Two weeks ago I had a religious experience. A higher power -- probably Angelina Jolie -- spared my life by incarcerating me while I was supposed to be forgetting my own name in Jamaica with Thrillist on their Jet Mystery trip. Since that life-changing experience, I've sworn off alcohol, I don't go out anymore, and I only do hard drugs if they're not cut with anything. I've kidnapped two inner-city children and plan on giving them the kind of life I never had. I was trying to make the world a better place, for everyone. And then Thrillist e-mailed me. It was an invite to the Jet Mystery reunion party, and it was on a yacht. And the booze was gratis. What was I going to do, decline?

The yacht was docked on the Hudson river at 23rd Street, and is owned by the Sandals resort. Ben, Thrillist's exuberant hype man, greeted us at the gates and told us we had to remove our shoes once we boarded the boat. Sandals, it turns out, should rename their company Socks. The boat was a lodgy affair, all wood and carpets, cozy and quaint. The shindig kicked off with people reuniting (which I'm told is the point of a reunion party). There were hugs, kisses, memories being passed to and fro. There was a trooper in a sling, who it turns out was the victim who got the worst of that errant light fixture. Everything was fine, until the Black Eyed Peas inescapable hit "I Gotta Feeling" blared through the speakers. That's when everybody lost their shit. People were jumping up and down so wildly that it's a wonder no heads were cracked on the low ceilings. The party went late while a slideshow of the trip I missed played on a flat screen. The moon hung low over Hoboken, empty bottles Red Stripe lined the ship's deck, and all was suddenly right with the world.

Photo By Nick McGlynn. For more, go here.