The ABC's of Jamboree in the Hills: From Alcohol to Zucchini

Ladies and gentlemen, it's been too long. I've been writing a lot this summer on top of working a full work week. Unfortunately, that's caused me to stop writing for my most favorite of reasons: Shits and giggles. But after this weekend I've once again found my muse. What caused this revival? One thing and one thing only...

The superbowl of country music, the mecca of steel guitar, the redneck woodstock, the 30th annual Jamboree in the Hills.

I returned to that beautiful stretch of rolling farm land in the heart of the Ohio Valley once again this summer and it reminded me that there are too many stories to tell and not half-drunk college students to publish them on the internet. Without further ado, it's my pleasure to introduce the ABC's of Jamboree in the Hills.

A is for alcohol. You see, when 100,000 people get together it's bound to be a good time. When you add alcohol you get what rational people would call a clusterfuck. Picture, if you will, a place where not only is alcohol not only readily available at 7 am but being consumed at such a rate that one could easily drink an entire case in a day. That's not a meatheaded example of hyperbole. It's a reasonable estimate. This is the monster we're dealing with here people.

B is for boobies. A byproduct of that much alcohol is the inevitable display of public nudity. Some of these breasts, you'll want to see. Others, you'll want to burn from your memory forever. That's just how it is, you have to take the good with the bad. Upon my arrival on Friday night my good friend Evan McCartney was bartering for tits with chunks of vodka-melon. 30 minutes to Jambo '06 I had drank 4 beers, eaten alcohol-laced fruit and seen 2 pairs of boobs. "Gonna be a good weekend, Evan."

C is for cowboy hats. From true, blue-collar West Virginians to yuppie, high-class urbanites...EVERYONE needs a cowboy hat. These can range from the real deal ten-gallon specials to ten dollar straw-woven novelties. Regardless, you just need one. Not only does it keep the sun off your face it makes you look fucking sweet. I went with a classic black style while my Uncle Doug owns a beat up lid he affectionately refers to as "Garbage Hat." Whatever your preference, pony up the cash and make the investment. You won't regret it.

D is for deprivation. As in sleep, cleanliness, and anything else generally healthy. You'll sleep for a mere 3 or 4 hours a night in the muggy July heat on nothing but the uneven ground. You'll goes days without bathing while stomping around in the mud that's laced with beer, blood, and (most likely) urine. You'll survive on nothing but fried breakfast sandwiches, poorly made coffee and cheap Gyros from a trailer. Through it all you'll be drinking enough beer to made Ted Kennedy's liver roll over into the corner and curl up in the fetal position. And you'll love every minute of it.

E is for everyone dances. That's what's great about country music, the dances that are done to it are simply ridiculous so any person on the face of the earth can work it out there and nobody can tell the difference. I've never danced with more people in my life, and I love dancing at weddings. Which leads to one necessary conclusion: Jambo is easily better than your wedding night. However, it should be said that E could also stand for Energizer Bunny, as in the dancing habits of one Charlotte McCartney. Char arrives at the venue around 10 am and doesn't stop grooving until it closes out around 11 that night. It's truly extraordinary. It's also led me to believe that one strand of her hair could singlehandedly solve this nation's energy crisis.

F is for floozies. Floozy is a rather uncommon term used to describe a young woman with questionable moral standards. In my opinion, it should be used more often. Under regular use this past weekend by Cody Merva, Jared Braden and Evan McCartney, it berthed a sign that was posted on the front flap of Evan's tent, reading: "Hotel Floozie: In by 10...out by 12." It should also that the two O's in floozie were given nipples. It's the little things that make it worth mentioning.

G is for Gypsies. This is the term that comes to mind first when one sees that massive amounts of carnival style merchants that make the annual pilgrimage to Morristown, Ohio. Selling everything from cowboy hats to indian jewelry they truly know how to price gouge a group of people who have no other option but to buy from them. My personal favorite is the foodstand that charged me two dollars for a personal-sized bottle of milk in the morning. Really guys, thanks for the ass-raping.

H is for heat stroke. With temperatures climbing into the high nineties, staying cool is a lofty priority. However, this can be tough when you do nothing but consume alcohol and sweat all day. It doesn't help that the particular venue for this event is a giant bowl with no structure large enough to provide significant shade. Luckily, there are plenty of perverts around to squirt waterbottles at girl's chests. Occasionally they'll accidently hit a man. Those accidental spritzings may very well have kept me alive.

