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A Loss For Our Room

January 21, 2008

So, I neglected to tell you the somewhat bizarre tale of 309’s 4th flatmate, Memmon, last semester over the last little while, but I think it should be rather telling that unlike Jaertes & Vetes, he didn’t make it into any of the stories of last semester.  However, he’s necessary context for a party that’s about to happen here…

Memmon was never here. He’d show up once or twice a week, muck about in his room briefly, then take off. Sometimes we’d get home and he’d be in the kitchen or something, but whenever one of us showed up, he’d vanish. I don’t think we scared him, or offended him or anything; he just didn’t seem to like us much, or enjoy having us in what he seemed to have considered “his” appartment. Regardless, he was our flatmate.

We’d asked him if he was moving out earlier in the semester, thinking he was a co-op student who’d gotten an early start in over the summer. “Naw way, guys, I’m still here. Why?” At the end of last semester, he went nuts packing up and shipping out, and I asked him again if he was moving out – “No, just packing up and going home; see you in January, eh?” …Sure thing.

But apparently not. He never came back and was replaced by his near-exact opposite.

Anyway, I’m getting off-topic. Memmon left. We sort of miss him. (I really miss his espresso machine.) In mourning for our loss, and looking for an excuse to have a bizarre party, we settled on having a wake. If we’d done anything else regarding his moving out, it would have seemed like we were celibrating his departure. However, a wake is a party, of mourning. (Read more here, if needed.) It was perfect. Sure, he wasn’t dead, but he’d … “Moved along the mortal coil” or some other useful euphemism for “took the fuck off”.

Thus, a wake. We went all-out, I find myself missing the spectacular parties held in good old Renfrew House, and can’t help but to try & recreate that lost glory as best as I can here in Waterloo, widely-held to be the least party-worthy school in this end of Canada.

We told everyone to show up dressed in black, armed with an outrageous lie about how they knew Matt. We went out of our way to find loads of obnoxious Irish punk music, as well as Memmon’s “favourite” music, Gogol Bordello (He hated Gogol Bordello.) beyond even that, we reset the room with an extra couch, cleared the telly out the corner into a closet, added a few spare chairs, then put a giant cardboard casket in the middle of the room, complete with requisite name-tag and LED “candles.” We turned out all the lights and set up moodlighting but putting our fluorescent desk-lights on the floor under the sofas, to create a somewhat spooky white floorglow.

The flat looked brilliant, then, party-time.

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