Lee and I had been sitting on (quite literally in my case, since it was in my wallet) some free movie tickets for about a year. We had received them for donating blood so I guess you could say we had "paid for those tickets with our blood." Anyway, the tickets were due to expire this month so we resolved to use them today. There's not much playing in theaters that's worth seeing right now. I half jokingly, half sincerely suggest Little Man but we ended up seeing Talladega Nights instead. It was a pretty forgettable film that said a lot about what's so weird and wrong about the United States, all the way down to the people in the audience gagging out loud when two men kissed. There wasn't even any tongue involved! Sheesh. Aside from Sacha Baron Cohen (Ali G), the best part of the movie was a joke about sticking kids in a microwave... I'm still chuckling about that line.

So after the enjoyable but forgettable moviegoing experience, we took the train way the hell away from Times Square and ended up in the West Village. We were on our way to Otto with dreams of olive oil gelato floating through our heads when we came up with the brilliant idea of checking if we could get into Babbo without a reservation. As luck would have it, five minutes later we were seated.

It goes without saying that our first experience there was amazing, even in spite of a really drunk guy seated next to us (although maybe that was an added bonus?). All I could think the entire time he was there was "please don't start talking to me... please don't start talking to me..." After he left, the rest of the meal was stress free.

Having not paid for a lunch all week and also having finally received the deposit from my previous apartment (about 75 days after moving out), a "spur of the moment" stop at Babbo didn't feel as crazy as it might seem. Anyway, it won't be happening again anytime soon so I can now finally start saving up for a new camcorder.

As the wine and coffee battle for control of my body, I'm now going to get ready for bed. I've slept on the mattress that's on the ground in the living room two of the past three days because there's laundry all over my bed and I've been too lazy to clear it off.

I guess another night on the ground wouldn't hurt, it'll allow me to play the part of the aspiring filmmaker in New York City... sleeping on a mattress on the floor of his apartment... because the laundry he paid someone else to do is on his full-sized Ikea bed with Martha Stewart sheets... and he's too tired to move it because he had wine with his dinner at Babbo... before commuting back to Park Slope... in preparation for the upcoming day of work... at American Express...

Wtf? This is not where I expected to be at this point in my life but I have no complaints. My job is great, the people there are great, and I still have time to pursue the projects I want to work on. Most of those lately being websites I'm working on with various people. I only worry that I might settle in to a lifestyle that wouldn't permit me to drop everything I'm doing and go make a movie when it feels like the time is right and the script is there.

I just have to remember that Godard didn't make Breathless until he was thirty years old the same age at which Malick made Badlands. Lucid Screening is my poorman's Cahiers du Cinema. With that in mind, I'll give myself until thirty-five, maybe thirty-six.