Within two minutes of entering last night's party with its wraparound deck on the 23rd floor, my +1 got sprayed down with sunscreen, I heard The Pharcyde's "Runnin'," I found a huge tub of melty nuclear orange cheese for "whiz wit" cheese steaks, and I had a piña colada in my hand. And all before 5 p.m.

Yesterday... all my French fries seemed so far away. Now it seems as if they're here to stay. Oh, I believe in French-fry day. Truly though, yesterday I got a little too geeked up about the Netmining Belgian Independence Day party, partly because the invitation did include larger-than-life French fries (Belgian fries?) on it. Not one fry made it into my mouth. But really, isn't a party about the people, not the potato?

There are a few things from my childhood that stand out for me like a shaven monkey in a henhouse. One significant span of events included the day that I accidentally drowned my neighbor's toad "teaching it to swim" in my red bucket, combined with the day I ripped every potato bug I found in half because someone told me that you could tell the sex of such a bug by the color of its blood. These events earned me the neighborhood nickname of Killer Kelly, something I wore proudly, which I probably shouldn't have. But I've always been a …

I would bet my first 12 kids that the interactive ad industry in NYC falls into one of three groups: the one nursing intense hangovers and career-threatening flashbacks, the one wondering why Chauncey showed up to his review smelling like a Bay Breeze, and the one wondering why everyone else is in such bad shape when you feel just fine, thank you very much. These emotions and physical distress can mean only one thing: 212, NYC's big ole advertising club, had one of their notorious blowouts.

I have always been a sucker for packaging. If it's cute, colorful, rounded, with maybe a bit of a matte/cloudy tone, it's mine. Words on packaging leads to my wallet downfall as well. Moisturizes and strengthens? Take my money. Delivers shine and contains microbeads of magic? You get the picture. Last night, Chile came delivered on horseback and in a bottle, and I drank that milkshake right up.

Be honest, what is your knee-jerk reaction to this sentence: "Tomorrow we'll be conducting a team-building activity!" Do your eyes dart nervously around, gauging your coworkers' willingness? Do you check your calendar to see if by the grace of [insert your favorite deity] you actually have a lobotomy scheduled that day? Or do you clap your hands with glee, eager to bridge those gaps, giddy with desire to synergize the hell out of everyone, and tingly with the sweat of potential hug/cry circles? Come on. No one, not even the heartiest of interpersonal communication wizardry looks forward to these things, …

The week following July 4th was a real tease. The party scene took a big sweaty break, a break that I feared would continue through July, rendering this column narcoleptic. Then, one after the other, event invitations rolled in, stuffing this week full of everything from a team-building session to make you curse whoever at your company thought a lock-in at Chuck-E-Cheese's would bond the marketing and art departments, to a flight that never gets off the ground. Intrigued? Sweet!

When I got the invitation to cover the Threadless and Havaianas flip-flop special edition party, I hesitated. I mean, flip-flops, people. I didn't want The Big Boss to have a sit-down with me about appropriate Just An Online Minute subject matter. But really, when aren't flip-flops relevant to our lives and work? Last night the Havaianas showroom was packed with tastemakers, culture creators, ridiculously talented artists, PR golden girls, a lifestreamer, and a bit of a randy couple...

I'm back from Memphis and fatter than ever! The weekend's theme was "Pork of July," where pork from all over that pig was served on everything from rolls, to ribs, to nachos. I don't know who is behind the BBQ nacho invention, but I'd say it's the greatest thing since location-based adver sharing! Somehow, no matter how near or far my vacation, this industry invades, even at the Memphis Redbirds game. See, I'm always thinking of you!

What I love most about New York, the city, is that it truly has something for everyone. Every niche has its own segments, every industry its own sub-industries, every culture its own subcultures. The same can be said for the magazine industry -- you would never see VICE and Good Housekeeping partner up on a party, even though that would be the most awesome party ever, but sometimes its good to keep the kids' and adults' tables separate. Last night I covered the FADER 68 Issue Release Event, celebrating their Summer Music Issue, and all the kids came out to …