It's a tough job, but somebody has to do it ...

"What is past is prologue," Shakespeare wrote (The Tempest), so I suppose all my training led up to this night.

All those interminable candidate interviews (George Romney, Mitt's father, for Heaven's sake, in his Mormon longjohns; Richard Nixon a few days later in the same New Hampshire motel room) ... all training, preparation! for this night at the Ivanhoe.

"Celebrate Christmas the Playboy way!" the invitation read. "Drink half-priced all night if you are dressed like a Playboy bunny or Hef. Prizes for the best dressed."

Proprietor Doug Nicholson, who had the good sense not to card yours truly, said the night's theme was in honor of "Hef's birthday..." (Um, no; Hugh Hefner was born April 9, 1926.) "...or maybe the first issue of Playboy." (Possible; that undated collector's item with Marilyn Monroe on the cover -- I remember it like yesterday. -- came out in December 1953.) Does one really need a reason for a Playboy-themed party? I think not.

The place was packed (Duh!) on this foggy Friday night. The Ivanhoe was brought back from the dead five years ago (it had been vacant for 17 years) by Nicholson, a refugee from the corporate world (water purifiers, would you believe?), and it was jumping.

The semester's over, the last paper's been turned in, the college kids are back home; the late-night tube is filled with reruns of reruns thanks to the Writers' Strike, and so -- oh, what the hell: Here's the picture.


I think the gal on the left likes me!