The Jimmy Barnes Tribute Page

Jeff Russell Donations & 'Jeffro's Jam'

If you've ever met Jeff, aka 'Jeffro', then he is your friend...he's that kind of guy. Jeff was in a very serious motorcycle accident May 4th, 2009, with the possibility of permanent paralysis. But Jeff's a tough guy, and he's doing everything he can to walk again. In the meantime, he and his wife Tina are being hit with tons of bills, from medical needs not covered by insurance, adding a ramp to the front of the house, making the house handicap-accessible, getting a van...you name it. I can't think of a more deserving guy to help out. You can do this several ways. There are donation cans at Jeff and Tina's great bar, Russ's Park Place, and at these other fine bars: Charlie's Place, Stokes, Tremors, Hammy's, The Red Zone, and Blackhawk Campground's bar. The Red Zone and Blackhawk are in Milton; the rest are in Janesville. You can get locations for all at 'Drink, Dine, & Dance with Scoop' (see the Home Page). You can also mail a check to Parker Community Credit Union, 2652 N. Lexington Dr., Janesville WI 53545. Any and all checks should be made out to 'Jeff Russell Benefit'. Another great way to help and have even more fun doing it is to get ready for the Poker Run on Friday, October 2nd (starts/ends Russ's), and then 'Jeffro's Jam' on Saturday, October 3rd, at Thresherman's Park. For a $5 donation you get live music, a beer tent, raffles, a silent auction, kid's games, a bike show, mud wrestling, and a lot more, including a...'Biker-Babe Wash'! And you can camp there too. There are also 'Sponsorship Levels' for donations which will get you some neat stuff. (And if you are a business, you really need to check out the Platinum Sponsorship, which also includes a vendor's booth at 'Jeffro's Jam'; between 2,000 and 5,000 attendees are anticipated!) You can also donate items for the Raffle or Auction. If you have any questions contact Christina Sagaitis at 608.295.3693; also call her for more donation forms and/or donation cans.

Below is vital info. Since I couldn't find my "Web Sites for Dummies" book, these won't print out correctly. But you'll get the idea, and you can then call Christina. Make sure you check all out three: 'Jeffro's Jam', 'Why Participate?', and the 'Jeff Russell Benefit Donation Request Form'. Like I said, you couldn't help a better guy and a better family.

This column was supposed to be about peculiar camping ‘essentials’, weird stuff you could buy with all that money you made from following my Economic Recovery Plan (see last issue). But I am being thwarted, mainly because no one will test these fantastic products for me.

Actually, I had only found two fantastic ‘essential’ products so far, and one was quickly eliminated, once I came to my senses. This would be the ‘Off-Road Commode’ (www.kotulas.com), which is a padded toilet seat that fits into the towing receiver on your truck or even your 4-wheeler (‘Not for use when vehicle is in motion’ and ‘Can get slippery when wet’). The web site has many splendid testimonials on how the Off-Road Commode has opened up the great outdoors to people who want to travel far from the nearest bathroom. You just pull over, retrieve the toilet seat, slip the slug into the hitch receiver, and squat. A bucket underneath is recommended. However, since this fine newspaper winds up mainly at campgrounds, and many golf carts have receivers bolted on to the rear frame, I saw trouble looming. I mean, really, how far from a bathroom are you at any given point in a campground? So whoever bought one of these would do it for a joke, which is fine. But then this jokester might have more than several tasty beverages late one night and decide to actually use his new toy. He would probably find this hilarious, maybe even for several nights, until caught and punished. But I would be the one blamed, for writing about it. That’s why I decided to ‘eliminate’ it from any further research. Besides, they’re 40 bucks (but Free Shipping!) Buy your own if you want. But don’t say you heard it from me.

