Lessons. I hated when, in elementary school, my teacher would ask us to open our lesson books. Writing this column is full of lessons, too, but it's more on discovering limits, remembering them, and listening to instincts rather than spelling potatoes and tornadoes correctly. For example, when my instincts say "going from the West 20s to Varick St. and then back up to the West 20s again isn't going to be worth it" I need to listen. But everything happens for a reason and usually, the night that ends unexpectedly burps up a fun slate cleaning surprise.

All I could think when I heard that Former Vice/Almost President and current Current TV co-founder Al Gore would be keynoting Media Magazine's Outfront was, "it better be in person or people are going to hate us." I've covered events before where a famous keynoter or contributor or even just guest is listed, but when the event rolls around, the emcee says "and here's Madonna.... via recorded message!" and everyone throws eye darts. You probably already know that yes, he did keynote in person, but what you don't know is, Chris Matthews did not live up to his expectations.

The palm trees swayed and the reggae played. Those asked if anything was needed at the bar OK'd. Another day in paradise? No and yes.

I walk by the Cooper Hotel at least once a week. I usually glance inside the glass walls at the flickering candles on the faces of people who can afford to enjoy specialty cocktails, sometimes spotting hair or clothing too rich to be on a regular civilian, but I never stare long enough to confirm. Last night I breezed past the cocktailers and headed straight for the penthouse to cover the launch of Glo, a "magazine on the Internet."

Who knew there was a restaurant over Armani? Oh, excuse me, I mean "Ristorante." Personally, unless I was dying of starvation and nothing else was open, I wouldn't choose a luxury fashion brand to eat, but you know, it's all about new experiences and that is definitely what this column affords me -- those steps through a doorway I wouldn't ordinarily take. Lately those steps have led me to pleasant surprises. Now, if only it were easier to get in the door...

I entered the 4 train last night with someone practicing for Parkour on my ankles. After a polite exchange of "engulf yourself in flames!" eyes, I settled into my seat on stinky bellybutton train, realizing that I was on the wrong train." Sayeth the Pixies, "Where is my mind?" After transferring to the Q at 59th Street, I was finally on my sweaty way to an intimate dinner with Ted Danson at the Hearst Tower for the Hearst Heart of Green Awards.

Last week I attended the Discovery Upfront and it 90% blew my mind. I can let it --because I'm not sitting there weighing budgets and ad buys and such, I'm just observing the glittery dog and pony show that networks put on to woo advertisers. Discovery brought out the howitzer and fireworks. Scripps brought out an early dig at competitors with a note that others may have two-hour presentations, but they're still lower in ratings than Scripps. They aimed for showcasing their content, rather than their celebrity talent. Make no mistake, though, there were celebrities there. And I stalked them...

"We don't care about real artists any more," said Carrot Creative's Mike Germano, as I gushed to him on a Union Square bench about "Up There," the documentar-mercial I saw last night in the company of about 40-something other invitees at the Crosby Hotel. No, no, he didn't mean it like that. We were doing a lot of back and forth about the state of commercials as art, art as commercial, and how middle America consumes advertising now less as the art it used to be. What the hell am I talking about? Continue...

People ask me all the time what makes one party better than the next. They also ask how I'm not drunk all the time. The answer to the first question is simply "food and music." The answer to the second question is less intelligible.

Why didn't I take any women's studies courses in college? I get it, I was more interested in where the next pizza and keg party was coming from, but please tell me that you, too, were a little vapid in your youth. Either way, I apologize to all women for being so disinterested when I was most impressionable. If my biggest gripe is some ding-dong sucking his teeth behind me in the voting line, I should remind myself that some women got the crap beat out of them so I could stand there and complain. Thank you, Good Housekeeping, for …