Since this past semester ended, I‘ve been waiting tables and taking summer courses. Two classes a day and four days a week of waiting have kept me from my normal caffeine detox routine after semester’s end. I think a reserve of caffeine in my blood has been keeping me awake.

Comcast has free horror movies on demand, which is good for me. I am a certified horror-flick-freakazoid (I even have a favorite special effects artist). I to feel scared, but it’s been so long since I’ve felt that way in a movie theater. To me, the recent phenomena of splatter-fest films like Saw and Hostel are more smut than horror. I want a good horror film complete with vampires, zombies, and aliens, with the human dissections done mostly off screen. They make the nights better.

Last summer, I once stayed up till sunrise, cooped up in a dorm room watching vampire movies and eating pizza. Nothing about that night was good or memorable, except that it happened, and all things being equal, I would rather have been sleeping. I remember that near dawn, I couldn’t take it anymore and ran outside to chase rabbits across the campus.

This year is different. I know that I have to wake up early to catch a train to school from my apartment. Even so, it’s physically impossible to sleep. No matter how many miles I run or sit-ups I do, when it comes time to lie down, I am no longer sleepy.

Waiting tables is physically demanding. I’m exhausted when I come home, but mostly I just go to the bar and watch horror flicks or cartoons.

I have more room to roam about this summer: I’m the only one living on the third floor, and though it’s hotter than Hell Night with Linda Blair up here in the Philly summer, I have it all to myself. If it’s too hot inside, I can always sit out on the fire escape. Though I finally have a door to my room, it doesn’t fully close, giving me an ominous view of the staircase to the second floor.

I wander my living space, feeling more and more like the living dead each night, drinking red wine to feel drowsy, and waiting hours for sleep to overtake me after I’ve already said my prayers. What’s worse, I’m no longer compelled to compose new music or poetry. I simply decompose more and more–watching and re-watching flicks I’ve already seen, singing and re-singing songs I’ve already learned.

Lately, I’ve been trying to assemble my new room, but somehow in the many hours of sleeplessness, I only manage to put up a few posters each night. Mostly, I feel anxious. I miss people who are far away, and everyone nearby is in bed. When I get up in the morning, I wish I had gone to bed earlier, but knowing I never had a choice.

We are here on a serious mission: costumes. My friends and I, having escaped the library for the summer, are on our way to the midnight showing of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. In a moment of extreme nerdcore, the four of us thought it would be fun to be that guy dressed up for a movie premiere and wait in line for two hours before it opens. So far, our ensemble includes Dr. Indiana Jones (myself), Elsie the Nazi (Loretta), and Marion Ravenwood in action gear (Heather). We are lured to the mall in order to find the perfect white dress for Angela so she can transform into Marion Ravenwood in the dress scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark (also “action gear” of sorts). Three department stores and a J. Crew clearance rack later, Elsie is accessorized (sans beret) and has the white dress. After dinner and a quick D&D (Dunkin’ Donuts in normal-people-lingo), we hit the theater at 10:15, only to discover that we are not the first people in line.

We are, however, the only people in costume. This is an important difference that is a bit rattling to me since it’s my first time being that guy. In fact, by this point, I’m still thinking it’s pretty frivolous to have showed up so damn early. This isn’t Star Wars, after all, and Indy fans aren’t the most rabid bunch among the Spielberg-Lucas universe. But after thirty minutes of waiting, the line has tripled, and we are now in prime position to snatch great seats for opening night.

I glance over at the snack counter and see another Dr. Jones–this one dressed with the jacket and whip. He nods at me, and I realize that I’m not alone. I point this out to my friends, who affirm that there are in fact several fedora-wearing heroes in line. The difference is that we’re closest to the front, and I’m the only Indy costumer dressed as Harrison Ford in professor garb rather than action hero mode. So my costume is unique. We’re also the only group costumers thus far. Score ten geek points there.

By 11:15PM, the line is out the door, and we’re starting to look cool. More Indy impersonators have arrived, but I still feel confident that I’m the only one who could actually do my own stunts. I see people I know (a phenomena which never ceases to be bizarre; anywhere I go I will see someone I know–last week at Hershey Park I ran into my tenth-grade English teacher) and immediately realize that my ex-girlfriend is in the line. Too bad she’s more than halfway back and not in costume. Loser. More reasons not to regret that nightmare being over.

Suddenly, the line is moving and we all shuffle forward. Our advance-sale tickets, however, are taking us in a different direction than most of the crowd. With some confusion my friends and I go to theater five instead of twelve and sit through the last fifteen minutes of Made of Honor. (Or more appropriately, we suffer through the last fifteen minutes of Made of Honor^[1].)

One of the theater managers has just informed us that Indiana Jones will be shown in this theater no matter what and we have the best seats in the house. The final half-hour of waiting is easier since we’re sitting down and are able to watch the rest of the fans file in. The theater fills quickly and reaches capacity long before the credits roll.

I leave the theater at 2:30AM, proud to be Indy. The premiere has certainly passed the geek test, and I realize that I’m still humming John Williams’ famous theme song; everyone around me looks exhausted, yet satisfied–just the way a night should finish.

1. This film is an abomination; a sin against nature. Patrick Dempsey interrupts the wedding and marries the girl. The ending is now ruined and you ought to count yourself lucky that you now have no reason to ever see this film unless you want to become violently ill. Do you want to become violently ill?