The other product seemed to ‘stand’ a better chance. This is the P-MATE (www.pmateusa.com), brought to my attention by my friend Therese, from New Lenox, IL. The P-MATE is described as a ‘Disposable Stand to-pee Device’ for women, and after the owner of the company, Karen Diamond, graciously sent me some free samples, I saw that it is indeed just that, a folded cardboard device that opens up to sort of a kayak/funnel-shaped thing. Theoretically, a woman moves her underwear aside and pees into the kayak opening, and the pee goes out the end of the funnel six or so inches away. No squatting is required. This product is recommended for campers, hikers, boaters, FBI agents, private detectives, and all sorts of other users, including, and I quote: ‘the transgender population’. It seems to be quite popular in Europe, and with travelers to Egypt, especially near The Great Pyramids, where apparently the public bathrooms consist of large holes in the ground that women must straddle. The web site has a lot of pictures, one of which shows a poor woman hiker cowering at the base of a tree while a humongous bear the size of King Kong snarls over her. Ha! If she only had a P-MATE, she wouldn’t have been caught sitting down on the job.

I quickly assembled, at least in my mind, an Esteemed Board of Reviewers, which would consist of Mrs. Scoop and our friends Nancy, Therese, Sue, and Karin. The first three could be counted on to give me serious, no-baloney opinions. Sue and Karin, on the other hand, would hopefully agree to try out their P-MATEs only after evening cocktails at the campfire. This would ensure that the P-MATE was tested under some real, authentic conditions. However, this is where I started to get thwarted…

Things started out badly when Mrs. Scoop looked at her P-MATE and said she would rather pee in the bag it had been shipped in. Therese’s report would have to wait until she got her sample in the mail. But I had cornered Sue, Karin and Nancy on Saturday, with Nancy suspicious but Sue and Karin agreeing to try a late-night test. On Sunday morning I ventured out to get their verdicts. Karin’s RV was dark at 10am, with no sign of life. That was a good sign, I figured: late-night revelry must have occurred. When I pulled up to Sue’s, she was on her deck having coffee and bottled water. She started laughing and held up her P-MATE, opened but unused.

When I asked her why she hadn’t conducted the experiment, she said: "Karin and I both tried, together, behind the shed. But we were laughing so hard we just couldn’t…ah…release. Then we went down to the bar with them, and thought we could use them to scoop popcorn out of the machine, but someone grabbed them and took them around to show a bunch of people. We were still laughing too hard to even think about trying again last night. But I did drink a lot of coffee already this morning and I’ve got my bottled water, so I’ll try again today. By the way, Scoop, I talked to Nancy yesterday, and she thinks you’re up to something evil. She said she’s not touching it until she checks out the website and makes sure it’s a legitimate product."

So as of now I have no testimonials. Plans for a P-MATE column are looking dim. Fortunately, I have some good news, so let’s move on for now…

Beware!

Yes they are, and sometimes they can be a lifesaver. Len and Cherie Biancofiore of Hoffman Estates, IL, have had a seasonal site at Blackhawk Campgrounds here in Milton for 16 years. Len was born with only one kidney, and after getting diabetes, Len was forced to go on dialysis three and a half years ago. He was in desperate need of a kidney transplant. On the waiting list in both Illinois and Wisconsin, Len’s chances did not look good. He is Type ‘O’, and only a donor with the same blood type could be used.

Five years ago, a friend and fellow seasonal camper brought Angelo and Sherrie Anemone from Bloomingdale, IL up to take a look at Blackhawk. They were soon seasonal campers themselves, and got to know Len and Cherie through their mutual friend. "We just started talking," said Cherie, "and we stayed in touch even during the winter. It turns out we only live about 20 minutes apart back home, so we had things in common. One time I happened to mention about Lenny being on dialysis.

"We were talking again one day back in January of 2008, and Sherrie asked how Lenny was doing. I told her they still couldn’t find a match for him, that he was a Type ‘O’ and there just wasn’t anyone out there right now; not even his own family members were Type O. There was a pause on the phone, and then Sherrie said ‘Let me get back to you,’ and ended the call. I didn’t think anything about it—she takes care of her four kids and a grandson, takes care of the house, and helps run the family business, a restaurant. She’s always busy.

"Sherrie called back in a few days. She said: ‘I’m type ‘O’. Let me see if I’m a good match.’"

Len and Cherie were stunned. "We started crying, both of us," said Cherie. "We couldn’t believe it." We asked her why she was willing to do this, and she said, ‘I’m a donor already (on her driver’s license); why do I have to wait until I die to give somebody an organ? I’m going to give Lenny a kidney now.’"

