Kiss a cod? No thanks.

My friend Nathan Carter wanted some info on the hows, whys and "Eye Boys" that occur when in that area of our country called Newfoundland. So what is to tell about this grand province and its capital St. John's?

Well the first night we got here 30 of us walked around the icy and sloped streets of downtown St. John's to go to a pub called the Basement which offered cheap pizza. We got in and there was only one employee employed in said pub. So she had to take out drink orders, dinner orders and serve and cook.


Luckily about an hour into it more staff showed up. Never the less it was well over three hours before we all had eaten, and we had to eat in stages. Their ovens must have been of a size that only allowed for the cooking of two pizzas at one time. So two pizzas would come out, and people would start eating them, and then we'd wait for more and more.

So the last person (Steve Faguy) was crying with the destructive hunger of a thousand cods by the time he got his pizza and chicken fingers.

Plus their receipts were written on napkins, which is going to look for professional for everyone submitting that either for repayment from their SU or for tax reasons.

Other than that I haven't sampled the life of the common drinker in St. John's. Tonight I'm on safety duty, so I'm hoping to get assigned to the kitchen party that we're having at a local club. That way I'd get the joy of partying with the joy of not getting screeched in. Getting screeched in includes kissing a cod and drinking a shot of screech which is apparently horrible.

Oh well. Aaron Brophey from Chart Magazine is talking now. I'm not in that room, so I can't hear him or anything. Time to sleep for a bit I think. Maybe.