Education should be spread throughout the nation, if we want to get into the space station. -- Ali G, word to the wise

I'm looking up recipes for stewed chickpeas. Are there any that you particularly recommend? I'm kind of partial to ones heavily laced with cumin.

On Saturday, I ambled around my room until I got my act together and finally made it into the city. I had planned on doing all these extravagant, exciting things -- a visit to the met, a possible trip to the ny historical society, eating a bagel, catching up with friends, seeing 2046 or being really good and making the evening screening of Seven Samurai at Film Forum. Instead, I went clothes shopping.

I did, however, make it to see 2046. I have to say, I'm a big fan of this Hong Kong film movement. 2046 was complicated and offered no answers to any of the questions or complexities it established. I love that there were so many closeups and so few full-length shots, and that the director made me aware of the incredible expanse of a cinema screen, creating shots that fluctuated between the two extreme edges, as if to imply I was witnessing scenes that could only happen behind a half-closed door. Interiors are a big part of this movie, which lends to the intensely private world of the characters. It seemed as if I was being thrust into the individual and collective psyche of a group of people who don't exist in any specific location. I loved that the language was so sparse, and that the camera lingered on people's faces well beyond the confines of a spoken phrase, uniting expression and reaction into one fluid and heavy moment of experience. Those people didn't say much, but they looked and looked and looked. Red lipstick, a pen nib, a tear - the smallest details became the concentrated and calculated images. Everything in the movie was evocative rather than definite, and for this reason alone, I really enjoyed it.

In the evening I had dinner with my sister and a former colleague of hers at a small restaurant called "Home" at Cornelia Street. It was very cute, very small (although they do grow their own produce in the back garden) and delicious. The company was interesting (Nadia, the friend, launched into a discussion of her theory about the "flow" in the world and how we will illnesses onto ourselves through negative thinking), but by the time I had a glass of port (yum!) I was ready to meet her new age bullshit with a few sound principles of my own home-brewed philosophy. I don't need to be told that children get AIDS because of some self-willed condition in their present life. Rubbish. Also, her eyes popped when she got worked up, and I found it wholly disconcerting.

Yesterday I had brunch with Abby, Nilo, and Monica. It was Abby's 22nd birthday!!! Happy birthday, Abby!

Abby's one of the few people I hope I'll be able to whine to when I'm over 45. Besides being flamboyant and loud (zero discretion, guys, let's just face facts), she's super well-read and a really good listener. I have this vivid memory of one evening sophomore year when I was hanging out with katy, and Abby came back from the shower. (nb: a large quantity of time seemed to be spent with one/many of us hovering around doorways or in rooms in various states of undress. we carried on lengthy conversations in this brothel-like atmosphere). She began brushing her hair, and just for a moment, from that angle, with her head slightly bent away from the light and a desklamp shining full on her pale skin and dark hair, I thought she looked like a Renaissance Madonna -- modest and graceful and lovely. Of course, Abby's Jewish, so I don't know how she'd feel about being likened to a mournful Christian woman. But she's nonetheless pretty breathtaking in my mind.

I had an awkward dream about Roger Federer last night, wherein I somehow ended up being married to him. While this should have been wonderful, it was just bizarre.