Lenny and Sherrie both started taking the required tests in April; in March, Sherrie found out she was almost a perfect match, maybe even better than a Type ‘O’ relative to Lenny would have been. The testing would wind up lasting until October. "Sherry never complained," said Cherie. "Even when she needed to re-take a test, she left her restaurant or house and was at the hospital as soon as she could, sometimes within the hour."

The surgery was originally scheduled for the beginning of September but was delayed until October due to more testing. On October 16^th, 2008, Lenny and Sherrie checked into Loyola University in Maywood, IL, asking for and getting adjoining rooms. "The doctors were fantastic," said Cherie. "Sherrie was in a lot of pain, but that girl can’t sit still. She tried to get out in three days, but we talked her into staying, so she went home in four days."

I asked Lenny, now age 62, how he feels. "I feel good," he said. Then he laughed. "I’ve got a girl’s kidney now, so I’m not sure if I should sit or stand to pee. Maybe that’s a cheap joke, but believe me, just to be able to and not be on dialysis, to me, that’s a really good feeling."

Lenny and Cherie want to let you know that a donor’s medical expenses are covered by the recipient’s insurance. "It doesn’t cost you a dime, and you’re automatically put on the waiting list as a recipient in case you should ever need it."

They’ve never stopped thanking Sherrie. As Lenny put it: "How could I possibly thank her enough for doing such a thing?"

Sherrie now is dealing with her husband Angelo’s own medical problems. "He collapsed one day," she said, "and he technically died two times in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. He has a defibrillator implanted now; his heart is only working at 30%." Sherrie asked the hospital donor-coordinator if, as a recipient now, she could get a heart and give it to Angelo. The coordinator thinks her status is good only for a kidney and only for her, but is looking into it.

Sherrie is 45. Angelo is 51. Their restaurant is DiVita’s, at 3753 W. Belmont Avenue, Chicago.

Lenny and Sherrie

Meg Webb, of Blackhawk Campgrounds and Grayslake, IL, graduated Summa Cum Laude from Arizona State University on May 13^th. "It was a pretty cool ceremony," she said, "and I don’t think you can top it: President Barack Obama gave the speech and Alice Cooper sang ‘School’s Out’.

"It was at Sun Devil Stadium. The ceremony was set for 7pm, but we had to be at the stadium at 2:30. The temperature was 107 degrees. We had to walk up the side of a mountain first to go through Security, so that made it worse. The security check took another half hour; they went over you with the wand, checked your purse, and had you unzip your gown. With that heat, most of us were wearing as little as possible. And they certainly know how to make money at the stadium: it cost me $20 for a bottle of water, a big lemonade, and a pretzel. Cheese for the pretzel was another $2, but I skipped that.

"Before the speeches, there were student performances. There was the female

a cappella group, the student mariachi band, a dance troupe. Last was Dash Cooper’s band, ‘Runaway Phoenix’. Dash is Alice Cooper’s son, he’s graduating next year. So a lot of us were thinking, well, is his dad coming out? Alice lives in Phoenix, so it was possible. At the very end of the set, Dash yelled out: ‘Welcome Alice Cooper!’

"Anybody who could still stand in that heat got up and started clapping and dancing. He just sang the one song, but it was great."

Meg’s mom, Katie, added: "Alice had the eyeliner on, but not anything real grotesque. He looked good; actually, I think he looks better now than he used to."

Meg said she happened to glance up during the entertainment at about 6:45. "I saw Air Force One flying over, so I figured things were good to go. There were the usual speeches, starting at 7pm, and Obama was supposed to speak at 7:30, but it was about 8:15 when he came out. He waved, shook hands, and he gave a good speech. He was funny too, kidding (ASU) President Crow he’d better watch out for the IRS, I think because ASU didn’t give him an honorary degree. But he also warned us that ‘you guys aren’t going out into an easy world’, and there would be a lot of hard work ahead."

Meg said the only bad part was that darned heat. "I was in the bleachers, and those metal seats were really hot. I felt like I was getting heat stroke. I leaned over the banister, feeling sick, and there was a Secret Service agent down there looking out at the stage. I told him I thought I might throw up. He sort of jumped and said, ‘Can you warn me first?’ I said: ‘You’ve been warned!’ But he was safe, although he kept watching me."

