Everything that's worth doing in St. John's begins on (or around) George Street.
Friday night at the Republic. It started out as a few rounds of drinks between our Ultimate Frisbee team to celebrate our friend Dave's birthday. Yes I play Ultimate Frisbee and it is a damn fine sport! Anyway, between conversations about TV shows, music, and Internet videos that are probably better off forgotten (except for Terry Tate: Office Linebacker, that one gets me every time), it became increasingly clear that I wasn't going to get home by 1am as I had so optimistically planned. I even took my car, just so I could fool myself into thinking I was going to drive home early.
By 4:30am myself and nine other Ultimate freaks were chasing a glowing frisbee around Larch Park. No, there were no drugs involved; this frisbee actually DID have red glowing lights in it. I swear! It was probably the most fun I've had while still sober, and my level of play was better than in any other game all year. Then again, everyone else was drunk. I will proceed to get down off my high horse. What a great time though, someone had a camera-phone so hopefully there'll be pictures floating around soon.
The rest of the weekend also seemed to spring from that initial Friday at the Republic. Sitting around in the pub, we were all invited to a house party by another one of our Ultimate frisbee teammates who also happens to be the frontman for the best new band on the local music scene, Hey Rosetta! And yes, the exclamation point (!!!) is always required. Talented and eclectic frisbee team we have, indeed.
So Saturday night I ended up at the house party where I saw lots of people I expected to see and even MORE that I didn't. But therein lies the fun of house parties in St. John's. Well, that and confounding a random drunk guy by busting out a reference to James Joyce's wife. But once again, confounding a drunk guy is not the pinnacle of worldly achievement, so I will once again move on! The party shifted into the basement eventually, and an impromptu jam session broke out with a few of the guys from Hey Rosetta! alternating through a few different instruments for a laugh.
Cut to Sunday night, and I was standing with a huge crowd on George Street watching Hey Rosetta! rocking out from the outdoor stage. A bit of alcohol was flowing through my system by now and their powerful music and poignant lyrics sounded more epic than ever, floating up through the open air and into every closely packed pub on the street. The energy on the street seems to rise up through the cobblestones and infect everyone adventurous enough to join in the revelry. You can meet everyone you know on a single night of the George Street Fest, yet you still feel close to those strangers that are standing like yourself, wrapped in the wondrous enjoyment of... wait. This is the alcohol talking. Let's be realistic here and say it was a fine night with great people.
The second act was Matt Mays and El Torpedo, they're a solid rock band, they love Newfoundland, and they are definitely not new to the street. What happened halfway through their set, however, drove every lucky audience member absolutely wild and is now forever engraved into George Street legend.
Gazeebow Unit came out of nowhere to perform a song.
Now, for anyone not familiar, Gazeebow Unit are a hilarious Newfoundland rap posse who hail from Airport Heights. They are as elusive as the Yeti, and are learned about only by rumour and hearsay. I hear, for example, that they're still in High School and are not actually the wife-beater-wearing fake rappers that they pretend to be and are only making fun of this type of person that we Newfoundlanders for some reason call a skeet.
Whoever/whatever they are, they are HILARIOUS and got the whole street pumping with their much-talked-about song Ski-Doos, Ski-Doos, Trikes, and Bikes. Apparently those are the recreational activities enjoyed in the local area of Airport Heights. Oh, and also, at da gazeebow, dey likes ta fight. You just have to click on the link and listen to the song.
Amazing weekend, amazingly long-winded wrap-up by me! But here it is, recorded for posterity. And as my lovely friend who shares the name of James Joyce's wife told me: "Posterity is a good reason." Works for me.
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