Yesterday G and I were invited up to Central Park West for a cocktail viewing of The Gates. We didn't actually walk under them, which is part of the experience, but whatever - their similarity to the construction equiptment stopped us in our tracks and had us racing back and forth across the street trying to get a picture of the construction sign as it flashed "art exhibit." Ha! A gorgeous apartment, good wine, art, and someone telling me that I look like I could be in a Godard film made for quite the pleasant afternoon!

Speaking of film, my roommate accidently rented the 1970 version of Wuthering Heights, having intended to rent the 1939 version with Laurence Olivier. Instead we got the elfin man-boy Timothy Dalton skulking around in tights and a mop-top haircut. Everyone in this movie looked like a bug-eyed gnome. The acting was terrible and we laughed our assses off through the whole thing. Highly recommended for an evening of red wine and hysterics.