My 49th year began with the unofficial kickoff of what would become a “two gay bar summer.” This was never something we had planned or even wanted; rather, it was a situation that circumstances forced us into, and we simply had to make the best of it. Looking back, for the most part, I think it was pretty great. Having two distinct spaces was a nice change for the city, even if it did prove to be a little financially ruinous for us.
The Evolution Game Changer
The introduction of the new Evolution was certainly a turning point this past year. Having a venue that was open seven days a week, one that offered a quieter atmosphere, opened earlier, and served food was a massive shift.
- On a Personal Level: It allowed me to reconnect with a bunch of people from my 25 years in Edmonton—people I had lost touch with simply because they didn’t have a reason to frequent the old space.
- On a Professional Level: It allowed us to collaborate with community organizations in ways that just weren’t possible before in the basement space, which was incredibly rewarding. Shout outs to RaricaNow for a packed house during Trans Day of Remembrance and to Curling with Pride for book-ending our two gay bar summer with being the first group to host an event at the new space and then having their bonspiel on what was closing weekend at the old.
Farewell to 103rd Street
The final summer and fall of the old space was obviously a massive professional chapter of my 49th year. A lot of history happened in that basement bar on 103rd Street over the 12 years we were there—most good, some bad. Because of that, the transition brought a lot of bittersweet moments, especially as summer began turning into fall.
Before the autumn chill hit, summer brought another successful Drag Me to the Midway—my fourth one. And now, as my 49th year ends and my 50th begins, plans are already well underway for Drag Me to the Midway 2026. (Announcements next weekend!)
The October Crunch and Jet-Setting
As that fall continued, Evolution hit its 12th anniversary, and we were thrilled to welcome ChiChi back up, which is always a pleasure. However, by mid-September, the financial toll and physical exhaustion of running two spaces, bouncing back and forth, and simultaneously tearing down one room to transition to the next was weighing very heavily on me.
That energy shifted in October when the reality finally clicked for everyone: Oh, hey, this bar is actually closing. If we want to see it, this is our last chance. October and early November became a whirlwind of activity as the city came out to say goodbye to the basement bar on 103, right before we made the final transition to 115.
My attention during that massive transition was a little diluted, however, because I was gone for a good chunk of October. Long before we had a concrete timeline for the relocation, I had booked a massive trip to the other side of the world—and once those moving dates locked in, the trip was completely un-reschedulable.
October 2025 kicked off with a quick in-and-out trip to Montreal to see my boy Shawn Mendes on tour. And then I barely got back to Edmonton before I was off to Egypt. My 10 days along the Nile with my “pink camel club” from Detours Travel was truly life-changing. I sometimes fancy myself to be a writer, but this writer certainly didn’t have enough superlatives to describe the truly epic scale of the pyramids, the Sphinx, and the tombs—that ancient culture straddling the Nile for life as the desert assails it on all sides. Reflecting on that imagery now, it feels like a fitting metaphor for my life sometimes.
Following Egypt, I spent four days in Athens. Even though it was my first time in Greece—and I could have easily been as overwhelmed by the antiquities there as I was by those across the Mediterranean—it functioned more as a pause. It was a moment to reflect on what I had just experienced, and a vital breath to take before running headfirst into the storm awaiting me at home.
The Final Curtain and The Basement Pivot
As soon as my boots hit the ground in Edmonton, it was immediately into Halloween, which was followed by the final nights of EVO on 103rd Street. Closing out a venue where I had just spent 12 years of my life made for a truly amazing final weekend.
Then came the immediate pressure of the relaunch. The big question hanging over us was: Would the 103 basement crowd actually come to the shiny new space?
The answer was yes, they did—but with a twist. After years of the community collectively saying it was time for gay bars to finally move out of basements, a lot of them immediately lamented the loss and missed the subterranean vibe. True to form, even though it wasn’t in the original plans, we pivoted to give the people what they wanted and created a basement space at the new location.
It wasn’t perfect by the time it opened on New Year’s Eve, and honestly, it still isn’t. Timelines, budgets, and physical space limitations are always a factor. But we did what the bar has always done: our absolute best to give the community the space they want.
Identity, Inertia, and Looking Toward 50
Looking back at this entire entry, I find it incredibly telling that a post supposed to be a personal birthday reflection ends up being so overwhelmingly about EVO. The truth is, whatever balance I had spent years struggling to find between my personal life and professional commitments was completely undone over the last 12 months. It was a necessity; it had to happen that way to get us through, and I don’t regret it. But finding that equilibrium again is an absolute priority and a definitive goal as I step into year 50.
For the first time in a long time, the horizon ahead doesn’t hold a massive travel plan. There is no Europe, no Africa, not even a quick trip to New York on the books—largely because the state of the world feels heavier right now than it ever has. I’ve found myself talking to a lot of people lately about the contrast of the 1990s. Back then, it genuinely felt like humanity was moving in the right direction, like we were steadily closing the gap toward an era of global peace. Today, that optimism has never felt further from the truth.
But to bring it back to the immediate reality, the final months of my 49th year were ultimately more of the same: creating space for connection, working on my own connections while actively fighting not to let my own mental illness derail them, and living in a constant state of anxiety over whether what I’m doing, or how I’m doing it, is still right, valid, or worthwhile. Because as this entire reflection makes configurationally clear, there is virtually no separation between what I do and who I am. If what I am doing is no longer appreciated or needed, it is terrifyingly easy to feel like who I am is no longer appreciated or needed either.
That’s a heavy moment to end with, and we have enough heavy moments. And I’m not ending this post, nor this year, on that heavy a moment. I sit here instead in the Six, for a reset. We all need resets. Not massive do-overs, just… draining the tub and refilling it.
Final Thoughts
My whole life has been a quest for connection. This year, I was able to reconnect with so many truly lifelong friends. This year, I met so many new people, many of whom I will be honored to have part of my life for years to come. There was so much joy, so much found family—and yes, also loss and grief. But the depth of that grief is only because of the depth of the love. And that depth of love is something I end my forty-ninth year profoundly grateful for.
