Hey Dude

The term dude hasn't always had warm connotations.
In 7th grade I was an attention stealing, trouble making smart ass. I remember being outdoors in the schoolyard when news quickly spread of the new kid. It was 1970 and the looks at the time were handkerchieves around the neck, bright floral print shirts, Nehru collars and a haircut called the Princeton; kind of a conventional Beatles mop.
The new kid, has thick, dark red hair combed straight back and full-on mutton chops. Again this was 7th grade and I was still adding mascara to the fuzz on my upper lip. And to top it off, his name was Rex. Who names their kid Rex? He was not of this world.
So I made it a point to be first in line to give Rex the Fremont Junior High Welcome.
"Hey Dude"...no response..."Hey, Dude"! In one quick move, Rex grabbed the front of my shirt and threw me back against the wall. He was so close to me I could count his freckles.
"I AIN'T NO DUDE"!

Fast forward to 1986 and we're milling around backstage in Ann Arbor's Michigan Theater. We were the opener on a 3 band bill with the Replacements.
We'd been there since 1 o'clock in the afternoon just so we could hang out because, well, it's the Replacements.
It was sometime after 8 and I was adorned in full cowpunk regalia; tight, black Big John jeans tucked into knee high, black cowboy boots, a sleeveless Rockmount western shirt and bolo tie when the stage manager finds us. "10 MINUTES" he barked.
As we make our way down the hall and to the stairs that lead up to the stage, I see someone walking toward us from the other end. As he gets closer I notice it's Tommy Stinson. He kind of saunters by and looks me up and down a bit and drawls, "Hey Dude".