PHHH# 903.4 
Date: Sunday, October 13, 2002 
Weather: it was there 
Location: 87 Prospect to swampy bits below Springdale Golf Course to the 
Grad School to 87 Prospect 
Hounds: Wacko, Weatherman, Hey YO! Paully, Oiuipiui, Craig, Dave's Not Home, 
Brian's Life, Brain Injury Volunteer, Steve Andrews, and were there any masked 
men, Tonto? 
Hare: Justin Spencer 
Time: 48 minute--Wacko, what was the FAT? 
The Parents Trip 

Last weekend, homesick, overworked, STD'ed, alcohol-poisoned Princeton 
freshpeople were consoled by breakfasts at PJ's, lunches at the Nassau Inn, 
and dinners at Hoagie Haven, as well as comforting checks tucked in their 
pockets by doting dads who slipped into the llama-llined seats of their Tiger
-orange Beemer 7s with Mummy as they headed back to Morristown. 
But not the hardened alcoholics of the sophomore and junior classes, for who 
every weekend was long and lost in ways that made Ray Milland's or Chet Baker's 
look like a stay at the Carrier Clinique.  These were the lost children, hearts, 
livers, lights and all hardened like deer turds in a drought, and they found 
their kicks not in clinging to the M and P, but by doing that Holden/Igby/F. 
thing, searching for the heart of darkness deep in the stygian bowels of 
central New Jersey, a thin pattern of dots their only way back to real life. 
Or so they'd wish.  Instead Justin did a passable job on his virgin set, if we 
assign a pass to courses Glenn Ballard would sternly whine and lecture us on.  
True, the earnest hare got out of Detox at the Infirmary too late to finish 
marking the course, and the dots were too close to the checkmarks, and he 
stopped marking the swamp enough to drive those who'd avoided the road to 
return to it, but the pack stayed together, got lots of hearty running in, and 
showed that half-minds think alike by on-onning across campus and through Frist 
Center just as the hare had planned.  No circle, no down-downs, just solid 
drinking of passable beer and gripping reminiscing by Wacko, who sang of hashes 
before their mothers were born, a long, long time ago, but your mother should 
know (wooo, woo), your mother should know. 
And next week, Geezer will see to it that they don't sing it again, but he 
might bring a cup.