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I was recently on a radio panel to discuss Jeanne Martinet's New York Times bestseller, The Art of Mingling. This didactic little volume sold more than 100,000 copies when it was first published in 1992, and now that it has been reissued in paperback, it may well go on to sell 100,000 more.

My fellow panelists -- both natural-born minglers -- expressed their shock that a book that relied on such cheesy, pedestrian icebreakers as "imagine everyone in the room is naked," or "wear your name tag in an interesting place," could possibly have garnered such a following. How, they wondered, could anyone be so unimaginative and inept when it came to frolicking the night away in a crowded room full of boozed-up humans?

The answer, of course, is simple. When it comes to socializing, most people have no idea what they're doing. The average Joe partygoer arrives at a social gathering expecting a good time to fall on him like a meteorite from the heavens and is disappointed when he is instead presented with a crowd of people who don't know him and would probably prefer to leave it that way.

The Art of Mingling, therefore, is a boring person's guide to enticing other people into speaking to them -- even if it's only for 15 minutes (Martinet's maximum conversation time span for optimum mingling). I don't know whether it works, nor am I interested in finding out, sticking, as I do, to my well-worn socializing strategy of 1) enter room, 2) secure drink, 3) consume oysters if available, 4) find bitchiest person in room (usually smoking pot in a corner of the pantry) and stick with her. It's not everyone's idea of a dry martini, but it works for me.

A more trying issue is how to mingle in family situations. The topic came up during the panel discussion and we all agreed one shouldn't have to mingle with relatives, as Christmas is a time for repression, passive aggression and adolescent regression.

However, after thinking about it, I have changed my position. Tempting as it might be to flop down on your mother's sofa uninhibited, I wouldn't recommend it as a way to secure your place in the will. Fraught as they are with history and emotional baggage, family situations demand as much premeditated strategy as the office schmooze, if not more. In this spirit, I've polled my own private panel of expert social strategists to learn the best tips for mingling with the whole fandamily. Here's what they came up with.

Arrive late -- but not too late. This is a way of minimizing your family time without letting anyone down. My uncle is a champion at this. Many Christmases I have watched him swan into a social gathering right at critical mass, but before anyone missed him and became irritated. It's a canny move for those who treasure their private time as well as their relatives' opinions.

Find the people you least want to talk to and immediately focus in on them. A wise man once said that the key to success is doing the things you least want to do first. This rule applies to family gatherings as well. It's not that you dislike old uncle Larry, it's just that he gets, well, a bit grabby once he's had a few. And cousin Anne would be a sweetie, if it weren't for the racial slurs. Ignore these familial pariahs at your own peril. Pull a pre-emptive strike and seek them out first. That way, the interaction is on your terms. Upon arriving, go straight up to the relatives you least want to talk to and give them a warm hug hello. Ask them how they are and tell them how much you've missed them -- then get the hell out.

Find a tray of cheese and crackers and pass it around. This is a good way to do the social rounds quickly and efficiently, without fully engaging anyone you don't want to. With a tray of nibblies in hand, you are always primed for a quick getaway.

Do the dishes. The ultimate brownie-point generator, dish duty has surprising benefits. For one thing, it gets you away from your family. For another, it's something to do. It's sad, but I've often noticed that in family situations, the most thoughtful, gracious people gravitate toward the kitchen. The jerks, on the other hand, run for the sofa the minute the table is cleared. Therefore, it stands to reason that the kitchen is the most pleasant place to be in the post-turkey turmoil (the most dangerous time for family flare-ups). Doing the dishes is not just a good deed, it's also a treat to pour yourself a nightcap, pull out a J Cloth and join Aunt Dorothy the feminist architect for a thoughtful deconstruction on the legacy of brutalism over the suds. Leave the hockey game to the yahoos.

When all else fails, entertain the children. All kids are not made equal, but they do have one blessed thing in common: They never ask you how the job search is going or make passive-aggressive comments about your biological clock. In other words, kids offer a reprieve from all the familial pressures of the adult world. Better yet, they have a PlayStation 3.

Leave early -- but not too early. If you were the last to arrive, don't be first to leave. But second is perfectly fine. I suggest going in the first clump, so your getaway goes relatively unnoticed. Always accept leftovers, whether you'll eat them or not. If it makes the hostess happy, it's worth it. The holidays are a time for giving, after all. And that includes your grandmother's soggy instant stuffing.

lmclaren@globeandmail.com