I was already on my way to comatose when the Swing's Christmas party started. It seemed like I did something out of order that made me uncomfortable the entire night. By "out of order" I'm not referring to hurt feelings or belligerence; I'm talking about drinking 4 eggnogs after several rum and Cokes. Enough second-hand smoke materialized in my lungs to give a giraffe a sore throat. After several performances by Frank, Swing's electrician/magician, I made a fan out of a fork and a Styrofoam plate. Someone called me Cleopatra because of it. Instead of acting out (with at least violent words) against the remark, I was too tired to care. The atmosphere was perfect at the Xchange Saloon. My final drowsy moments (before staggering through the crowd and out the door) were submerged in a Charles Dickens underworld. I believe this illusion was created by both Frank the Magician and the eggnog.