Brightest Young Things

all words: Andy Johnson
all photos: Stephanie Breijo & Shannon Yazurlo

What constitutes a “friend” anymore? Is it someone who you grab a drink with and commiserate about your first world problems? A person who you sit next to in silence at the movies? A buddy who’ll let you crash on his couch when you’re rolling through his or her city? A character who likes the same weird stuff you do? Or is a friend just a being who’ll “Like” and retweet your witticisms on your favorite social network?

By definition, a friend is someone you have a personal attachment to. However, what constitutes this attachment is transient. In the pre-Facebook days, you’d have to actually spend time with people to find out their wants and cares; now political leanings and personal beliefs are unceremoniously hashed out across a blue-and-white template, alongside a listing of favorite bands and photographs from European adventures and anonymous birthday parties.

Even as we grow more dependent on the Internet for our day-to-day interpersonal dealings, having drilled down our interests and documents of our lives to our digital avatars, a friendship cannot remain without the occasional reunion.

Best Friends Day serves this purpose for central Virginia: an end-of-summer catch-up for Richmond’s congregation of artists, punks, geeks, freaks, and -- of course -- hipsters, a toothless pejorative that basically means “a white person who doesn’t dress like me.”

This is the tenth year for BFD, which has evolved from a tiny gathering of friends to a four-day celebration of booze, independent music, and good times. This past Friday saw the Virginia-based punk group of Pg. 99 reform after eight years to perform their album “Document #8” in its entirety. The reason for the reunion? Guitarist Mike Taylor wanted to revisit his old songs with good friends in a city that cultivated a thriving scene. In short: a reunion among friends.

As much as scoring Pg. 99 was a coup for the BFD organizers, the highlight of the weekend remains the all-day Saturday beach party at Hadad’s Lake, a “family oriented water park” that spurns this reputation for one day a year.

The scene was a grand affair. The youth showed up in cars, vans, and the uproarious drunk bus. I heard folks came as far as Florida, with one attendee saying he and his girlfriend had yet to miss a single BFD. A galaxy of bicycles and mopeds were stashed near the entrance. Local bands provided the soundtrack of scores sweaty boys and girls bashing into each other, seeking salvation through perspiration.

Hadad’s consists of a large pool with heavy chlorinated water the color of Smurf skin. In addition to your collection of diving boards, rusty water slides, and rope swings, the pool is dominated by a large blob, an inflated conduit for allowing pasty folks to launch each other into the air. For the record, it is considered a social faux pas to ask a heavyset person to “help you get real high.” It sends mixed messages.

Considering the hot summer day, attendees were in search of hydration, both internal and external. If music is the engine of BFD, then alcohol is the fuel. As expected, Pabst’s Blue Ribbon was ubiquitous, and in the wake of the castration of malt liquor mindslayer Four Loko, Bandit’s wine cartons served as the economical elixir du jour.

Richmond is an inked city, and seeing as how people were stripped to their bathing skivvies, tattoos were out in full force. In addition to yr typical skulls and flowery song lyrics, I found one fellow with an incredibly detailed tattoo of Link holding up the Triforce. Another had Tyrion Lannister (yes, the imp) from “Game of Thrones” tattooed on his upper thigh. Good luck explaining that one to your future son.

But when you combine open drinking, minor drug usage, and nubile flesh, decadence dances. Young hearts openly caressed. Jean shorts were worn. One ruffian was unsuccessful in coercing his svelte girlfriend to “get her hands busy” on one the paddleboats. Another guy was open soliciting $5 bowl packs. There were rumors of a naked volleyball game, but I cannot attest to seeing any type of floppy wankage present.

Girls were encouraged to partake in the topless swing. Those who participated were given an ephemeral injection of attention from the gathered mass. I wouldn’t go as far as to say the drunks were chanting anything as derogatory as “Show us your tits,” but a noticeable disappointment murmured through the crowd every time a swinging PYT chose to not expose herself. To be completely transparent, a few hombres later tried to get a pantless swing going, but this received less acclaim, partially because a drunk public’s tolerance for seeing free boobs is never sated, and partially because viewing shrinkage is revolting, like watching an albino caterpillar burrow through a brillo pad.

But do not assume I’m looking down on this escapade. On the contrary, Best Friends Day was an incredible amount of fun. As a tourist to the city, I’m not sure why Richmond gets a poor reputation from outsiders. (One friend declined to attend, calling the former Confederate capital a “dystopian wasteland straight out of a ‘Mad Max’ movie”). I rebuff such criticism. Some people in the world are just assholes, and save for the occasional ripped jorts, assholes were in short supply at Hadad’s Lake.

Indeed, the event lived up to its name. In keeping with the event’s punk background, the focus was on fostering the positive. High fives were distributed like CostCo samples. Straight-edge vegans raged along side the drunkards. The punks, rocking their extra crusty denim and most fashionable duct tape, were on their best behavior. The bands kept playing throughout the day, ranging in intensity and quality. The ample amount of pretty girls were ogled, but respected. After a few beers, chipping in $5 for a bowl pack became a nice gesture, as opposed to a business transaction. One guy got too rowdy, but rather than ignore his egregious buffoonery, strangers gave him some water and helped him find his friends.

Like a song by The Weeknd, the end of the party was a hazy clusterfuck. The intoxicated were passed out throughout the pavilions along the pool’s edge. Against Me!, a nationally touring band who has sold out the likes of the Black Cat in our fair city, put on a roughly hour-long set for the sunburnt stragglers still sticking around as the day eclipsed into twilight. The remaining folks slowly ushered to whence they came, either via the drunk bus, single-track vehicle, or the conscription of a sober driver. For the most part, people were strict about not driving home drunk (“It’s not worth it!”), but it would also not surprise me if the RPD picked off a few risky yokels.

Best Friends Day used to be bookended in the spring with another Richmond-centric event. Slaughterama did not take place this year, primarily because it was getting too much attention, and I doubt that BFD, now in its tenth year, can remain this positive, underground phenomenon. Compared to other outdoor events I’ve attended, I can attest that much fun was had at Hadad’s, but the situation never became unruly. The organizers of the event, (and I suppose Richmonders, for better or worse) made sure partygoers enjoyed their cheap beer and three chords rock music, but the attendees were responsible for ensuring the DIY don’t-be-a-jerk vibe was omnipresent. To violate this principle was to go against everything the scene stood for.

And I suppose that’s the point of a best friend, anyways. A colleague will grab a beer with you, an acquaintance will dance with you, and a chum will enjoy your company, but only a best friend will make sure you check yourself before you wreck yourself.

and some more snaps from shannon:

Previously in Festivals:

• 5/14: REPORT: Baltimore Tattoo Convention
• 4/25: 2012 FORWARD FESTIVAL PREVIEW
• 3/27: REPORT: Ultra Festival/ WMC in Miami Continues
• 3/26: REPORT: ULTRA Festival/ WMC in MIAMI - Day 1
• 3/12: PHOTOS: Environmental Film Festival Opening Party
• 10/26: PHOTOS: CMJ Hopping Take #2
• 10/25: PHOTOS: CMJ Hopping Take #1
• 10/21: New York Comic Con: Report
• 10/17: Creator's Project: Report
• 10/5: National Book Festival Report 2011