Drunkenfest
- Kris
- Jun 3, 2014
- 2 min read
In droves they descended on DC - the sloshed, the wild, and the green (not with envy, but with cultural pride and maybe a bit of libation-inspired nausea). Shamrock Fest, as I have described it on numerous occasions, is a shit show. And the crowd’s the show. The music is decidedly less shitty.
I could make a couple jokes here about the name of Shamrock Fest, but they’d all be pretty bad puns. I think “drunkenfest,” as I’ve heard it called before, is an apt name, and I’ll let that speak for itself.
Dressed in the only plaid skirt I own and a tank with the name ‘Johnny Cash’ written down the front, just to be alternative, I wove through shades of green and stepped over rivulets of spilled beer to make my way to the front for the few bands I cared about. For days after, I kept checking myself for bruises from the fight, but I’m pretty sure my body was just a giant one pulsing with the aches and pains that turn celebration into dedication (or insanity if you’re factoring over-priced food into the equation).
I’m not a Dropkick Murphys fan – though my friends assure me that I know more than some actual fans because I can name more songs than just “Shipping Up to Boston.” Still, I wound up with my boobs pressed into pancakes against the bar, where front row, stage left we were pushed and prodded and forced to duck for incoming crowd-surfers. Loyalty to my best friend kept me there - a guy with a guitar over a pint of beer is much more my style any day.
Last time I’d seen Dropkick Murphys was actually Shamrock Fest two years prior – and that time we were in a much safer location, way outside of and behind the crowd. We even left before they’d finished their set – probably due to my influence, as I was definitely not feeling it then either and we had another band to catch at the pub!
This time, we stayed, even through the guy pissing on people in attempt to make it to the front.
Consider me the sidekick in this story - what transpired in the minutes Dropkick Murphys was on stage is my best friend's story, not mine, and I bore the bruises happily for her sake.
Even so, I did learn a couple things:
1) Men in mosh pits are disgusting
2) Overpriced Yuengling is still delicious – yes, really.
3) Shamrock Fest will always be a shit show.
That last one I need to remember for next year.
Edited May 2016 from post published June 3, 2014 via Wordpress
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