When I first started writing this column, the immediate obvious stress was knowing absolutely NO ONE at these shindigs, with the sub-stress of what the hell to wear. I had spent the earlier part of my career in an Internet technology lab where jeans and hoodies were the norm, and then I also observed other bloggers and the hipster tech crowd sporting more of the same. But the events were different and my role was different. I had to blend, I had to be part of the party, not the frumpy weirdo in the corner creeping and taking notes. Last …

Tonight I'm heading to The Plaza Hotel, The Rose Club to be exact. I can't believe that in the three years of writing this column, The Plaza has been a wanted destination not yet realized, until now. I feel like I should hit some thrift stores for a full-length faux fur coat before heading over there - or maybe get a little lip enhancement so I can quack my way through the lobby unnoticed. I'll fill you in on the event tomorrow, but you can be confident with your guess that it's not for the launch of WalMart's latest ammo …

Today is mixed emotion Monday! Much like the events in this column, it's a bit up and down. Why the mixed emotions? Why the first paragraph drama? Step inside, dear loyal reader, and see what I've got for you.

Last night Digital DUMBO celebrated their 2nd birthday at The DUMBO Loft, sponsored by Carrot Creative.

Today's party was insane. White stuff EVERYWHERE, guests without pants (some without any clothing at all!), sharp weapons hurled angrily, and the venue was constantly changing. It was like an around the world party, only it was centered in a lovely pocket of Manhattan where every step was at your own risk, the soundtrack was provided by strange wet squeals, and everyone's moods were elevated - even the children! It must have been the white stuff. It HAD to be the white stuff.

Last night I headed down to the Bowery/Lower East Side area of Manhattan, packed tightly with cabin fever. If you're in NYC, you're tired of the weather -- and if you're not in NYC, you're tired of hearing about the NYC weather. I'll put a positive spin on it and say I welcomed the opportunity to bundle up and go for a nice 20-minute walk from my home office into the city darkness. This place has sizzling corners in the face of any weather or trappings of the clock, which is why I love this column so much - I …

How do I even start? Last night was such a roller coaster ride through art snobs, art freaks, turtleneck aficionados, free-drink fans, celebrities, blast-from-the-past reality-show favorites, and brushes with greatness (I'm looking at you, Tina Fey's assistant), wild risky haircuts, leopard-print pants, sky-high stilettos, and weird food, my fingers are getting tangled trying to lay it all out for you. It was all part of the clever and eye-feeding campaign for The Macallan, a single-malt Scotch whisky, where master photographer Albert Watson captured the real-life journey of The Macallan cask. <

Every year, it's the same thing. I promise myself I'll read more. "Be more well-read," I tell myself, standing in the pizza section of the grocery store. This year I decided to expand my reading promise to include taking down my "I don't need other people to tell me how to do things" wall. You know, the one that's resistant to what I like to call "Business Self-Help" books. The "Be the flower you see in the ad" sort of books. When I got the invitation to cover the 800ceoread Annual Business Book Awards party, it was like a sign.

"Wine, Women, and Song" is one of my favorite Harvey Danger tracks. If I tweak it a little bit, it is also the background music to my week: whiskey, women, and words.

When I was younger, my dreams of adult life were fueled by Mad magazine, Sweet Valley High, Stephen King, Sassy, "Melrose Place," Garfield, and a dash of Sylvia Plath. I thought the penultimate glitzy big-city party experience was a magazine party, packed with coked-up, fainting with hunger models, sexually ambiguous photographers, skinny, cig-smoking editors, struggling actors, hangers-on, buffets of caviar (thanks, Big), and big publishing power suits. The reality is, it's not 1980, and book parties are where the characters roam. Not necessarily the characters described above.