It is, sometimes, nice to get tipsy. I like to shower and don comfy yet highbrow (by which I simply mean matching) PJs, make a nice dinner, open a nice bottle, look forward to a good show, usually Friday's Real Time but otherwise an anticipated documentary, a recent Mad Men or a previously vetted and hilarious film like The Hangover (Part I only). Should tipsiness result during such an evening, I can generally be assured a happy, engaged night. Such was definitely the case on this Sunday as we, following a delicious dinner, launched huzzahs and retorts towards Bill's guests.

Is Julia Reed not one of the more mannish women ever?
Doesn't Joshua Green sort of remind you of Ron Weasley, all grown up?
Does Bob Herbert ever age much?
Does Michael Pollan ever lose the smile and go ape?

Some of these queries are infinitely more answerable than others, yet all are pleasing questions in the sense that you can determine or ponder the answers whilst remaining agreeable and, unless Amy Holmes/PJ O'Rourke/John Fund/additional, condescending WSJ a-holes are present and thus intrude upon your evening musings, happily engaged in your night.

For dinner I made a wild rice-peach-avocado salad and an oven-roasted Pacific cod with capers/kalamatas/sun-dried tomatoes and basil, both of which I served alongside the leftover veggie braise from lunch and a lurvely red blend from CA, the unfortunately named àMaurice. All wonderful, and oh those pies for dessert. Marvelous!