Posts tagged with party.

Inner demons on Halloween

Bryce Warnes, November 6, 2009 at 11:39 AM

 

All last week there were fireworks going off outside my bedroom window. In retrospect it seems like they were constantly going off, but my perspective might be skewed since it was always night time. At some point during the weekend previous, a day had disappeared, and my biological clock had turned nocturnal. Which worked out well, I think, since it was the last week I had to finish writing my term papers, and also the last week to start. It's easier to get things done when everyone is asleep. There are no distractions.

 

Except for the fireworks. It wasn't the explosions that were distracting. It was the silences after the explosions, when I waited for someone to start screaming. Drunk college kids are rarely good models for conscientious conduct, and when you add explosives to the mix, someone is bound to lose a few digits. If I happened to be awake during the daylight, I'd check the sidewalks for stray fingers. No luck, though.

 

Halloween is a scary holiday regardless of who has artillery. At some point, I think, we stopped wearing masks to scare away monsters, and started using them to act like monsters. Certain yearly occasions call for the loosening of inhibitions and the transgression of social mores - New Years, for instance, or Spring Break, or 4/20. Halloween does the job better than any other, though. When you're too old to dress up, go out, and collect candy from strangers, something has to fill the hole.

 

The Alma Mater Society puts on a club crawl every October 31st. Students are so strongly encouraged to participate that it's suspicious. The gist of the event is that participants will board designated "party buses" and get herded around to different venues downtown, drinking as much as possible at each one before the bus leaves.

 

It seemed an obvious solution to the fact that nobody wanted students hanging around campus on Halloween night, damaging physical property and the school's reputation. Concentrating 45,000 revellers in an area the size of this campus creates a volatile situation.

 

Saying that the party bus solution is a good idea makes me feel like a parent. There's no way to skirt around the issue, though. When it comes to the inebriated masses, I'm just as happy to have them off-campus as any geriatric Endowment Lands resident. I've always been in favour of irresponsible behaviour, but when everybody's packed in as closely as they are in this neighbourhood, I start to get edgy.

 

Other people must feel it, too. There's a different attitude here when it comes to certain things. You might call it "considerate." I was walking home with a bag full of roman candles and air bombs last week and I ran into someone I know. After I explained my plans for the evening, they said something strange.

 

"Do you have a permit?"

 

Apparently you need special permission now if you want to blow things up in your backyard. The concept's a novel one. I don't remember anything about permits when I lived on the Island. The rules surrounding such things were informal, if they existed at all. The only one I can remember is "don't shoot anything at humans." There may have been more, but once things start exploding it gets hard to focus on details.

 

Thinking about it now, though, it makes sense. Where I'm from there's plenty of space between people. If you want to get drunk and blow something up - a fairly regular occurrence - it's not necessary to ask. Assuming you're not doing anything with depleted uranium, it's safe to say you won't be stepping on other people's toes.

 

So the anti-ruckus sentiments around here are understandable. I can see why the Powers That Be wanted to keep Halloween festivities on campus toned down. Even so, it's sad to see some of the spontaneity taken away from the holiday.

 

Despite recent revelations about not being a loud, obnoxious jerk, on the night itself I felt the need to connect with the subversive, immature aspect at the holiday.

 

On the night itself I ended up in a parkade on campus drinking beer from kegs. It was a top-secret affair, put on my some friend-of-a-friend six degrees removed. A few hours before the party started, everyone with an invite was sent the co-ordinates. We all got there at once, because time is of the essence when you're partying in a non-party zone.

 

People were having fun and there was music playing. It was a good time, for about an hour. Then a security car showed up. Immediately, a very convincing teenage version of Mr. Miyagi informed them, in a loud voice, that he wished to engage in combat. Marie Antoinette waved her cup in the air and began outlining the security guards' deficiencies as human beings. Luckily Tuxedo Mask and his Sailor Scouts had left not long before, or things could have gotten ugly.

 

As soon as security left to go get backup, the car with the kegs peeled out, and the partygoers - some of them under duress - made a hasty exit. With everyone out on the street - zombies mingling with Edward Cullens, sexy nurses stumbling into hedges - the campus didn't seem the least bit deserted. And as we watched a stream of vehicles marked "Campus Security" go past and turn into the parkade, I couldn't help but feel relieved that the party had ended early.

