Today is Bastille Day (in America) which means Summer is more than half over. I’m horribly behind schedule with all the posts I want to do this year thanks to housesitting, work (my team is expanding by 20 percent in a hurry), allergies, Rumble in the Pub and just my general laziness (numerous e-mails I owe! Curse you Netflix!).
One thing I was hellbent on writing about was the Summer of 1988. I totally choked on covering it in 2008 but I think I nailed 1983 to compensate with some pieces of 1993 and 1998; there were many “adventures” and revelations from those Summers. To make it extra special, I’m in the initial stages of getting at least one additional participant to share her perspective on the details and college hijinks that took place. Maybe a couple others, it depends on their willingness.
What was so great about 1988, especially in Milwaukee, one of the squarest cities in America? After 1982, my Summers sucked big time:
- 1983: Moved across Houston followed by a stressful month in Illinois and closed with Hurricane Alicia/Alisha. Nothing settled until school started.
- 1984: Moved to Indianoplace with six weeks of school remaining. No real friends nor any means to get around. Stuck at the house or going to Illinois.
- 1985: Left North Dakota for Illinois to take driver’s ed followed by a tumultuous, disappointing three weeks in Tampa. Ended with me going back to North Dakota.
- 1986: Another Illinois Summer to work crappy jobs to help pay for school, as if with minimum wage being $3.35/hour in Reagan’s Distopia. June through August was now becoming a period of loneliness and boredom I dreaded.
- 1987: Stranded at my parents’ house in Pennsylvania. When I wasn’t working in the carbon-seal factory, I was receiving a constant litany of bullshit or pressure dump Maureen. If I didn’t, I wasn’t allowed to return to Marquette.
Yeah, whoa is me. My old man often went on about all the Summers he had to work, thus I had it pretty easy. Easy is a relative thing. Once you’ve lived the liberated lifestyle known as college, moving back in with your parents feels like a minimal-security prison. Their kvetching over the previous Summer eliminated any possible benefits San Diego offered.
Too bad I didn’t think it through very far since early May caught me completely flat-footed. No place to stay until the dorms re-opened in late August and more importantly, no job lined up. I was staying because I had killer tickets to see INXS around mid June! With those priorities, I’m lucky to be still alive.
Somehow I found a spot to sublet through the MUTV crowd…a rundown, filthy house on 13th and State, but it was $90/month. I’m talking seriously dirty. You’d contract hepatitis just looking at the floor. A refugee camp would’ve been the Ritz compared to it.
Employment took a while longer. Probably a week before I discovered an easy gig with Marquette’s student paint crew. It paid about 25 cents/hour more than minimum wage. The university also provided three shirts to wear when working, a consistent schedule and a good chance it would last through August; by then I would start training for my desk receptionist spot at West Hall.
With those two key essentials covered, I was set. HA! Nothing could’ve been further from the truth.
- 1988 was the hottest Summer Milwaukee had experienced in years. There were drought conditions until mid August. Few places where students lived had air conditioning. When we painted/washed walls in Carmel, Mashuda or West Hall, we took our time! I found myself hanging out in the WMUR studio at night just to stop sweating for part of the evenings.
- The house I was living in was not only a dump, it was a magnet for burglaries. By my count, there were six attempts with four successes before I bailed. I was fortunate the thieves didn’t take anything of mine I was distraught over. Other roommates lost a TV, a boom box and a VCR. The final (failed) burglary demonstrated how rude and inept the Milwaukee cops were.
- The full-time Marquette employee who oversaw us was an insufferable ass. He wasn’t even liked by the other full-timers. A couple co-workers were d-bags too.
- My immaturity was certainly a big factor. This one took at least a few years to realize or come to grips with.
How could this have been the “Greatest Summer Ever?” Easy. I wasn’t getting bossed around by my parents! Therefore I got to drink beer, spend money on frivolous crap like attending Summerfest and GenCon, eat out, stay up too late without nagging, chase females (unsuccessfully), play loud music and best of all, have a last-minute adventure in Chicago! Contrary to my parents’ fearful, unfounded predictions: I didn’t contract AIDS, I didn’t go to any strip clubs, I didn’t get hooked on drugs and I didn’t get married. The lesson I took away was this: my parents were the wet blankets, not the city I lived in. San Diego was certainly cooler and much hipper than Milwaukee but Mom and Dad destroyed those attributes by a factor of a million. Case in point. I passed up visiting Las Vegas in early 1989. Why? The primary reason Mom wanted to drive there was to check out its outlet malls.
Anyway. I had a great time at the INXS show. I saw Camper Van Beethoven on this day 25 years ago and interviewed lead singer David Lowery! Summerfest was a mixed bag. Some nights the Rock stage was awesome. The remaining evenings catered to the AOR Rock clods trapped in the Seventies. I did see Icehouse, the Mighty Lemon Drops, the Rave-Ups, Underworld and the Smithereens. The Chicago expedition entailed seeing Ranking Roger and Chiefs of Relief at the Cabaret Metro.
Besides concerts, I got back into gaming (D&D for non-gamers) through my roommate Deb via her boyfriend Neal. His apartment having AC was an incentive to starting playing again. I used some free time to get WMUR back on the radar with the record labels. For weeks, the previous music directors claimed certain labels weren’t interested in Marquette’s station, hence we lacked material from U2, the Cure, etc. I proved they were full of crap after making a couple phone calls. Underage drinking was mandatory via various parties I attended. I only recall puking once and I’ve been told it was quite impressive due to me being very calm, organized and executing the process like it was no big deal.
If I had the opportunity to do it again, I wouldn’t change a thing. Alright, that’s a lie. Being unsuccessful with the fairer sex was a letdown. When I state the word unsuccessful, I’m defining the word to mean “not having actual dates or outings.” The R-rated stuff shouldn’t be rushed nor done under ugly circumstances. It how’s you meet a psycho.
Chapter Two? Let me see how soon I can get it off the ground, namely my special guest’s (or guests’) availability.