I is for ingenuity. When thrown into such extreme conditions it goes without saying that only those who know how to adapt will prosper. It's the law of the jungle. Well if you want to see the king of the forest you need to look no further than the group head up by Cambridge's own Bobby Kennedy. Aside from playing Bagelman on the radio, (am I the only one that remembers that skit?) he also helps plan a Jamboree operation that outshines the Iraqi war. Armed with scores of plastic tarps, a couple campers, a portable shower, and a few dozen of the most steadfast concert goers from across North America, this team sizes up whatever stands in the way of a perfect Jambo experience and lays waste to it. It's an awe-inspiring thing.

J is for jambo cam. You see, when a spectacle this dynamic comes to the Ohio Valley, you have to assume one thing. It will receive 24 hour coverage from WTOV 9. Enter jambo cam. This is a lone cameraman and a single reporter going out into the field to cover the reaction from the fans themselves. They often pull such descript as "WOOOOOOOOOOO" and "YEAHHHHHH!" Amazing journalism. However, don't sell it short, as yours truly made an appearance this year doing the intro back from commercial with a group of his bestest and drunkest friends.

K is for Kelli Olexia. Kelli was the beautiful, blonde anchor from News 9 that spent her years at the station as the face of Jambo coverage. I've personally screamed her name at several area events she was covering and she never failed to look back and smile. Truly one of the few women I openly admit to having a full-blown crush on. Unfortunately, she's taken her talents to KDKA in Pittsburgh and doesn't appear at Jambo anymore. That doesn't stop me from asking the cameraman about her every year, though. In my book, a first ballot Jamboree in the Hills Hall-of-Famer.

L is for law enforcement. As in the undercover sheriff that took Stephen Evancho out in handcuffs on Saturday night. Unfortunately, Stevo was underage and the Belmont County Sheriffs Department frowns on us type of folks consuming copious amounts of alcohol. Big whoop. Having his ticket revoked Stevo's weekend was over but he still refers to it as one of the best times of his life. You want poetic justice? The opening day of Jambo '07 falls on his 21st birthday. His story should inspire us all.

M is for McCoy, as in another first ballot hall-of-famer, Neal McCoy. Closing out the weekend on Sunday evening, Neal gave one of the week's best performances. His high energy levels and fast paced style just kind of embodies what this thing is all about. Being sweet. Hell, Neal even takes it upon himself to climb 3 story speaker towers from time to time. He even was photographed at a Cambridge Wendys following his show. The next day, front page news on the Daily Jeffersonian. Home sweet home.

N is for neighbors. My first day in camp I was introduced to a girl that will be living just two doors down from me on Stewart St. in Athens this year. Having already met her I let her in on my plan to take cookies door to door in the Fall and we even threw around some party ideas. Junior year is off to a great start. Jamboree in the Hills: Bringing people together since 1977.

O is for outfits. Jamboree also demands that people bring their A-game when it comes to clothing as well. People carve out watermelons to be used as helmets, where lime-green singlets, and grown men sport daisy dukes...all in the name of inebriation and country music. My personal favorite this year was a man dressed like Hulk Hogan. One, it made zero sense at all. And two, I still fear the atomic leg drop, brother.

P is for Paisley, as in Brad Paisley. Brad was the closer on Thursday and absolutely ROCKED MY FUCKING SOCKS OFF. Not only was he born and raised in the Ohio Valley, he first played at Jambo when he was 12 and can bust out the event's theme song upon request. He's also an artist that has had more hit songs than anyone realizes. Every one he played, I knew the words to. As anyone who knows me can attest, if I know the words...you're gonna hear em. Plus, he had a fake conversation via a fake satellite with little Jimmy Dickens. If you don't know who that is, fucking learn to use google.

Q is a fucking stupid letter.

R is for redneck run. Here's the spectacular part about Jamboree in the Hills....all the seating is general admission, first come first serve. This means that at about 6 in the morning a few hundred poor, hungover souls drag themselves out of their tents to run, assholes and elbows, to get the best spot available. Just to give you an idea of how physically draining of an activity this is...imagine your worst hangover ever then imagine having to go out and run a no-holds-barred steeple chase with it, complete with giant mud puddles, gravel bunkers and plenty of competitors willing to run you over. Also take into account the following quote from Cody Merva after trying to recover from the run on Sunday morning..."I think I just swallowed some blood." Stuff gives me goosebumps everytime.

