Though yesterday evening started out on a rather somber note, through the twin powers of heavy drinking and attractive women, I eventually forged my way back to near full-blown holiday spirit.

Specifically, I headed up to Columbia for a friend’s Champagne & Sinatra party, an event that works pretty much as the name would lead you to believe: champagne flows, Sinatra croons from the stereo, and everyone does their best to look and act Rat Pack chic.

As the hostess is a director, the crowd was overwhelmingly dominated by movie people, leading me to stray from my (rarely successfully adhered to anyhow) “no film girls” policy. I spent most of the evening flirting with a Danish writer so Nordically beautiful that (despite my advertised egotism) I kept wondering why she was possibly talking with me.

Still, by the time I left (in the wee small hours of the morning, as it were [my apologies to Old Blue Eyes for that pun]), I’d not only secured her number and a good-night kiss, but set up a date for later this week.