A bizarre but in-the-end lovely Christmas Eve. Dinner in the East Village, which seemed to be overrun with Israeli college students. Then the Angelika for hot chocolate, aborted introspection, and THE MOST DEPRESSING MOVIE EVER. At the 24-hour Soup & Burger we talked about Ron Paul and why I don't believe in god. (That's two separate things. I think.) Oh, also, our waiter told us that the Philippines is full of the most gorgeous women you could imagine, and all virgins. In case you were wondering. Then, as we were walking up Broadway to Union Square (because that's an easy place to get to Inwood from?), open doors at Grace Church and the promise of hymns and carols drew in three atheist/agnostic/string-theory-spiritualist radical/apathetic artist/hipster/non-hipster kids, and we sang and stood and sat, and ducked out after the sermon. And now I'm off to Harlem to spend Christmas Day with Tony Kushner (on DVR) and AS Byatt (a cat).