Margaret Ann Webb is headed to California to the UCSF Medical School For Pediatrics. I’ve known her since she was knee-high to a June cornstalk, and believe me, she will be the best at whatever she does.

Alice Cooper photo courtesy of Meg Webb

President Obama photo courtesy of Casey Thomas

………………………………..

P-MATE UPDATE: A-ha! At last, details from my Esteemed Board of Reviewers are trickling in. I’ve just received an email from Sue’s husband, Dan (‘Test Results are in!’). Sue did not experiment Sunday afternoon, but according to Dan: "Sue tried the P-MATE last night (Tues). I went to the Cubs-Sox game (which was rained out) and our daughter was babysitting, so it was Sue and Kramer the dog. She was cleaning the bathroom so she thought she would give it a try. If there was going to be a technological problem she would already be prepared for the haz-mat cleanup.

"She said it worked but you still had to drop the panties. Or maybe it would be better with a dress. There was no leaking and it seemed to hold up fine."

So far, so good. I was rooting for the P-MATE and hoping for across-the-board rave reviews (Mrs. Scoop didn’t count—she didn’t actually try it). I approached my sister-in-law, Sheila, about testing it, and she suggested my niece Emma, age four, try it instead. This seemed like a good idea; after all, little girls camp and travel far distances on family vacations. Alas, in an email from Sheila: "Emma says using the P-MATE made her feel like a baby going potty. She likes being able to sit like big girls. It was not very comfortable to use."

Well, maybe years from now under different conditions, like on a camping trip where there’re snakes or something. But thank you. Emma. I owe you an ice cream cone.

So now I was back to even-up on the P-MATE reports. Next came Nancy: "It was about to storm and I went behind the trailer. It wasn’t placed right and pee came out both ends. But it was dark and the storm was brewing; maybe I went about it too quickly. Women know the issues (of squatting), especially with holding underwear and trying to swat bugs at the same time. So, if I had another one, I would definitely use it (in particular situations)."

OK, I’ll give that a ‘yes’. Then, a discouraging email from Karin: "I don’t expect this person to get rich on the (P-MATE). I had to pull down my pants. This device is not designed to catch (everything) a woman has to dispense. The instructions need to be modified. There is no way a woman can stand back and relax."

The italics are mine, and I’ll get to that in a moment. But Karin also says her friend wants to get some for a girls-only camping weekend, which since it will be at a bathroom-equipped RV, means strictly-for-giggles around the campfire.

Anyway, as for the italics, I had given each participant full-color copies of the instructions that come with the P-MATE. The series of drawings specifically show that you should lean slightly forward. Geez, Karin, even I get in trouble when I lean back and relax. Most guys do. That’s why they invented urinals…and campfires.

As back-up on this, the next day Mrs. Scoop was poolside at a private residence, and exasperated that she had to use the facilities, leaving good music and conversation behind. I told her it was too bad she didn’t have a P-MATE, as there was a hidden corner full of weeds that needed killing. "But then I’d have to carry that full thing into the house anyway," she said. So her previous remark about using the plastic bag meant she figured it was like giving a sample at the Doctor’s office and carrying it down the hallway. So…it’s the guys who don’t listen to directions, huh?

And then, the final verdict. Therese is the one who originally sent me an email about P-MATE, in which she said she could have used some on her trip to Europe, where, quote: "it’s either an out-house or a filthy, germ-infested pig sty." In her latest email: "I used the P-MATE today. I thought it worked great! I would definitely buy them. I can think of 100’s of times I would use them. Not only outdoors, but restrooms that I do not want to touch. I would like to order some just to practice with (some more) at home. However, the first time I used it, I didn’t spill one drop. GREAT PRODUCT!"

Hmmm…I guess Therese read the directions. And that is why Therese and I are on to a new money-making idea, in which we sell P-MATES all over Wisconsin, especially at campgrounds. I’ll do the talking. Therese will demonstrate…girls only invited. And remember, Ladies, with the P-MATE you can now join an exclusive club: this winter you too can write your name in the snow.

