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The peripatetic social diarist David Patrick Columbia left the coddled safety of lunch at Michael's earlier this week and journeyed downtown to check out the hot 'n' happening scene at R. Couri Hay's 25th birthday party (and he's never looked better, above) and then stop in for some after-party action at Bungalow 8. Sadly, the best-laid plans won't always get you laid.

About twelve-thirty, a friend with a car and driver offered me a ride back uptown. But first she wanted to stop at Bungalow 8, a nightspot which I have never visited.

Bungalow 8, is, if you didn t already know, another one of those nightspots where some jomoke who looks like his previous employment was un, stands at the door and selects you to enter. If he does. If he doesn t, well tough you-know-what...For whatever reason, and in this present culture reason presumes there is some wit or thought involved — which from the looks of the situation, is highly doubtful we were not welcomed with open arms. In fact we were not welcomed at all....But no, she wanted to get in, to show me Bungalow 8. So I waited while she attempted to negotiate. If it s anything like Bungalow 7 or the Polo Lounge, I ve already seen it. If it s not, I saw Studio 54. Meanwhile she got an email on her Blackberry from a friend inside telling her they were all waiting for the party to begin.

Didn't anyone tell that jomoke who had the coke? —MG nysocialdiary, 3rd item