Now that I have written of my concern for my friend J, and relief at her response, here's a 10-day-old photo of me that may well make you wonder about my own consumption.

Unfortunately, I can reassure you that what followed later on this night was not particularly raucous or madcap (two words I have been dying to use for some time now). It was, in fact, a sobering night with a disquieting ending. But tonight, we shall not go there. One because it's no fun to write about and two, because it's really not my story to tell.

Instead, I thought airing this in blogland this might make someone out there smile. Plus, I've just now figured out how to publish photos. Like a kid with a new toy -- or a frustrated former writer who no longer gets enough chances to use words like "raucous" or "madcap" -- I'm anxious to show off my new skill.

The flask is a story all its own. It was a Christmas gift that emitted dangerous vibes from the moment the wrapping paper fell away to reveal its smooth silver surface. It came with its own tiny funnel and was perfectly designed to slip into a purse. It winked up at me, begging to be used, whispering, "I'm your new friend! Take me everywhere!" I tucked it at the far corner of a high cupboard, completely out of my sight.

But not out of mind. From behind closed doors, it called to me. "I'm a gift! Don't insult your friend. Use me!"

I brought my silver buddy down one day to accompany my son and I on a springtime walk. He stared at me as I attempted to pour boxed white wine into its small mouth; I had completely forgotten about the funnel. I looked at him again and realized he was not staring after all. He was glaring.

Shamed, I put the partially-filled flask in the refrigerator and closed the door on it.

Robby never said a word. Neither did I. But the flask objected mightily. Or so I imagined.

Two Saturday nights ago, it finally made its official debut. Like any star attraction, it was photographed. Pictured with a beautiful woman. No wait, pictured with a woman. No, that's not right either. Pictured with a pop-eyed, fanatical appearing creature of some sort. The flask, and its brother owned by a visiting friend from a southern city, got its night on the town. It rode the light rail, visited a couple of downtown establishments and peeked out of my pocket as we strolled took LoDo and the Sixteenth Street Mall. Thoroughly depleted, it rode the train back home. Both flasks were along, too, for the disquieting ending of which I spoke earlier.

I suspect the evening would have ended the same if the flasks have both stayed home. But it's a convenient item to blame. Until I can come to terms with its role in our evening, it's been relegated back to its former home. High and away. Out of sight. Its seductive voice momentarily has been silenced.

Yet I have to admit: The thing is pretty darn photogenic. Even its ambivalent owner can see it has flash, a certain sense of presence. Reluctantly, I'm giving the flask its moment in the sun here on the blog. Admire it well. Although it thinks it's flying with me to Tucson next month, this photo may be its last public outing.

And consider this picture a warning: Things on my newly illustrated blog could get really ugly from here on out. Even uglier, and more bizarre, than this picture. Someday, it might just be you who gets the spotlight. Say 'Cheese.'