In the winter of '97, I was living in Deep River. (Well, to be accurate, I was at RR#1 Deep River, about a half-hour walk east of town.) It was a simpler time: I was a lowly co-op student working at AECL, plodding away on make-work projects for my Argentinian-Canadian boss who was infatuated with Diego Maradona. This comet was also crazy-bright in the sky. Good times.
I lived in the basement of a house on a country road. It must've been really, really illegal: the bedroom had exactly zero windows. (It was handy if I wanted to sleep until noon on a Saturday, though, as it could be exceptionally dark.) The pressure in the shower was nonexistent; it was like standing naked in a fog with a light breeze. One of my housemates was this Chinese guy who (a.) we barely ever saw, (b.) spoke little English, and (c.) cooked the most fucking disgusting-smelling food I've ever had the misfortune to smell.
My other two housemates were cousins, one originally from London and the other from Windsor. The Londoner was a soldier stationed at nearby CFB Petawawa, in his late 20s, had done a couple of tours in Kosovo, and gave me a ride home on Easter weekend which scared the bejeezus out of me. The Windsorite was in his mid 20s and worked at AECL as a full-time employee; driving skills unknown, but a fun fact is that he went to high school with the guys who would later form the Tea Party (the band, not the redneck political movement).
And the three of us loved, LOVED this video.
I think you can see why.
UPDATE: Apparently the Tea Party is back together! Maybe the other two guys in the band decided that putting up with Jeff Martin's narcissism was worth it, to get a steady paycheque.