EVENT
This inevitably happens. Inevitably. It happened last year, and so I took preventative measures this time ’round, and they didn’t work this time. Essentially, you get to a point in the Hunt where there just isn’t time to do things like blog. So I find myself at work two days later, trying to describe what’s happened. So it goes:
DIPLOMACY
After the last entry, I returned to the quads to watch some of the early stages of party setup, and then returned to Courtney’s. Once there, I met Jess and Dan, who had just come from judging two more gargoyle cafè items. Just as Shoreland had picked up on the “spiritual” aspect of the item, F.I.S.T. caught “in sync” and so they dressed up as gargoyles and gave a rendition of Bye Bye Bye. Broover, played up the gargoyles in their interpretation, posing and strutting and serving. I didn’t get to see these, however.
The other judges had gone up to Lincoln Park to witness and judge the second stage of All-Stars. When they got back, they began to grill hot dogs and burgers for dinner, but I had decided to sit in on Fink’s Diplomacy item, so I left early with Colin and Sebastian:
Item #34. Send your most ambitious and conniving team member to deal with a security dilemma. In a system of anarchy, you will have to remember to construct alliances and be realistic in your aims. You will meet your foes at 9:00 PM at Ex Libris. Will you seek those with common norms or always think in terms of threats? Survival counts, but points are directly related to power, so in the end, will you balance or bandwagon? After all, it’s a game of Diplomacy. [x points]
Diplomacy is a strategy game that many of my friends are into, but that I’ve had relatively little experience with myself. It’s a completion of the arc from Risk through Axis and Allies, and its main feature is that there is no dice or what you might call “arbitrary randomization.”
The premise is this:
The board is a map of Europe at the turn of the 20th century, divided into a few dozen nations and territories. Each player represents a Power: Austria-Hungary, England, France, Italy, Germany, Russia, or Turkey. The objective is to conquer Europe, a la World War I. The problem is that no one player can do so on her own; players must rely upon a system of alliances and well-timed betrayals. Of course, while this presents interesting parallels with the historical equation, there are tons of problems. But I don’t think verisimilitude is the whole point.
I attended the second session, which lasted from 8 to 10 PM. Austria-Hungary had already been obliterated by Italy, Turkey, Germany, and Russia. Through the session I sat in on, England and Germany went on the offensive. Russia was all but annihilated when they ranged through central Europe only to be holed up in Budapest. Meanwhile, the Brits took Moscow which they predictably held against the Turks and Germans. I also watched France fade into nothingness.
Just as interesting as the game itself (which was interesting, despite nine minute interludes for negotiations) was the portfolio of the players. A couple had little or no experience, while the team representing Germany had won money in Diplomacy tournaments. It was an all boys crowd, and we got into many technical discussions of what would happen for example if the game was played by Poli Sci profs (“they’d improvise”) vs. History profs (“they’d vamp the truth, year by year, and Italy would keep changing sides”). And most enticingly, the possibility of Scavplomacy.
Definitely a game I hope to play someday.
THE PARTY PARTY
After the game, Sebastian, Fink, and I left the Reg, and headed toward the party. We placed bets on the scale and locus of judge drunkenness, and likely results thereof. I didn’t do bad in my predictions…
Item #181. 8:00 PM Friday on the Quads, Party the Party. It’s a party of a party inside a party. Inside a party? How many parties in the party? Partly me and partly you. Party free of party rules. One says “par-tay” as the parlay. Party heartily hardly a party without the party within a party of a party partly party, partly par-tay. Parties picked at the Captains’ Pootenanny, er, Hootenanny. Oh, my brain hurts. [x pts.]
In most most peoples opinion, the party has never gone so well. Granted, we had the common problem of libations vanishing before midnight, and ORCSA, obliged to get upset about something, even if there’s nothing serious going on, disputed the opacity of some teams’ plastic cups. On the whole, however, everything was chill despite the fever of activity. There were several hundred people present, our new advisers are blessedly relaxed and patient, there was some illness and making-out, but no threats of serious debauchery such as we contended with last year.
And the parties were staggeringly different.
Each team had been assigned a different party: A tea party, a kiddie birthday party, a Superbowl party, an Irish wake, a tupperware party, and so on. And most teams managed to bring there theme through distinctively, if not comprehensively.
For example, the Irish Wake featured a coffin with a hassock set up before it, candles and green libations offered in memory of Paddy O’Furniture (I remarkably, didn’t get the joke until later).
F.I.S.T.’s schtick was that they were serving all of their food and drinks out of tupperware, which they tried to sell us, saying “this food isn’t fresh! It’s weeks old. But it tastes just like it was picked yesterday.” They also had an illuminated tupperware fountain.
B.J. representing I forget which party (pool party?) had set up a huge stage and rocked out throughout the party with flood lights providing half of the illumination on the quads and a tank full of bubbles that flooded out and over the pavement.
And Snell vied with Palevsky (as usual) for the largest party in terms of raw numbers, featuring cheerleader routines and Big 10 face painting rituals, a beer helmet (which I conquered in record time) and an enactment of the superbowl shuffle.
Sam and I got into the increasingly-annual-but-still-blessedly-informal rap off. Then a lanky white boy from no team stepped in and started to go off on us. I mumbled something about planning it in advance (which is a pretty typical thing to say) and he started improvising, asking us to name a topic. Sam called the Flint Sit-Down strike. Turns out this kid can not only wring rhymes out of dry clotheslines, but his father’s a prof of labor history. Sam, at this point bowed out. He knew where the landing had taken place. I… well, I had to defend my honor, even though I knew the outcome. My efforts were… pathetic, but somehow dignified and worthwhile. I felt like Troilus stepping up against Achilles, and counting the remaining moments of his life.
Meanwhile, Jess sang with Animate, Sara, our “sober representative,” became not, Nick held down the fort, and most teams ran out of supplies, making onlookers and teammates more desperate and ornery. Which is, annually, and semiofficially, when weird things typically start to happen.
If you’re an outsider, it’s difficult to me to explain and difficult for you to understand. It really is a very thin line we walk. We’re providing something slightly beyond the pale of “good, clean fun,” but at the same time, we’re not trying to open the floodgates. And afterwards, a shower should do it.
Some judges, who will go unnamed here, got very, very drunk. Your’s truly was not among them. I was merely drunk. But there were also sober judges this year. Teams seemed to understand the consequences of their behavior, and captains seemed willing to rein them in. This party went as well as its ever gone.
I had some personal drama that night, that you don’t want to hear, and I don’t want to go into. But it was a late night… late as in 4 AM. I’m still waiting to hear back on some other peoples’ adventures.