“If you want to see what your friends and family think of you, die broke, and see who comes to your funeral…” -Gregory Nunn

As the ten-day vacation of the beach and Jamboree in the Hills came to an end, so did Captain Pauly’s Summer, 2011 edition. It was exactly what I expected, same great times…different year. I spent an enjoyable 15 hours (7.5 each way) in the car with my Uncle, where we talked about life and compared his times to mine. If you ever get the chance, please grab a family member that isn’t afraid to tell you truthfully about the “way it was back then” and just listen, let them talk…it’s awesome. I expanded my relationship with my cousins, thanks in large part to my life sponsor, Miller Lite (& the weekly sponsor, Flaming Dr. Peppers). You know, just some good old fashion family bonding…it truly was refreshing. At the end of it all…that’s all you really have, Family. I got my yearly life-changing relaxation on the coast, and revamped the batteries for the year. There’s very few things better than being able to not worry about a thing and let your thoughts come and go with the tide. I scratched my Bay Seasoning and Blue Crab itch, because that’s kinda what Maryland does. I made my way to the second greatest bar I’ve ever been to, Seacrets (let’s be real, nothing will ever beat what me and my hooligan friends turned Bubba’s Bison Inn into…well, what it USE to be with the beat the clocks and happy hours.)

(Side Note: Over time, I have developed this highly unusual problem, if you want to call it that. Whenever I go to a bar outside of the greater Morgantown area, I get intoxicated and continually yell at the band to play Country Roads. I mean to the point where everyone else at the bar is either leaving or trying to get me to shut the hell up. Eventually a magical thing happens, simultaneously the band realizing what I am saying and them wanting to keep people to stay…they play country roads to at least shut me up. That’s where my problems arise. I usually climb on stage and slur through “Cunthree roads, take me hoom to the plase I belong, Wessssss Virthinia…” I have nearly covered the southeast coast, top places to see it: The Stage in Nashville, TN. Mad River Bar in Charleston, SC. Seacrets in Ocean City, MD. Sine’s Irish Pub in Richmond, VA. Some random bar in Fort Lauderdale, FL. With additional angry places in between. John Denver rolls over each time. For some reason that I can’t seem to fathom in my sober mind…my drunken instinct thinks it’s a mind-blowing idea to give someone in the band the WVU hat off my head. It was Uproot Hootenanny’s fiddle player at Kahunas Bar in Deerfield Beach, FL and the guitar player for Joe Bachman and the Crew, at Seacrets this year. I even managed the pictures, how about that. With all that being said, I want to apologize to my fellow Mountaineers…for pridefully contributing to the Hillbilly stereotype…)

Since I try to maintain this as a somewhat of a clean place on the internet, I’m not going to go into great detail about my experience at Jambo 2011, but I promise, it didn’t disappoint. Predictions were made and in some cases, turned into facts. I laughed at old times with former buddies, and made some current, laughable adventures with new friends. As you get older, its times like this, that force you to take a step back and give it a good hard look. It’s gatherings like Jambo, that helps you separate and realize who your life-long friends will be versus who would kick you in the nuts and give you a swirly in the port-a-john at the peak hour of dirtiness…if you even have to question, then guess what side Karma has put you on (sorry, that’s just my old age and gray hairs talking). I woke up each morning, and I was more than thankful for that. I also woke up to those damn port-a-johns blazing an unimaginable smell, girls taking the lowest of low walk of shames, Belancic yelling to go do the Redneck Run, and that beautiful sun rising for yet another day of greatness. My imaginary female friend, Amanda, was usually roaming around somewhere too.

As the morning turned to afternoon and eventually into evening/night, that’s when a good day turns into a great day. It’s that swirling combination of everything that is going on around you. It’s watching Mike Wells be, well… Mike Wells. It’s playing an infinite number of games of Beer Ball, for the simple fact that we have beer, a table, balls and time. It’s witnessing Belancic take on half of section Green B in arm wrestling competitions, where he proceeded to celebrate his W like he just won the WWF championship belt from Hulk Hogan. It’s where attractive girls became unattractive with their drunkenness, and unattractive girls became attractive with my drunkenness. It’s observing professional, mid to upper 20 year olds get fired up and pissed over a competition for Most Valuable Drinker. (We voted a winner on Saturday night, but people got pissed off…so I’ll just say we were all Most Valuable Drinkers.) It’s watching friends relentlessly bash each other, and being able to laugh it off…because that’s what good buds do at Jambo. It’s having a disturbing obsession with Luke Bryan and then watching him kill it on stage from like 8 rows back (hands down the best performer I saw there). Listen to his songs: Shore Thing, If You Ain’t Here to Party, Rain is a Good Thing, Wild Weekend, and I’m Hungover. Also Check out this video of him roaming around the Campgrounds. Listen to ‘em? Now tell me, that he and I shouldn’t be best friends. I’m just saying. It’s having the time of your life with a bunch assholes you wouldn’t trade for anyone. It’s being harassed by 70 year olds, sunburned, sweaty, smelly, hungry, drunk, lost, and tired…and still not having a complaint in the world. It’s wondering how in the hell you do this every year. It’s waking up Sunday, counting down the days until next year. It’s Jamboree in the Hills, and there’s truly nothing like it…at least not for me and my friends.

Final Thought: I figured I’d start a new thing, where I can just bitch and moan, praise myself for being awesome, or just release some bullshit that’s eating away at me. Anyways, my final thought this time is dedicated to one of the inspirations that keeps me writing: Zac Jackson, a current writer for Fox Sports Ohio, brother to one of the biggest egos Bethany College has ever seen, Brody, and son to the unofficial, white, nonathletic Mr. October. Way back when, Brody showed me this blog where his brother wrote his college memoirs (Link: THE COLLEGE MEMOIRS). To this day, 5-6 years later, I still go to it when I need motivation to write. It’s goooood stuff and definitely worth a read if you have the time. For the record, I have shown my high school basketball highlight tapes to not only my friends, but girls in college…pathetic, I know (read the memoirs and you’ll understand why I said that).

Your Favorite Drinking Buddy,

Pauly