June 2024: Re-Jackalope
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In June of 2022 I attended a country music festival called the Jackalope Jamboree in the worst way possible.
My first mistake was not figuring out how I would get there. Jackalope is a 3.5 hour drive from Portland and I failed to realize until a few days before that my wife would be needing the car to go to work and live her life.
The second mistake was failing to make sleep arrangements. Jackalope is in a smaller town and the affordable rooms and Airbnb’s were long booked by the time I thought to look.
The third mistake was my solution to the first two. Rental cars were too pricey so I downloaded Turo and went hunting. Turo is an app that lets people who own cars rent them out to dipshits like me. I found my baby for under $50, it was a dry cleaner’s service van. Even better: I could sleep in the back. Two birds with one van. I am so smart.
I don’t know what speed a well-worn service van should be expected to travel at comfortably. This baby would scream and go into convulsions whenever I exceeded 52 miles per hour. It was hot out and the AC worked kind of. No frills beyond the radio. Still, I was on my way. Just me, the open road, and a steering wheel shaking so hard it made my hands tingle.
I made it to the venue and nabbed one of the last available camping locations, in a gravel pit furthest away from the action. Lucky me! It was hot, dusty, and my nerves were fried from the drive. I purchased $50 in drink tokens and met up with my cousin Emma and some of her pals. Then more luck: all drinks cost the same amount of tokens. A Bud Light was the same as a red wine was the same as an IPA. I love a deal and stayed at the higher end of the ABV options. Smart.
I decided to get a tattoo. The tattoo trailer was a hot, sweaty, tight-squeeze. Then I watched one of my favorite bands, Turnpike Troubadours, close out the night and I made my way back to the van. A gravel pit woman told me I should smile more. Still, for such a long day I managed to have fun and was eager for a solid night of sleep before returning home in the morning.
This is when I learned that the floor of a service van isn’t flat. It’s ribs of steel or maybe adamantium. In my haste to hit the road I’d only thrown a couple light blankets in the back and a single pillow. Sleeping on that floor felt like being a sausage on a grill. I’d lay on one side until it went numb, then flip over and let the other side cook for a while.
It also turns out service vans don’t do much to stop outside noises from coming inside. As I flame-broiled away inside I heard all the hoots and hollers you’d expect all around me. I had nightmares about the gravel pit woman getting in. As soon as it was daylight I gave up and drove home. I felt tired, sick, and would soon learn I caught Covid for the first time.
Which is why I went back to Jackalope this month. I had done this festival so extremely wrong that I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to try it extremely right. I reached out to the organizers months ago and offered to emcee, they agreed and got me a motel room. I set aside money to rent a decadent Nissan Sentra. I put a few family members on my guest list so they could enjoy the festival. I drank lots of water, a lot less booze, brought a sleep mask, a phone charger, sunscreen, a toothbrush, you name it. I saw every band, got a tattoo (from the same guy but in much better ventilated digs), and stayed clear of the gravel pit. I even got to be a little part of this very cool independent festival. My wife observed that this time around my approach was “more like a forty year old,” which is something I just became this month.
Getting older, while terrible overall, does have its perks.
Did I eat Taco Bell This Month? (Personal Accountability):
Once, at the buzzer. June 27th, Jackalope Jamboree, around midnight. After making such strides in being responsible I had to squeeze in some impulsive recklessness: Doritos Locos Taco, Bean Burrito, Crunchwrap. Fantastic as always.
Monthly Comedy Complaint:
Complicated microphone stands.
The further you get away from this the more annoying you are being to the comedians. Maybe it’s a bunch of evil little legs that tangle up the cord as you just try to move the thing out of your way, or worse it’s some sort of chastity belt you have to try to unlock to slide the microphone out. I’ve broken a few of these mic clips, not in anger but in desperate confusion. I used to feel bad about that. Now days it pleases me. One less PROBLEM.
If this is your only stand please keep it hidden away somewhere nobody has to see it and hand me the microphone raw dog.