E-Town Beatdown

The clouds gray. You know it’s coming. They talk about it almost mythically, preparing any newcomer with the burdening promise of the downpour. You can’t escape. It splatters sidewalks, buildings, baby carriages, young lovers crossing the street. Indiscriminate and seemingly infinite. The perfect weapon –one that can only be blocked or tolerated. Never stopped. It’s the rain and it wants to wash away your will to live.

Here’s the problem. I’m in fucking Edmonton and it’s twenty fucking degrees in Vancouver! What the hell? I come back for one weekend and the signature drawback of the west coast attacks the prairies, with its torrential liquid spears falling, untrammeled, at a rate of 9.8 m/s2 to annoyingly tap my head and shoulders.

I arrived in soggy Alberta last night and had the type of airport embrace romantic comedies have instructed me to have. Jen got back from Africa on Thursday and kindly offered to pick me up at the airport. It was fucking great to see her again: my best friend, my hero.

We drove straight from Edmonton International to Folk Fest. It was full of yellow rain slickers and shivering music fans on blue tarps peppering the hillside in front of the main stage like a denim constellation. Despite, or because of, the weather everyone was in communal spirits under the tents of the beer gardens. Jen and I met up with Adam, Steve their friends and lovers and the usual cast of acquaintances, people from out of town and girls I asked out and never heard from again.

It’s been a while since I was at a show, much less an outdoor, multi-day music festival. We joked around, I received the welcome nickname of Jagcouver, I marveled at the gift of a hookah and flavored tobacco Jen picked me up it Dar-Salaam – a wonderful night.

After they kicked us out of the alcohol friendly area, we went near the big stage danced to the Neville Brothers and bobbed our heads to a subdued, but heartfelt, set from Hawksley Workman (he didn’t play “don’t be crushed” which was disappointing, but what can you do?)

We retired to Adam’s place where pot, funny Internet videos and more music awaited. It felt like I had been away longer than three weeks with the cool sheets and foreign smells connate with being a visitor. For better or worse, I am quick to acclimatize.

I’ve finished one week of my month-long English teaching contract. I can’t say I’m enjoying myself. Pat and Themba informed that the boss who left the day I started was the most gregarious employer ever and ran a buoyant, well-organized office. Perhaps he took more away with him than just friendly demeanor and some resources. My teaching assignment is completely different than what they told me it was going to be and what I was prepared for. It’s very grammar heavy instruction, which is boring as watching shrimp fuck and also something I’m pretty ignorant of.

Oh well. Minor lamentation. The clouds are parting, time to go pick up my pimp new laptop and throw down in which is now my ex-stomping grounds. Hope is emo.