Yesterday Pinknoise, his mom and I went out to see the Battle of Princeton reenactment. Wearing two shirts, my trenchcoat, and one of those condom hats, I was warm for the most part. Unfortunately, because of my sprained left foot, I had to wear sandals and forgot to bring along socks. Sandals + no socks + 20 degree weather = never-ending annoyance and fear of frostbite. The reenactment itself was really interesting. Men forming up in linear formations, the occasional guy just deciding to keel over. Reenactors know how to die impressively.

When we got home all of napped. Now I don't know if that's an effect of the cold or the miles we had to hike to get there, but I hit one of those deep, very drug-like naps until 7ish.

The highlight of the day was Lord of the Rings. People I know have looked at me in cross-eyed horror for not reading the trilogy yet. What can I say except "dude, you got the alternate reality without work or sleep, I've got the time!"

In any case, I was utterly stupefied and amazed. I had seen the animation productions of Lord of the Rings, both the network broadcast (NBC?) and that other strange version. So the plot wasn't completely foreign to me. The CGI employed, especially for landscaping, was utterly spectacular. Through the first 5 minutes I thought to myself, "well if there's ever been a movie to pre-order for DVD..."

After leaving the theatre, we wandered around the town of Princeton proper, right by the University. It's a small stretch of town, 4 blocks wide and 2 blocks deep. At night the place is dead. It was Old London on a saturday night dead. I could have sworn there was another pub besides the one unfortunately closed early to our giddy asses. There are fewer things more determined than two young men bent on finding good, strong drink.

Crossing by a recessed complex of stores, we found a huge stack of magazines bound by plastic coil. Apparently someone had his entire "DM" collection off on the curbside. He left a note about what to do if any of the magazines were stolen. The note itself decided to come along after Pinknoise took a few promising issues.

Over another street we passed by some drunk Puerto-Rican. He shouted out, "Ay bendejas! Nuevos cabrones!!" I was immediately insulted; this bastard thought whitie (ok quasi-whitie in my case) didn't know espanol. I wanted to flex my 4 years of high school spanish by commanding him to fornicate with his mother like the bitch he was. This was done at a safe distance after he stumbled off into the night. That's when I picked up this habit of weaving between pylons and ducking slightly low. I didn't long to be a statistic; irate drunk people packing heat is a common street louse in LA.

We proceeded to steal newspapers. I didn't particularly feel like reading the NY Times, but Pinknoise insisted. Eh, why not, I thought.

Finding no immediate booze, we skipped straight to the philosophy, bantering on as we passed by empty street after empty street trying to find the holiest of holies: a 24 liquor store. Somewhere in between explaining why people gravitate to fantasy and sci-fi and how creating an alternate reality to live in, as opposed to this one, was hurtful, we found a bar. I cannot speak the name of this bar, as it was closed and we swore never to speak of it again.

There was booze at home, yet dreams of fried bread encasing fried cheese or chicken drove me to excitement. Pinknoise also felt the urge. We journeyed to the other Holiest of Holies: Denny's.

For those unfamiliar with this American icon, let me explain: Denny's is your national 24/7 restaurant chain. The waitresses are trained to deal with strange people at odd hours. They expect strange people at odd hours. So far as I hear, there's a special procedure for catoring to Rocky Horror Picture Show fans. The need to eat fried food consumes them whole in a lush extravaganza of bizare cult references and attempts to bite the hand that feeds them.

Being the God-fearing, occasional misdemeanor Americans we aren't, we politely bantered on and treated the waitress well. All around us were civilized beasts, grunting and rutting against one another in some officious display of carnal sideshows.

Same subject, different location. I found out Pinknoise likes to help people the same as I do. Poor bastard. We talked about the foibles and vagueries of aiding emotionally or mentally unstable people. We've come to the conclusion that you have to wait for when people are ready, then only giving them advice. Holding someone while they die is nice but leaves you feeling empty. Others just resent you for help if they do recover. It's a calling, eh.

Today we move out into New York City. I think it's New Year's today. That could be a problem later. We'll tour stuff, drink more than likely, and find some other bit of philosophy to chew on.

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