GIVE A LITTLE BIT

If you've ever met Jeff Russell, aka 'Jeffro', then he is your friend...he's that kind of guy. Jeff was in a very serious motorcycle accident May 4th, 2009, with the possibility of permanent paralysis. But Jeff's a tough guy, and he's doing everything he can to walk again. In the meantime, he and his wife Tina are being hit with tons of bills, from medical needs not covered by insurance, adding a ramp to the front of the house, making the rest of the house handicap-accessible, getting a van...you name it. I can't think of a more deserving guy to help out. You can do this several ways. There are donation cans at Jeff and Tina's great bar, Russ's Park Place, and at these other fine bars: Charlie's Place, Stokes, Tremors, Hammy's, The Red Zone, and the Blackhawk Campground bar. The Red Zone and Blackhawk are in Milton; the rest are in Janesville. You can get locations for all at 'Drink, Dine, & Dance with Scoop' (see the Home Page at www.scoopjackson.net ). You can also mail a check to Parker Community Credit Union, 2652 N. Lexington Dr., Janesville WI 53545. Any and all checks should be made out to 'Jeff Russell Benefit'. Another great way to help and have even more fun doing it is to get ready for the Poker Run on Friday, October 2nd (starts/ends Russ's), and then 'Jeffro's Jam' on Saturday, October 3rd, at Thresherman's Park. For a $5 donation at the Jam you get live music, a beer tent, raffles, a silent auction, kid's games, a bike show, mud wrestling, and a lot more, including a...'Biker-Babe Wash'! And you can camp there too. There are also 'Sponsorship Levels' for donations which will get you some neat stuff. (and if you are a business, you really need to check out the Platinum Sponsorship, which also includes a vendor's booth at 'Jeffro's Jam'; between 2,000 and 5,000 attendees are anticipated!) You can also donate items for the Raffle or Auction. If you have any questions contact Christina Sagaitis at 608.295.3693; also call her for donation forms and/or donation cans. There’s a lot more info at my web site…check it out, it's right above this article, but here's the link: Click here. I can’t think of a better guy and a better family to help out. Thank you.

Thanks All: 'Stand by your man' & 'Beware' ('Beware' caption mine) courtesy of www.pmateusa.com ...thank you, Karen, for all your help! Ladies, check out the web site--my friend Therese speaks knowingly of the dangers of squatting! Nancy, Sue, Karin, Therese, and Emma (c/o Sheila), thank you for overcoming your initial fears and getting those emails here before my deadline. Meg, thanks for a great tale, and Casey, thanks for the photo! Lenny and Sherrie, thanks for a heart-warming story! And to Mrs. Scoop: You chicken!

'Off-Road Commode' at kotulas.com

(Scoop WARNING: verify the site 1st--I got misdirected)

scoop@scoopjackson.net

top of article   home  top of page

You’re up on deck on a warm afternoon, hoisting a bottle of rum with your lovely Lass, when suddenly grimy hands grab hold of the railing and two evil-looking characters leap on board. One wears an eye-patch and bandanna, the other a waterlogged captain’s hat and a gold tooth. Both wear stained, ripped shirts and pants tattered in shreds below the knees. The ‘Cap’n’ strokes his grizzly beard and grasps the handle of a sharp shaft of steel, brandishing the weapon. "Aye," he says in a guttural tone, "what have we here?" The woman recoils in terror as the two men advance.

Your date looks at you. "Who…who are these strange…people? And what are they doing on your deck?"

"Hi Bob!" you say. "Did you bring the bluegills? By the way, we’re having rum and Coke…want one?"

The lovely Lass is startled at first, and then she nods, apparently understanding. She is not blond, and she seems to understand quickly. "I get it," she says. "It’s International ‘Talk Like A Pirate Day’! You two guys are all dressed up!"

The men slowly look down at their clothing and then at you. They appear confused, and so do you. "What?" you say to the Lass. "This is Bob, he’s got a boat, and that’s Tim, he just had Lasik surgery, and they brought dinner."

