During the Junos, band after band talked about getting Screeched in.
Im sure youre well aware of that touristy ritual which transforms visitors into honorary Newfoundlanders for, supposedly, talking, eating, drinking and kissing like one of us.
The ceremony might be done in good fun, but it's long left a bad taste in my mouth. (And it's not from the Screech. I actually enjoy that.)
No, Screech-ins embarrass the heck of out me.
And I finally realize why. It's that Ndeed I is me ole cock gibberish.
Throughout my youth and adult life here, I've encountered dozens of wonderful accents from our beautiful bays and picturesque peninsulas.
None of the people with these dialects spoke that awful Screech-in jargon, a language that goes too far over-the-top and just adds to the Newfie stereotype.
Now, I'm all about not taking myself too seriously, and I recognize the potential enjoyment and humour in toying with terrified tourists.
So, unlike some, Im not suggesting we bring this ceremony to a Screech-in halt.
I just like us to drop the Ndeed I is nonsense and make the custom more classy.
Why not throw a souwester or Irving ball cap on a tourist and then get them to a kiss of a cod or a puffins rear, eat a chunk of wild bologna, toast the pine-clad hills and finally shoot an ounce of the dark and dirty.
We wont miss that old cock crap and neither will they, I can promise that.
From listening to band after band at the Junos, the fears of visitors seem to be kissing the cod, eating some kind of processed meat, and downing rum reputed to taste worst than jet fuel.