"The Recession Is Over. It's As If It Never Happened."

This was overheard in a Chelsea art gallery today. One gallery receptionist greeted an employee from another gallery with this good news. She went on to explain that her gallery has sold many pieces from the current show, and she hears that other galleries are experiencing the same. Her friend reported that her gallery has also bounced back. Phew, what a relief. Jobs must be on the way.

Seriously, the most worthwhile experience in Chelsea today was getting to see John Lurie's paintings at Fredericks and Freiser on Twenty-fourth Street. I remember a perfectly pleasant show at a different gallery a few years back, with drawings and paintings more crude than those I saw today, but Lurie's new work is really something—delightful and surprising.

On the other hand, the most popular show in Chelsea today seemed to be "Oil," the Edward Burtynsky photographs at Hasted Hunt Kraeutler. Also much recommended.

"Excuse Me, Do You Have Any Books About Jeffrey Dahmer?"

Now there's a question bookstore clerks probably don't like to answer. Tonight I overheard a homeless man ask this of a very kind Barnes & Noble employee. He was directed to the nearby True Crime section.

Many creepy characters frequent this massive five-story B&N branch near Lincoln Center, which is open until midnight every day. The store has a homeless population that may reach the three digits. I once observed a disturbed man coming down the escalator singsongingly shouting over and over to no one in particular: "I'm shocked to see you. I thought you died long ago." Nightmare inducing, I'll tell you.

Bruno Dumont Is the Only Film Director I Have a Crush On

Although there's nothing I like more than attending a film screening followed by a Q&A with the director, it was not until earlier tonight that I realized I have never before developed a crush on one of these filmmakers. That is, until I saw Bruno Dumont tonight at Lincoln Center's New York Film Festival screening of Hadewijch.

There's just something about this guy, who I've run into many times over the years. Now fifty-one years old, he's aging quite nicely. He's just handsome enough (looks like Jack Kerouac), and his clothes are the best: they fit perfectly, he favors muted color combinations that you wouldn't attempt yourself but look amazing on him, and there's definitely a sense that he's not even trying. Oh, the French.

Also, he's smart as hell, and you can tell he'd be a major badboy if you were lucky enough to be involved with him.

And the film? See it.