This is what happens when you catch up with friends over the holidays:
You know you are ancient when you have nostalgic convos with your old uni pals. Rang an old bud from the dark ages, that period of the very early 80’s when our music was really f’in loud and our hair seriously short and crunchy.
Well, at least mine was. Dear Donna remembered how bloody poor we were – no phones (‘cept the shite one in the halls hallway), no spending money, and really crap food. Well, I only remember eating Saturday or Sunday am after an all-night outting with friends. She recalls she did actually eat at the dining hall on occasion. Being a veg, the sight of ham salad on the salad bar, well, let’s just say it seemed safer to me to drink Tab and smoke cigarettes than trust the ‘salad’ bar.
That said, she was remembering how absolutely penniless I was one summer living in the Back Bay of Boston. Yup, I remember I had to borrow packets of 2-minute noodles from a mate who lived nearby. He lived on the things so much so that he’d buy an entire grocery store case of the suckers and glued it to his kitchen wall, with a cutout where the packets could be conveniently dispensed. Just in case you weren’t sure what that was for, there was a sign on the box that said, Take One.
I wrote a 2-minute noodle cookbook (wrote them out by hand with drawings) and gave them to friends. I wonder if anyone still has one of these gems of culinary publishing.
Good times people.
Donna also reminded me how much I pissed her off going out mid-week when she’d have a management exam. See, if you loved music, the way I did, that major was simply OUT. Too many exams. Me? I figured out early that an English and Communications major involved writing lame papers and working on ‘projects.’ No exams to cut into the club schedule you see. Donna Donna Donna, how could you not have known this?
One thing that came in handy were her management textbooks. I recall one evening when we used her Fundamentals of Management (or some such wanky title) to cut cheese slices (nice thick cutting board) to go with our Mooseheads (or was it Molson?). This was the night we decided to write fake answers to personals ads in the local cool free paper. So after a few of our missives (man wouldn’t it be great if I had a copy or two?) we sealed the envelope(s) and went for more beer at the Star Market.
Next morning I said, hey, let’s read some of those letters. She said, WHUH? After all, we had worked our way through some at least ½ a slab – no M, we mailed ‘em.
Well, that sent us into hysterics. A few days later I (I think I must have signed a few) WE got a reply. The result was a very strange d00d and one really strange song Kenne Highland wrote called Froggy. Uh, I kinda helped over a lunch break. Do I have a copy of the recording session still? Oh yes I do. Can you hear it. No you can’t.
Good times Donna. I’ve decided I’ve remained in contact with D when I’ve not done so with anyone else from that time. Why? Insurance. She knows way too bloody much.
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