Cap’n Bob sets down the skewer and tosses a mess of fresh bluegills next to the grill. "Hold on," he says, and carefully dislodges the piece of corn stuck to his tooth. "Sorry, picked up some good sweet corn and roasted a few ears before we got here."

"But…the clothes," says the Lass, totally confused, blond roots under the dye-job sprouting now as quickly as indicted Illinois politicians or Brett Favre’s retirement decisions.

"Paris," you say to the Lass, "these are my friends, and we don’t need a ‘Casual Dress Day’ at the campground. That’s why we come here. We’re not at the office, we’re not at the plant…we are here, having fun. We always dress like this when we’re here."

"You do? Ugh!" She stares at the bluegills. "And what are those?" she asks petulantly. "Do you, like, eat their little heads and eyes, or what?"

"You, like, clean them," you say. She grimaces. Then her eyes alight on a stray piece of seaweed. She plucks it eagerly and sucks it up like a spaghetti noodle. "Sushi!" she exclaims.

And now you realize that you need to stand up tall. These are your camping Buds, male and female, every one and all. "Paris," you say, "sorry, but you need to go."

"Fine!" she says, stalking off towards her Mercedes. You stop her and gently caress her now-totally-blond tresses with your hook. She stops, the cool steel curve now touching her neck. She laughs. "You are too acting like a pirate!" she exclaims. Her eyes beckon. "Take that fake hand-thing off," she says. "We can still have a day and, like, have fun."

"I lost my hand last year," I say. "I was out on Deadman’s Curve, near Sunset and Vine."

"That’s hot," she says. "I know the place. It’s groovy."

"The last thing I remember, I started to swerve," I say. "And then I saw the Jag slide into the curve." I look her in her contact-lens eyes. "You were driving your little pink Jaguar that day, texting while driving." I hold the hook up. "You caused this, you celebrity-cyst. And for that, you’re gonna pay. I lured you here for revenge, Paris. And now, it’s time for the hook to strike!"

But wait! That’s my Halloween story ending, so ignore that ‘hook’ part. Unless you really do have a hook, in which case you are all set for International ‘Talk Like A Pirate’ Day, which every year is celebrated on September 19^th. And you’re in luck: that’s a Saturday this year, and you’ll still be camping! SPECIAL RELIGIOUS ADVISORY: This day is also the start of Rosh Hashanah, so to those observing, remember to flay your fish and ignite your campfire before sundown. Also, get in costume early to avoid twining and creating. And I’m not being sarcastic here; in fact, I’m envious. You have a solid, religious reason for dressing up like a pirate early in the day and keeping the campfire going all day and night! But if you are offended in any way, please direct all correspondence to Melissa DeBuck, Graphic Artist, c/o The Milton Courier. She’s the one who theoretically checks my column (She also does the great look of the pages and finds cool pictures to add. Thanks, Melissa!)

Anyway, you should check out www.talklikeapirate.com to get some ideas for this momentous day and night. Cap’n Slappy and Ol’ Chumbucket will show you how to dress and talk like a pirate, and regardless, I like the site. Hey, these are two ordinary guys who started talking like pirates while playing racquetball one day and got famous when Dave Barry, the Pulitzer Prize-winning humorist, wrote about them. Now these guys get paid to get sort of loaded and swagger about like pirates at parties.

Doesn’t this make you want to grab a beer and daydream about your own chances at making money with some really far-out scheme? Be aware, as I certainly am, that the ‘Pet Rock’ was ‘created’ by a guy who drank a lot of vodka one night specifically to think of a way to get rich. And he did! He became a millionaire! And, might I add—and I will--we imbibing guys owe inventor Gary Dahl a lot of thanks, my friends. Specifically, for ‘The Excuse’. See, next time you’re on the front porch at home or on the deck at the campground and you want to crack that beer at 9am, or have a shot of tequila at noon, it’s OK! Just have a fairly decent-looking rock on hand, and when your wife or Significant Other comes storming up to you, ready to slap your silly head for drinking so early, just hold up The Rock in a solemn way and study it. That’s Step #1.