 

If we'd stayed there drinking for a couple more hours before security showed up, there was no way the event would have ended as quietly as it did. No, much better just to head home, and not cause anyone any trouble. After all, it's the considerate thing to do.

Tagged with party, campus, partying, halloween, monsters, behaviour | Comments (6) |

Toke Burns Are the New Shabby Chic

Bryce Warnes, September 11, 2009 at 1:52 PM


At some point the other night I realized I was slightly buzzed and very lost. (Or it may have been vice versa.) In broad daylight, the campus had been laid out in a logical manner. A friend had shown me around earlier, pointing out the major landmarks and intersections. That was easy, I thought. It's only been a day, and I understand the entire layout of the campus. What a breeze. I was filled to the brim with confidence and vigour.

 

All that disappeared with the onset of night and a post-party mental state. Half way between taking my friend to the bus and returning home, I wandered into a netherworld of sinister dream-visions. I understand now how Dante felt lost in the dark wood. At some point I had the impression that I'd entered the first circle of Hell, but I think it may only have been Wesbrook Place. Cyclopean structures loomed on every side, their walls dripping ichor. Night-gaunts haunted the shadows, and occasionally I could glimpse huge membranous wings unfolding in the darkness, accompanied by chanting in a forgotten tongue. A once-comprehensible street plan turned into a phantasmagoria of non-Euclidean geometry. I was paralyzed by the sudden realization of my ignorance in the face of unimaginable cosmic horrors.

 

Even more than afraid, I felt ashamed. I had made a resolution earlier this year that I wouldn't get hopelessly lost at UBC, and already it was broken. I have the complete opposite of whatever it is that directs Canadian geese south in the winter. It's difficult finding the bathroom in my own house. It shouldn't be a surprise that I got lost on my second night at UBC - it should be a surprise that I didn't somehow end up at the American border.

 

After exhausting all other possible locations on campus, I ended up at the one where I live. The purple haze had cleared by then, and it was a relief to recognize my surroundings. I share a townhouse in Fairview Crescent with three others. It's a few Hummel figures short of coziness, but already it's starting to feel like a home. Our furnishings are basic, almost utilitarian, but they have their own charm. The kitchen cupboards are a comforting shade of puce, and the toke burns on the couch bring a warm, shabby chic sensibility to an otherwise stark living room.

 

The three other guys are from Sweden, Indonesia and Japan. As a born and bred British Columbian raised in the WASP hives of Vancouver Island, I suddenly find myself in the minority. Most of the people I've spent time (read: drank) with here come from places I've never visited and can speak languages other than English. Surrounded by such a cosmopolitan blend, I feel like a backwoods country boy - wandering around barefoot, a chicken tucked under my arm, an imbecilic grin plastered on my face. "Howdy, fellas!" I say by way of introduction. "Where y'all from?"

 

I've re-met a lot of people I went to high school with. (One of the benefits of going to school close to home.) They've all got the leg up on me. During my long, personal stagnation at home, they travelled, went to school, and somehow managed to forget what a jerk I was as a teenager. I'm glad they're here, and even gladder they're willing to spend time with me because, even though "small fish in a big sea," is a cliché, I've been feeling distinctly minnow-esque. There are about 45,000 other people on campus, and the anonymity this grants is both liberating and a little scary. A familiar face does wonders to clear up first-week angst. 

 

Classes aren't properly under way yet. Once I have to start using my grey matter on a regular basis, maybe I'll experience some of that academic "stress" people are always talking about. Some seem eager for classes to start, others are filled with dread. I'm not sure where I stand. I woke up with a grimace yesterday because I had a single, hour-long morning class. Oh horrors! To have to leave the house, to endure intermittent rain, to walk almost twenty minutes on even terrain carrying a light shoulder bag - I almost wept. The unfairness of it all! I was wrapped in a warm cocoon of self-pity, ready to endure the ordeal, until I remembered that, a few weeks ago, I would have been waking up at 7 o'clock to trudge around in knee-deep mud. It made my book bag feel a little lighter.


Tagged with week, lost, housemates, party, campus, first | Comment (1) |