Two fifty for a high-ball, and a buck and a half for beer
“Don’t be so pushy” Gord Downie said to the crowd. “The people up front got there first, and they’re generally smaller and better looking than you.”
Myself and five others went on a road trip this weekend to see the Tragically Hip. Nick came all the way from Calais, Maine, picking up everyone else along the way. Thursday night, which was when Nick actually arrived in Halifax, was to set the bar for the next few days. Nick’s first stop in Halifax was at a liquor store, then the house on Larch Street where he was staying, and then Oxford Street to get me. After drinking for five or six hours on a couch and in bars, it was only one in the morning and everyone was already winding down. Every time that I’ve gone out with my roommates, Ian and Matt, the night wouldn’t start until about nine or ten and would take the same amount of time to finish.
Friday morning, we all set out for Charlottetown. Of course, there was typical Maritime weather - heavy showers with random patches of rain. This didn’t phase Nick one bit, however, as he still felt comfortable driving above the speed limit in heavy rain while fiddling with his discman car kit and chain smoking cloves. I’ll tell you, pulling up behind another car on the highway and passing them under those conditions without slowing down is a good way to wake a person up.
I knew beforehand that the forecast was calling for thundershowers in Charlottetown. A clear sky seemed to contradict this, though not for long as the storm we raced through quickly caught up. We had pretty amazing luck not getting into one or several accidents on the way down, and that wasn’t about to change. For the ten minutes that it rained on the waterfront, we were all in the van drinking during Matt Mays’ set.
Although I’m not really a fan of Sam Roberts, the guy can put on a pretty good show. The jam at the end was especially great; ten minutes or more of solid rocking the fuck out. When it was over, Nick and I were equally impressed; Nick even more so because he’s from the States and had never heard Sam Roberts before. Of course, we were both a little drunk (beer tent wooooo) and Nick, bless his luck, just happened to be standing next to one of very few people that brought in weed but no lighter. Apparently PEI has some good dope.
Of course, there’s always an intermission while the next band sets up on stage, which meant another trip back to the van for more beer.
The Hip’s performance was easily the highlight of my summer. Downie was simply born to be a front man in a band. At one point, while the rest of the band was playing, he started throwing the mic around on stage-you could hear it through the speakers whenever it fell to the ground-while dancing around with the mic stand. He then went on a rant about how you have to tame the mic, and how you shouldn’t be afraid. You need to let it know that it’s yours, because “it’s not a woman, and it’s not a man. It’s a microphone and a microphone stand.” Obviously something will be lost in translation here, but take my word for it: Gord Downie fucking rules.
After drinking more at the van while waiting for the parking lot to clear, it was time to head to my house to drink and talk about how awesome the concert was. The next morning we drove back to Halifax. Nick decided to stay one more night instead of driving ten straight hours to Maine. This, of course, means another night of drinking. Still lucky enough not to get into even more accidents, including very nearly killing a man on a motorcycle because Nick wanted to get change ready for the toll booth coming up after twenty more kilometers and wasn’t watching the goddam road, Nick and I began a quest to find a liquor store open on Canada Day. Our fourth stop was the Keith’s Brewery, which had a ten to twenty minute wait just to get into the room where the beer is kept. I think it tasted better for this reason.
After getting back from another mini-pub crawl, Nick and I discovered that we were alone at the Larch St. house. We slept in each other’s arms, knowing that our peace would go undisturbed naturally continued drinking, passing out on our friend’s couches at some unknown hour. Nick may have missed church the next morning, but we were able to beat the breakfast rush of the other churchgoers faithful enough to get their drunk asses out of bed.
Now that I'm back in Halifax, I have to put the check from King’s for my caution and gown deposit in the bank, which I just happened to pick up when I was home. This means that I’ll be eating this week. I’m also considering taking up Blackjack as a hobby.
Myself and five others went on a road trip this weekend to see the Tragically Hip. Nick came all the way from Calais, Maine, picking up everyone else along the way. Thursday night, which was when Nick actually arrived in Halifax, was to set the bar for the next few days. Nick’s first stop in Halifax was at a liquor store, then the house on Larch Street where he was staying, and then Oxford Street to get me. After drinking for five or six hours on a couch and in bars, it was only one in the morning and everyone was already winding down. Every time that I’ve gone out with my roommates, Ian and Matt, the night wouldn’t start until about nine or ten and would take the same amount of time to finish.
Friday morning, we all set out for Charlottetown. Of course, there was typical Maritime weather - heavy showers with random patches of rain. This didn’t phase Nick one bit, however, as he still felt comfortable driving above the speed limit in heavy rain while fiddling with his discman car kit and chain smoking cloves. I’ll tell you, pulling up behind another car on the highway and passing them under those conditions without slowing down is a good way to wake a person up.
I knew beforehand that the forecast was calling for thundershowers in Charlottetown. A clear sky seemed to contradict this, though not for long as the storm we raced through quickly caught up. We had pretty amazing luck not getting into one or several accidents on the way down, and that wasn’t about to change. For the ten minutes that it rained on the waterfront, we were all in the van drinking during Matt Mays’ set.
Although I’m not really a fan of Sam Roberts, the guy can put on a pretty good show. The jam at the end was especially great; ten minutes or more of solid rocking the fuck out. When it was over, Nick and I were equally impressed; Nick even more so because he’s from the States and had never heard Sam Roberts before. Of course, we were both a little drunk (beer tent wooooo) and Nick, bless his luck, just happened to be standing next to one of very few people that brought in weed but no lighter. Apparently PEI has some good dope.
Of course, there’s always an intermission while the next band sets up on stage, which meant another trip back to the van for more beer.
The Hip’s performance was easily the highlight of my summer. Downie was simply born to be a front man in a band. At one point, while the rest of the band was playing, he started throwing the mic around on stage-you could hear it through the speakers whenever it fell to the ground-while dancing around with the mic stand. He then went on a rant about how you have to tame the mic, and how you shouldn’t be afraid. You need to let it know that it’s yours, because “it’s not a woman, and it’s not a man. It’s a microphone and a microphone stand.” Obviously something will be lost in translation here, but take my word for it: Gord Downie fucking rules.
After drinking more at the van while waiting for the parking lot to clear, it was time to head to my house to drink and talk about how awesome the concert was. The next morning we drove back to Halifax. Nick decided to stay one more night instead of driving ten straight hours to Maine. This, of course, means another night of drinking. Still lucky enough not to get into even more accidents, including very nearly killing a man on a motorcycle because Nick wanted to get change ready for the toll booth coming up after twenty more kilometers and wasn’t watching the goddam road, Nick and I began a quest to find a liquor store open on Canada Day. Our fourth stop was the Keith’s Brewery, which had a ten to twenty minute wait just to get into the room where the beer is kept. I think it tasted better for this reason.
After getting back from another mini-pub crawl, Nick and I discovered that we were alone at the Larch St. house. We slept in each other’s arms, knowing that our peace would go undisturbed naturally continued drinking, passing out on our friend’s couches at some unknown hour. Nick may have missed church the next morning, but we were able to beat the breakfast rush of the other churchgoers faithful enough to get their drunk asses out of bed.
Now that I'm back in Halifax, I have to put the check from King’s for my caution and gown deposit in the bank, which I just happened to pick up when I was home. This means that I’ll be eating this week. I’m also considering taking up Blackjack as a hobby.