We didn't necessarily all pay the same amount of attention to the movies at hand. Sometimes someone would hole up in a folding chair with a stack of comics. Many times, we'd pull out my Star Trek action figure collection and spend hours (yes, hours, in its plural form) posing them in elaborate, juvenile arrangements. Sometimes it would be a twelve figure conga line, weaving around drunken, passed out Scotty. One of our favorites was the 1992 Commander Riker figure, who was molded in a particularly awkward stance with one hand held palm forward and fingers spread. We called him, "Sex Offender Riker." You'd be surprised what that hand fit against. We wanted to try with the Star Wars figures, but Playmates Toys made it much easier for us than did Hasbro; most Trek figures had a lot of articulation, and a ton of accessories. Just our luck, several of those accessories were bottles and other phallic shaped items. I should probably take time to apologize to Marina Sirtis and Terry Farrell, whose likenesses weren't always treated with respect. And Wil Wheaton, while I'm being honest.
These are all inane activities, of course, and nothing terribly significant. It wasn't the activities themselves that really mattered, though. Rather, it was that year in which my friends and I really began to spend a lot of time together. It was our first true taste of freedom and independence. I don't even really recall being asked what we were planning for a Friday night, or where we'd been. It was nice, just screwing off with other like-minded people. God knows it made the school week tolerable, as I rarely saw much of my friends there and was acutely aware how poorly I fit in with everyone else. Then again, maybe the rest of my classmates would have gotten just as big a kick out of Val Kilmer Night and Sex Offender Riker.