptable cheap bottle of prosecco and headed off to the train, looking forward to an evening of tipsy Dexter reruns. And that's where it all went down. I took one step down the subway steps and the bottle literally jumped out of my bag and hurled itself down the stairs, narrowly missing homeless-man-in-a-newspaper-hat, and shattering in a million tragic bubbles on the ground.

At first, I thought this must be a subway christening event. Then, I realized this station had been around for a hundred stinky years, and it was my precious, innocent, oh so bubbly bottle that had just commited suicide. There I was, hanging on to the railing and wailing, "Nooooo! It can't be! He was so young!"  Looking around, I realized everyone else was purposely ignoring the gruesome event that had just occurred, stepping gingerly around the broken glass and pretending a crazy lady wasn't wailing on the subway steps (actually, both of these are fairly common).

I was able to pull myself together and make it home, eventually, where my friend Valpolicella and I had a very nice wake for Champy. We laughed, we cried, we ate ricotta straight from the container.

It is Champagne Thursday, after all, so let's raise a glass to Champy. He will be missed.