This will halt any injury to you, at least momentarily. Then, in Step #2, you display The Rock as you would a precious antique, and admire it. Step #3, you hold it aloft and proclaim: "Baby, you see what I’m holding here? That’s a million dollars right there, right in my hand!" Step #4, you nonchalantly toss the million-dollar idea to your Honey-Pie for examination…

Step #5: Run quickly, and hope your Sweetie-Pie has a really bad throwing arm.

Mine does not.

……………………

I certainly hope everyone had a great camping season. Yes, the summer went by all too quickly, and the weather was kind of goofy, and it might have rained a tad too much, but hey, it was fun, right? And if it wasn’t, well, let me cheer you right up! After all, misery loves company…

Even with over 25 years associated with camping, I myself have only camped twice, if you don’t count the ‘Mom let me pitch a tent in the back yard’ thing. The first time, when I was about 20, my friends and I were evicted from a campground at Chain-O-Lakes because our campfire was "too loud" (it’s a long story). We at least got to stay the one night because the park ranger lurking in the bushes next to our site was afraid of my friend’s dog and he wouldn’t come any closer after threats of evisceration by Yeller the growling dog. But it was a tense night after that, and no fun. The second camping fiasco was when Mrs. Scoop and I came back to our tent after working at a campground all day and found a pile of poop smack in the middle of the tent. Was it left by a big devious dog, or perhaps a disgruntled camper? Mrs. Scoop and I will never know, but I do know that ever since then her ‘camping’ comes with A/C and room service.

But these are trivial camping misfires, especially since we did not step in the poop, whatever its DNA. What will really make you feel better is what happened to Scoop Jr. when he went camping at Woodstock 1994. Allow me to interview him…

"We drove a ’79 Toyota from Milton WI to New York. I was 20 years old and it was Woodstock again and I wanted to go. I had some money and we went. My Mom offered to pay for air-fare, but we were driving…it was a road trip. I probably spent $300 on gas.

"We had bought tickets for $200 each but when we got there all the gates had been broken down and anyone, ticket or not, could get in…the cops were no longer in control. We found some guys who said they would let us stay in their tents if we helped them set up camp. During that time I got nine bee stings and got poison oak, passed out and woke up with bumps and hives all over me, and got sent to the Red Cross tent, where they stripped me naked and rubbed my entire body in calamine. That was a little embarrassing…it was an open tent, no partitions, and there were nurses and a hundred other people in there. I took some benadryl, and when I got back to camp I was no longer welcome…the guys had found some girls.

"We mainly went to see Alice In Chains, but they didn’t show. Metallica was good, but there were so many people that we couldn’t get close. Green Day got the mud-slinging-thing going. There were so many people shoulder-to-shoulder; it was hot, people were sweaty and then it started raining…

"I lost my sandals in two feet of mud in a crowd of a 450,000 crowd, saw people doing some crazy stuff. There were spigots set up in shanties held up with 2x4s for people to shower…lot of nakedness…great for a twenty year-old. There was a huge hill that turned into a mudslide…I saw people riding down in a grocery cart.

"There were a lot of fights. There was nothing ‘hippie’ about it, it was all punks and moshpit guys trying to fight or (have sex). The food stands were down. We went a mile to a convenience store to get food and water.

"The cops were making people leave. It was time to go. The fences were down, but a bunch of scumbags wouldn’t leave. These were the guys strung out for three days, dirty, no shirts, wired. We couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

"Driving home, the gas tank was on fumes. We couldn’t afford to pay the tolls, so we signed receipts and I did pay once I got home.

"All in all, I gotta say this was not a trip worth making, but if I were twenty again, I would actually bring a shirt, a few extra dollars, and an extra pair of flip-flops. And my own tent. I would do it again…you are only twenty once!"

