Alcohol is a hell of a drug.

I’m running out my last few hours here in Alberta. I’ll be in Van or Vic in the near-ish future. Expect me like you expect Jesus.

I’ve been hanging out with Spacekat and Biobeeboo all week. They’re an “organizing” couple — let’s collectively call them BioSpace — they run their own soccer team, throw barbecues, schedule pub nights, etc. They’re domesticated, gettin’ down to the business of living until they die.

I spent Saturday getting far too drunk at Kat’s bachelor party. The waters of Lethe consumed in a highly social setting: People know me, but I don’t know them.

While I was drafting this two of Kat’s friends came over: Notoss and Pork.

Pork: “Hey dude! You feeling better?”
Jack: “I assume I met you at the bachelor party. Let’s start over — What’s your name?”

Earlier in the week BioSpace and I played the Battlestar board game with a Central Park figure skating instructor from New York and some other randoms.

This was Lee’s turf. Apparently we’d met and become quite friendly.

Lee: “Hey, Jack. How’s it going?”
Jack: “I’m sorry man: Jello shooters — Who are you?”
Lee: “… We talked for like an hour!”
Jack: “I was functionally unconscious the whole night.”

[Minireview: Battlestar Galactica (the board game)]

First, the important part: I won.

All those hours spent playing Diplomacy, Republic of Rome, Axis and Allies, and all the various and sundry ubergames out of Germany have given me skills most don’t posses. About halfway through the game Lee asked me if I’d played before.

Jack: “Nope, I’m just hot shit.”

I was Kara Thrace, Cylon sympathizer, and my talented robotic superiors, the President and the Fleet Admiral, finished off the humans one jump from Cobol. My big coup was framing The Chief, the NYNY figure skater, who fucking panicked: This is not a game for those unused to politics and paranoia — the more you say you’re not a Cylon, the worse you look >:)

NYNY: “No really: I’m not a Cylon! I swear!”

Rabble: “Throw her in the brig!”

NYNY: “What the fuck? I’m not a Cylon! Why don’t you guys believe me? This game sucks.”

Rabble: “That’s exactly what a Cylon would say. Go fuck a toaster, robobitch.”

[/Minireview: Battlestar]

BioSpace have a downstairs neighbor, Jane. She and I have become acquainted, and on Friday I went along on a girls’ night out. Spacekat and Notoss came too, but the sight of a table full of women scared them. Kat didn’t want to invade their space — he’s effectively married — and Notoss is a big nerd: Six women are six too many for him to be comfortable.

The guys wimped out and hid in a booth, so I ejected from them and entertained the girls. I made friends with a large masseuse, who rattled off all their names.

Jack: Just before touchdown I promised myself that I’d remember everyone’s name on this trip. I’m using that rhyming trick, so I have to make up little mental poems about all of you.

Like, I met this guy, Ferris, at Kat’s party. Tall, built, blond hair, blue eyes. Conversant in existentialism. So I thought to myself: “Ferris. Ferris the Nazi, marching through Paris.”

Maggie: “Wait, do you mean Ferris Bueller? He’s an Aryan-looking Marxist-Leninist?”

It came back slowly: I remembered discussing western media portrayals of Hugo Chavez with someone. Edmonton: Small as any million-person city, I guess.

Jack: “Yeah, sounds right. Story checks out.”

The six of us went to Cook County, sans masseuse. The girls were worried about the line, but didn’t understand the power a talkative gentleman accompanied by five beautiful ladies has over a rustic cowboy bouncer.

They photographed all of us and scanned our government identification cards. I’m assured that the information is destroyed within twenty-four hours so long as you don’t “cause trouble”. This tweaked my paranoia whiskers, but drinking on Fridays isn’t something the NeoCons are jailing us for yet. Hopefully there’ll be a grace period or a public revolt once prohibition gets that far.

Cook County is the true Edmonton experience. BC:California::Alberta:Texas, and we were in the thick of it — Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy; squaredanced-macarenas; a mechanical bull.

I was scared of the bull, and therefore had to ride it. I remembered afterward that I’ve jumped out of plane. A gyrating public rough sex simulator is comparatively non-terrifying. Besides, who cares? It’s just public performance.

As I sat on Kat’s couch writing this Notoss told me riding a mechanical bull makes you gay: Fuck that, bad joke, loser-talk. The thought passed through my mind, as did the danger of getting thrown around a room by a robot, as did the thought of blowing off the taco party for the sausage party at the pub earlier. It’s all just a big lame excuse: Confront and defeat your anxieties or they will control you.

Earlier, Kat ran into Michael Geist. Kat is a librarian, and Geist wanted to know why the library was blocking torrents. To paraphrase:

Geist: “You’re being unfree.”
Kat: “It’s not a freedom issue, it’s a bandwidth issue.”
Geist: “Then why don’t you limit bandwidth instead of banning the whole technology?”
Kat: “Look, we’re doing the best we can.”

I’m uncomfortable with Spacekat’s views on technology and intellectual freedom. Geist apparently came off as a strident prick (as I imagine copyfighters generally do), but Kat also told me he thinks of internet availability of information as “a bonus” instead of as a mission. I think this is grossly wrong-headed.

I am told there are three factions in the library sciences: The Intellectual Freedom Faction, and two that hate freedom. I didn’t pay attention to the unfree factional platforms, because without intellectual freedom nothing else matters. Kat is, unfortunately, one of the haters. He has other priorities, like expanding the library’s comic collection and related programs. The trick is: When the fascists come for our comix — again — maybe no one will be left to help him.

After the secret party I walked home through Edmonton’s river valley. If it was on our side of the Misty Mountains I’d call it Rivendell. It was not a thing to be missed in June, under the stars. Tra-la-la-lally, it was quite a pleasant valley.

Edmonton: The Final Score

The people are friendly, there’s fun on tap, the Summer weather is sunny and warm (if a bit muggy), but there’s no ocean. The culture warriors are very religious, but are also easy to dodge.

The valley is worth a bonus point.

Edmonton: A surprising 8 / 10.