S is for shitchzyeah. You ever notice how any extended experience worth a damn seems to have a single word that dominates it's timeline. Well for this year, shitchzyeah was it. Commonly referred to as "shit yeah," shitchzyeah serves multiple purposes. Wanna do some shots? Shitchzyeah. Is tonight's lineup any good? Shitchzyeah. Wanna drink beer til we fall down on a table? Shitchzyeah. Wanna slide on our bellies through a patch of mud that is no doubt full of every disgusting substance known to man, four of which could potentally cause gonorrhea? Shitchzyeah.

T is for thunderstorm. As Montgomery Gentry was closing on Friday night, a monstrous thunderstorm approached. Actually, it kind of slammed the damn door down more than approached. Regardless, everyone was soaked. And not just "wet" soaked, like "I feel more hydrated through osmosis" soaked. That storm led to more drinking and inevitibly led to the mud sliding that was mentioned above. I'm going to the health dept for shots on Wednesday.

U is for underwear. When I mention underwear, I have one simple statement: Wear them. I decided to sport a pair of swimtrunks for a couple days that had a mesh liner in them. Satisfied, I thought I could go on with a pair of boxers. Whoops. After two days I had a chaffing sensation that made me walk as if I had been riding a horse for the duration of the weekend. REALLY. BAD. IDEA. So just listen to a poor bastard with a chapped ass...pack some undies.

V is for vacation. You see, I had to work on Thursday and Friday and could only be in attendance for the evenings until Saturday. This decision led be to be berated by people from Zanesville I had met, literally, 4 minutes ago.

"What the fuck were you thinking there?"
"Well I had to take it to build my resume."
"Not fucking worth it."

I started to agree. They then explained to me that this was their vacation and had requested the week off nearly a year in advance. It was at this time that I realized my resume was good for one thing out here...toilet paper. Because, seriously...we were out of toilet paper.

W is for work. Despite the fact that this is treated by many as a vacation, there's actually quite a bit of work involved. One has to continually restock on ice, keep the campsite presentable, make sure beer is available, put up and tear down tents, deftly manuever enormous campers into tiny parking spaces and through it all people keep a smile on their face. It's a spectacular sight.

X is for age. What? I don't care if it doesn't match, I have to get to work in the morning and I have a nice little duality theme going here. As far as the redneck run is concerned, there are men that are old enough they have no business doing that much physical exercise. However, as most of us know, old men are EXCEPTIONAL at doing one thing...getting up early. Which is why when building a team of runners for the mornings, they must be teamed up with....

Y is for youth. I'm young, most of the people who read this will be young. We all know we don't even roll out of bed for anything less than free food or the offer of a sexual favor. That's why the elders get up and make sure we're standing in line to take off on a dead sprint. By the time the gates open, we're ready to go and the results always tend to be pretty good. I guess we're Slyvester Stallone in Rocky III and they're Mick. We need someone to bust our chops every now and again. I guess that would make the venue Mr. T. I guess I should wrap this up before this metaphor gets out of control.

Z is for zucchini. That's right. Zucchini. All day Saturday, Joel East was wearing a large zucchini around his neck as it was tied to a piece of twine. There it sat, as if to say to prospective females, "Ladies, take a good look, because if you play your cards right this is the kind of man you could be taking home." Of course, I spent a lot of the day grabbing the damn thing and taking giant bites out of it. So that sort of made me downplay the phallic significance of the large tuber. Besides, it was a tasty and nutritious snack.

So that wraps it up. Of course there are too many stories to ever fit onto any one website. Which is why I urge you all to go next year. Tickets go on sale in the fall and will cost around $130.00 for the best four days of your life. If any of you hear the price of the ticket and recoil at it's high figure, after I thoroughly slap the shit out of you, I'll explain that for all the stars you'll be seeing and all the fun you'll be having, there's no way you don't come out ahead. Of course, the price only goes up as the date nears, so pony up you cheap bastards because life's too goddamn short not to act like an idiot, slide in the mud, drink yourself silly, eat zucchini from a man's chest, run until you puke, get arrested, and do it all with the understanding that any of it could be broadcasted to the entire Ohio Valley.

"Jamboree in the hills, lord I love that country music.
Jamboree in the hills, every summer in July...
Lord whenever you wanna take me,
this is where I wanna die."