Babysitting is tiring stuff. Tonight I hung out with a 9-year-old girl for about 3 hours and felt like fading for almost every second of the experience. It began when one of the editors at work asked if I would be interested in babysitting his daughters: Lottie, 12, and Martine, 9. Logic was pre-empted by vanity, which responded by saying "yes, of course, Fred, I would be delighted." Have I ever babysat? Nope. Do I have the patience to hang out with energetic (albeit very sweet) little girls for hours? Nope. The main reason I went through with it was just for the hell of it.

I mean, my entire existence here in Princeton is pretty much one adventure to another, and I feel like saying no to something here would be stupid. It's all about exploring the options out there, peering into the lives that other people lead and figuring out how you respond and how your behavior reflects on you. Like this weekend when I was overcome with nostalgia for Columbia. I went to the bookstore and bought a t-shirt and shot glass emblazoned with logos. Only later when I exhibited my purchases to Vanessa did I realize that it was probably a reflex on my part to convert emotional intensity into an act of physical ownership. I don't own much Columbia merchandise, and now all of a sudden I'm wearing the shirt and squeezing the glass in amongst the Berkeley, Princeton and NYU paraphernalia around the house.

Oops, I have to go. I'll write more later.