So there…feel better? And this is the perfect segue to my…

BIG CONTEST! Tell me about your worst camping experience! Send me your stories with permission to print and contact info and I’ll use a batch of each during the winter columns and ask for votes from my selected team of Esteemed Reviewers. You can check them out here at the web site over the winter, and in my Memorial Day column I’ll announce a final chance to enter the Big Contest, with the winners proclaimed in the 2^nd Camper’s Courier issue of 2010, out around July 4th, and here on the website. Here are the Rules: Your story must be received by me by June 25th, 2010 (email only). I won’t slander any specific campground, but will use its name if it was your fault only. I won’t mention anybody else’s name without their permission. I won’t mention your name if you don’t want me to. But even if no names are mentioned, yet the tale is a good one, you can win! Here are the prizes to be awarded in July of 2010 (1^st Place winner chooses 1^st, etc.):

You can check out all of these places at my ‘Drink, Dine, & Dance’ page at www.scoopjackson.net, and email your tales to scoop@scoopjackson.net. And here’s a bonus for all entrees (being people who enter, not being what you order at dinner): No one actually seems to enter my contests, except for the Trivia Contest held long ago, so your chances of winning something are as good as it gets! And don’t be shy—this is open to anyone who has camped anywhere, except that you have to pick the prize up yourself, so if you got bitten by a bat in Transylvania while camping, good luck getting a visa…I ain’t shipping nuttin’, Honey.

OK, time to wrap things up for the season (just for me…you can stay a while). First, thanks to all who helped out, especially The P-Mate Ladies and Phil Skortz and all at The Courier. Next, here are some web sites I have been wasting time at and recommend: thereifixedit.com, awkwardfamilyphotos.com (read ‘comments’ for both), and with my continuing fascination with redneck stuff, rhettandlink.com/blog/redneck-camping (see the video).

The Pump Room: I haven’t been back to The Ambassador East Hotel in Chicago for a while, but as of two years ago the photo of me and the notorious Uncle Hank was still on the wall, planted by me amidst all the celebrities adorning the entrance to the bar and the interior of the famous restaurant, once the hangout of Frank Sinatra and Judy Garland and other famous people (www.pumproom.com). I snuck it in back in 2004 and the photo has survived numerous movements on the walls, but the last time I checked it out, my cheap inferior frame had fallen apart and the picture was curling and ready to fall. At that point, we were right above Fred MacMurray and June Allyson (see the full tale at ‘Pump Room Update #3…Movin’ On Up!’). I don’t see a trip to there in the near future, so if you’re in the neighborhood, would you please check it out and see if Uncle Hank and I are still hanging? Email evidence and I owe you some drinks!

SPOKIZ I went to a great wedding a few weeks ago and during Bloody Mary’s the Sunday morning after, I finagled a great pair of sunglasses from Mark Deane, Operations Manager for Spokiz (www.spokiz.com). The glasses look great and are unique in that there are no side ‘temples’ or hinges to them; instead there is an adjustable cord that contours to fit your head as you desire, and instantly releases when you wish. The thin band keeps the sunglasses draped on your chest when you don’t need them, and it looks a lot better than those goofy straps some people wear nowadays. These are perfect for anybody doing activities like swimming, hiking, biking, climbing rocks, or just at work when you need to know where your sunglasses are instead of stepping on them. They aren’t cheap, but if you’ve lost a few pair of designer sunglasses over the years, or even one pair, check this out. And thank you, Mark!

         home   top of page   top of article

The "My Worst Camping Trip Ever" Contest!

Big-Time prizes! Don't Delay!

Rules (right below!)              Go To Stories

   REMEMBER: CAMPING CONTEST ENDS 6/25/2010 and EMAIL ONLY! IF YOU WIN, YOU MUST PICK UP YOUR PRIZE IN PERSON...OK, MAYBE I'LL MAIL IT IF YOU PAY S&H, BUT NO GUARANTEES, AND WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT IT FIRST BEFORE ANY DECISIONS ARE MADE...AND ALL DECISIONS BY ME AND MY ESTEEMED JUDGES ARE FINAL...SO THERE! GOOD LUCK TO ALL!

   The Stories:

     As with all my illustrious Contests, no one enters! Well, one or two, but never zero. But this one has some really good prizes, so I was seriously dismayed. After all, I was counting on you contributors to basically write my winter columns! Alas, after four and one-half months of zero, things seemed grim. And then, to break the ice, so to speak, a tale that involves some 'cold' camping. Thank you, Neil!

Neil from Alberta 2/8/2010  'An Olive Drab Colored Miracle'

OK--so who's next?  scoop@scoopjackson.net

                Rules    Stories   Home