I attended a semi-regular meeting of working pros this evening, mostly writers with a few directors and probably some other specialists sprinkled around as well. I spent most of my time talking with only four other people, and met a kindred spirit with respect to the pinnacle of television that was the prematurely extinct “Futurama”. One director wanted to read my stuff, which I always appreciate.
The highlight of the evening, however, was a glimmer from the deep, dark past.
I was one of the first to arrive, and as I waited at the bar for two loonies to feed the meter, I noticed a woman paying for her glass of wine. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her.
I fed the meter and returned to find this woman sitting in our then little group of five. She said her name was Alana, and I told her I was sure I knew her from somewhere. I assumed she was Jewish, and I was right, and so I focused on that aspect but I could make no connection. She is six years younger than me, so school or camp wouldn’t link us.
Later in the evening, as I spoke with two other writers, my mind suddenly locked on to where I knew Alana from. When she came back to our corner, “Thunderdome, right?” I asked, “You used to go to Thunderdome?”
Thunderdome was a club in Montreal in the mid to late 1980s run by Pat, a man who would later become a close friend. It was the only place I ever went when I was in town then, always two and sometimes three nights a week. To call it a goth/alternative/dance club is to risk conjuring a cliche, but that’s the genre. The Cult, the Cure, Sisters of Mercy, New Order, Depeche Mode… all the stuff I still listen to, but I don’t have cages to dance in. People of a certain age still speak of that club in reverence.
Alana also spent a lot of time there. I was right. I doubt I ever said a word to her those 17 or so years ago, but I can recall a dress she used to wear with long sleeves and a short skirt. She sort of remembered it. I think I freaked her out a bit.
We spent the next quarter hour talking about cool clubs from that era. By the way, if anyone privy to our conversation remembers discussing the club on St. Hubert we couldn’t name, it was Alcatraz.