Arrived late Thursday night. So far the score is No. panels given, 1, No. panels attended, 0. I am abashed, because there were several panels I would have gone to but that I had a couple of items left over from the week at work to take care of that I thought could be done within an hour. Slight misjudgement there. I am determined I have left work behind me now.

The one panel I sat on was a relaxed 9 pm panel on “SF Mind Control” with a good-sized, active audience. The other panelists were Donna McMahon and Danita Masian (whose first novel, Rogue Harvest, had its launch today). We had as much real world reflection as SF: cults, Bountiful, propaganda, Nazis, cold war, office life, conformity, the “7-up” series of documentaries, religion, gender socialization, criminality, biological basis of behavior; what was socialization, what was indoctrination, and what was mind control; whether the Internet was something that gave us immunity from the kind of media control that fascist and Bolshevik regimes exercised. Books and films mentioned: The Manchurian Candidate, 1984, Brave New World, We, The Invasion of the Body Snatchers, The Puppet Masters, Stepford Wives, Dances with Knives.

I also caught up with people – having lived in Calgary from 1995-2000, and attended at least 5 Con-Versions over 8 years, there are a great many familiar faces – and having 4 days instead of the usual 2 is making that a much less scrambled affair. I’ve made it into the Dealer’s Room, which at the last con I went to (V-con) I never even did, and I might make it into the art show. This year they’re offering guided tours with a docent, which I think is an excellent idea.

Calgary is extraordinarily green and puddled, and you ask locals about it and they just shake their heads and groan. I’ve heard sad stories about flooded basements and destroyed books, including stocks of the writers’ own. Mosquitos are plentiful with all the standing water, so there were opening night jokes about mosquitos bearing off some of the guests. A zealous parent outside the Y nailed not only her wriggling child but my passing self with citronella. Prince Edward Island Park was flooded, so the Shakespeare in the Park has moved to Mount Royal – but it alas does not start until after I leave. Stampede is impending, with even the swank downtown hotels mounting plywood saloon faces and all the guests appearing at opening in white 10-gallon hats.