1) Watched 8 Women on DVD last night, the second-to-latest film by François Ozon (his newest is Swimming Pool) and didn’t like it very much. I lasted through the film to learn who the killer was, and then turned it off, wishing I had spent the last two hours writing thank-you notes, or on the toilet, or at least doing something useful.

2) I don’t expect much from movies. I’m an easy ticket, I’m usually satisfied by the trailers. On a cruise ship, I’m the passenger who’s told the buffets run all night and wants to pay more from gratitude. Ghostbusters, for example, is one of my favorite movies. It has been since I was 12; there’s an embarrassing picture in most of my relatives’ houses (it was a Christmas card one year) with me in a Ghostbusters t-shirt, sweat pants, and big green rainboots, which would be remarkable if it hadn’t been my daily uniform for two years until I discovered the leather-collared jean jacket.

3) To take it out of the film category, I’d say I like Ghostbusters as much as I like cheeseburgers. They’re right on the same level for greatness, hovering just under naps and Mount Desert Island. If Jeffrey Steingarten can keep a mental list of his 250 best dishes in the world, then I’m starting my 250 Greatest Things Known to Man, and ranking cheeseburgers and Ghostbusters around #16.

4) But back to 8 Women, it fails in so many ways, and so spectacularly, it falls on the opposite list, 250 Worst Expensive Follies, right down there with the Capresso MT500 coffeemaker on timer mode, when you’ve forgotten to put the coffeepot in place for the automatic 6am brewing cycle that, as it’s programmed, brews 8 cups of coffee all over the floor.

5) Amazing colors in the film, though the camera’s distance from the action becomes so literal and prissy, it drains all the fun out of watching a very good cast. Too bad. I loved Under the Sand (2000) more than anything I saw that year, and want Ozon to make great films, so I’ll still see anything with his name on it.

6) Had this in an email from a friend, thought it was perfect: Off to see my shrink before she takes her August vacation. Seems funny we all still see therapists, psychologists and the rest – that psychotherapy hasn’t turned into a Woody Allen joke. (Not one he’s written, but as if at any mention of psychiatrists, your wife turns and chastises you, Quit it with the Woody Allen references!)

7) Great dinner at L’Absinthe on Friday, courtesy of a wedding present. The wife chose wisest, pigs’ feet stuffed with foie gras, I had a duo of rabbit loin and leg. Champagne on the house (this is what happens when the gift-givers are cozy with the manager) and then a perfect Grand Marnier soufflé for dessert. I hope there will come a time when I can afford meals like this, not only once in a while but frequently, though I doubt I’ll enjoy them as much.

8) Ate next to a couple from North Carolina who visit the city four times a year and have eaten in ‘over 250 restaurants.’ They warned us, don’t ever leave New York.