It took me two Christmas Breaks in college to finally realize that a month off was probably a couple weeks too long. For my friends, I figured their experiences were more pleasant. Most of them were returning to their homes, families, friends and hangouts they left behind when they attended Marquette. They probably spent the four weeks getting re-acquainted while rejuvenating. More importantly, they had plans to attend a decent New Year’s Eve party.
As for me, I had no such luck. I grew up attending five high schools in three disparate states and now my parents lived in yet another location. So going home was equivalent to just visiting another unfamiliar place for several weeks to wait it out. Grandma’s house was no real alternative, it was mentally equal to my parents’ house minus a shower.
But this year promised to be the one which would break the streak of dreck! My parents decided not to come out to Central Illinois. They wanted to celebrate in San Diego’s superior climate instead. Brian and I were all for it. Hmm, four weeks in Southern California versus Bloomington, IL in the heart of Winter? Did they have to ask? My grandparents protested which was likely Grandma’s doing; Grandpa loved to travel so I guess he capitulated to keep her from being alone. Well, their stubbornness failed and they didn’t realize it until we left for warmer pastures that Friday morning. Mentioning that Dad was treating everyone to a trip to Disneyland in Anaheim still wouldn’t have persuaded them.
Excited over going to a place which didn’t suck, I made arrangements to have my finals completed by midweek. This was unusual, normally I hated going “home” so I always stayed in the dorms until they closed for the Break. Outside of classes, I called 91-X to see if I could meet Trip Reeb, the station’s Operations Manager, while I was there. Steven Alan Segal claimed to know him from past gigs so I took Dr. Havice’s advice on using his name to get an audience. I was actually surprised when Trip not only agreed to meet but he did know Steven (this DJ claimed a lot of things which I was skeptical of, especially when he said Iggy Pop was a classmate in high school). Another person I hoped to see in person was with Enigma Records in LA. I think her name was Michelle. We had maintained some contact after I bailed on WMUR and as a thank-you gift for all her past support, I managed to get a copy of something she really wanted through WQFM’s Downstairs Dan, the acoustic version of Bon Jovi’s “Dead or Alive.” Dan in return wanted a real Mexican bottle of tequila in exchange. Too bad I wasn’t allowed to drive, both trips to see these people who could’ve helped my career in radio involved beaucoup begging of my parents.
With my exams completed, I enthusiastically took the bus trip from Milwaukee to Bloomington, the roundezvous point for everyone going to San Diego. Brian wasn’t done until Thursday so I had a day at Grandma’s house to kill which probably involved Mom nagging over my hair or something.
On Friday morning we loaded up the car (a very cramped 1983 Nissan Sentra Wagon) and hit the road well before sunset. Had I known that I wouldn’t be assisting in any driving, I would’ve begged Dad for a plane ticket. I stupidly assumed the three of us were going to take turns so we wouldn’t have to stop; thus we’d arrive sooner. Brian and I were both college students who had just completed finals; pulling an all-nighter traveling wasn’t a difficult feat for us. Fat chance in the irrational mind of my mother! The Break was off to an awful beginning thanks to her and eventually Brian: First, I still had been removed from my parents’ car insurance since 1986, which meant I was stuck being a passenger the entire journey (and “vacation”); Second, Mom had Brian do all the driving yet never hesitated to kibitz whenever he was over the speed limit; this resulted in him complaining about how he was “losing face” to the passing drivers. He was only 18 and obsessed with being cool then; Third, due to some odd incident from the last road trip the two of them made in the Spring, Mom was paranoid over the stretch between Arizona and California at night; Fourth, Brian was in a fraternity (Delta Sigma) which was not only an anathema to me personally (Marquette didn’t have a strong Greek system), he would never shut the hell up about it. Delta Sig this, Delta Sig that. I already had my fill of it long before we arrived at our destination, especially after he said only loser upperclassmen lived in the dorms; obviously a barb at me being a junior in Mashuda, the upperclassmen dorm.
The drive took an excruciating three days. We made it to Amarillo the first day and Tucson the second due to Mom’s irrational fear I stated before. One bright spot was the weather once we were in southern New Mexico. It was so (relatively) warm at the hotel in Tucson (barely over 50 F or 10 C), Brian insisted on swimming at the pool that evening. Never mind he didn’t bring the correct “gear,” which got me drafted into lookout duty to prevent a staffer from busting him over wearing his boxers in the pool.
We made it by mid-afternoon Sunday. The rain and overcast skies didn’t deter the mood, most of our friends were ankle-deep in snow, freezing their behinds off, we were “winning!” I couldn’t wait to tune the car radio to 91-X, Brian had been tormenting me for two days with his Oingo Boingo tape. Seeing our cats Teddy and Mewsette again improved everyone’s attitude. I did miss having pets while residing in the dorms.
Time for sleeping, eating, shopping and catching up on TV didn’t receive much attention since we headed north to Disneyland in the first week. All those years, I always thought it was in Los Angeles, turned out it’s in Anaheim, the heart of the Orange Curtain. What a dump too. It made me think of a larger, even blander version of India-no-place which I didn’t think was possible. Didn’t matter, once we were in the theme park, the ugly Monopoly board of hotels surrounding it would disappear.
Choosing a place for dinner resulted in a funny anecdote about how Brian and I could predict Dad’s reactions and choice of profanity when Mom does her indecisive act. We were driving around the area and Dad decided to pull into Baker’s Square. Foolishly he asked, “Is this alright Jane?” (When he addressed Mom as Jane, it meant he was irritated because she insists on Janie.) Silence until we were completely in the parking lot. Finally, she uttered her trademark, “I don’t know.” Wrong answer as Mount Dad erupted with Brian and me in unison, “son of a bitch!” Fuming, he went in to get a menu for Mom’s approval while we couldn’t stop laughing. All Mom could do was scold us saying, “Stop it! It’s not funny and you two are becoming more like him.” Needless to say, I do remember having a nice dinner and a slice of pie.
Now we had seen Disney World twice before and our cousins told us how it blew away -land. They were pretty right. The castle is much smaller and Pirates of the Caribbean is under the main parking lot; you can see it while entering the first tunnel. It still remained worth seeing, especially for all the Roger Rabbit hoopla going on that year. Brian and I managed to ditch the ‘rents (his slang for them) to check out the Haunted Mansion. I couldn’t imagine how this gave me recurring nightmares at eight after seeing it at 20 because it looked pretty dated. My brother still managed to give me a jolt by knocking on the back of my car when I least expected it. Better than his car-bumping antics in 1985 which could’ve had us expelled from -World.
We headed home the following day to finish our remaining Christmas shopping and preparations.
Picayune mea culpa: Due to this story running long and behind schedule, I will have to pause here and I promise to post the conclusion tomorrow.