As per the song, I technically have until January 6, 2012 to complete this series and since it’s my last run of it, I do want to finish. There’s just so many other things jumbled up to bang out too. It’s definitely the downside of having the best holiday break I’ve ever had in 15 years; there will be stuff regarding the recent trip too. I’m going to mix in other things to keep my site from being filled with too much navel gazing.
To the Wayback Machine, set it to 1986!
Somehow I felt a cautious optimism when I completed my first semester of university. No idea why. The holiday break had been a dreadful two weeks in high school (1982-85) with a few high spots. How was college going to be any different? Well, I thought that maybe absence made the heart grow fonder between parents and their college-age offspring. No dice when it came to my parents.
I had been to Grandma’s over Thanksgiving, had the traditional stuff-your-face meal and then headed back by Saturday morning out of boredom. The ennui I experienced was a major reason why I never told the RA (resident advisor) when I completed my last exam; dorm policy stated you had to vacate within 24 hours. I don’t think Marquette really cared if stuck around, worked some extra hours in the cafeteria and took afternoon naps. Besides, I weaseled a ride to O’Hare from Paul’s family (now my neighbor) and they would be picking us up Sunday.
I covered the last day of finals celebrations five years ago, so I’ll jump to the days following the return to my interim home.
Once I recuperated from the first of what would be many hangovers, I started enjoying the downtime (more sleeping, eating and watching cable when Grandma wasn’t hoarding the remote). I remained nervous about how my grades would pan out because Philosophy 001, CoPA 003 and CoPA 001 had relatively difficult exams. History 001 and Speech 012 were a breeze for me yet only worth five hours.
Brian was still in high school, I saw him during the evenings or when he wasn’t hanging with the friends he made at Central Catholic. Despite our differences, Brian was cool enough to discuss my dyed hair in private. I figure he experienced enough drama from our grandparents on a weekly basis.
Dyed hair? Me? It’s a short story and it wasn’t an outrageous color. I used to be (and still am) a huge Berlin fan. I decided to color it a red shade. When the goop was applied to my hair, it came out more like bronze. Ergo, it wasn’t a huge shift like Blonde or Jet Black. What does dyed hair have to do with Berlin? Especially with that crappy hit they had for Top Gun? Very little. I was enthralled with Terri Nunn’s earlier look for Love Life.
Anyway, it would grow out, life would go on. Maybe I’d do it again.
This changed the evening the ‘rents showed up from North Dakota. I think I was mentally ill because I was excited to see them, something I would never be again throughout college; cautiously optimistic was the best mood afterwards. What happened? I greeted Mom at the door anticipating a hug, an exchange of pleasantries and offering to help bring in the luggage. What I got was, “What the hell did you do to your hair?!” Not, “It’s great to see you,” or something nice. I should’ve hopped on a bus to Milwaukee the following day. The remaining time was dreadful, except for one evening.
Cindy (a Beulah friend) convinced her family to stay in Bloomington (they were headed to some other state for Christmas) one night so the two of us could catch up. We must’ve talked past midnight in the hotel’s indoor pool area. I think I was starved for the peer-level company and I can easily say, seeing Cindy was a brief respite of sunshine.
Once Brian was on his school’s holiday break, the ‘rents took us with them to go shopping in Chicago. I’m confident arguing ensued. The good news I did learn was Dad’s possible job lead near Philly. We could finally escape North Dakota altogether! I would have a real city to spend the upcoming Summer of 1987 in, not eeking by on minimum wage while living at Grandma’s.
Christmas Day happened. Gifts were exchanged, food was eaten, naps taken and boredom ensued. Dad flew back to North Dakota while negotiating his new gig around Philly. Mom and Brian took a road trip to the Philly area to scope the region. I stayed behind to secretly buy the present I really wanted…a CD player. Seems rather funny now. CD players are ubiquitous in computers, cars and cheap boomboxes. Plus they’re on their way out thanks to downloadable music and MP3 players.
I received enough money from everyone to get a decent model. However, my parents were set against it. They felt the dough should’ve been put away to pay for textbooks or other college expenses, as if they were contributing; Grandpa, Grandma and my scholarship covered Marquette, not them.
With the naysayers gone, I spent practically a whole day using Bloomington-Normal’s bus lines to travel between K’s Merchandise Mart, the Normal public library, the bank and Apple Tree Records. The first CD I bought was Split Enz’s True Colours and I checked out Duran Duran’s Rio and Lone Justice’s debut. Listening to that music through the headset was awesome. No hissing, no popping, no skipping or the alleged warmth vinyl provides. Playing an album from start-to-finish didn’t require flipping over at the half-way point. (I somewhat miss those days.) I only got to enjoy the new toy for a couple days. Brian and Mom returned by New Year’s, forcing me to hide the player in my luggage until I went back to school.
What else happened? I read the novel version of Alien by Alan Dean Foster. I probably couldn’t find Aliens. The book matches the movie pretty closely and the deleted scenes were present: Ripley finds Dallas while escaping from the Nostromo. I always retained the trivial fact of where the doomed crew found the creature, Zeta Reticuli, a mere 39 light years from Earth.
The four weeks finally came to an end and Mom took me back to Milwaukee. I’m sure there was a lecture about loose women, drinking and studying harder; my 3.4 wasn’t good enough. I don’t know about her but even I knew Animal House was a movie, not a documentary.
I totally remember this. We were going to Indiana for my cousin’s wedding.