Our Only Hope Is That Love Will Conquer Hate

How is this, hate so deep
Lead us all so blindly
Killing, killing, fools are we
If hate’s the gate to peace
This is the last stop.
–Dave Matthews

There is just nothing more to say. 50 people are dead. 53 people are wounded. Hundreds more are likely never going to be able to go to a public place with a lot of people again. Those at Pulse were just trying to have a good time; spend their hard-earned money on a couple of drinks, dance with their friends, smile on a Saturday night. But an extremist terrorist bigot cut so many beautiful lives short. Their names need to be remembered.

These mass shootings keep getting worse; more deaths, more bloodshed and, the worst part about it, more blustering. Politicians are always ready with their “thoughts and prayers” but when it comes to spending time trying to find real solutions, to figure out a way to keep Sandy Hook, San Bernardino and now Orlando from happening again, they can’t be bothered. Thoughts and prayers are nice and all but they don’t accomplish jack shit. Those who perished have so far died in vain.

I live with a lesbian couple in the Hillcrest neighborhood of San Diego, which, per capita, I believe has the highest LGBT population of any neighborhood in any city in this country. I was in Denver when the shooting in Orlando occurred, and when I got back, I could feel two things: one, resiliency. People were at the bars with huge pride flags hanging in the window, partying and enjoying each other’s company like every other Sunday. But the other emotion, one I have not felt since moving here, was fear. I could feel it in the air; a shooting just like the one that happened at Pulse could happen here at Moe’s or Flick’s. And the reason this could happen anywhere is because no one in Congress is willing to do anything substantial to combat gun violence. And way too many elected officials are trying to find an excuse to treat the LGBT community as less than human.

The AR-15 is a semi-automatic rifle, capable of holding a 100-round magazine with a firing range of nearly 600 yards. It is easily available for civilian use, and I am not sure why. This gun has one purpose, and one purpose only: to kill everything that moves. There is no home where this gun is necessary for defense, no hunting trip where this gun is needed. It should be for use by active duty military personnel only.

This is the gun that was used in the shootings at Sandy Hook, San Bernardino and Orlando, along with many others, such as the movie theater shooting in Aurora, Colorado. And there are still those who want to use anything and everything else as a scapegoat for these horrific crimes.

There are those who were against the abolition of slavery. There are those who viewed Irish immigrants as locusts. There are those who were against giving women the right to vote. There are those who were against giving black people the right to vote. There are those who were against marriage equality. You know what these people have in common? They’re all on the wrong side of history. They are looked down upon, we shake our heads at them in disgust. This is another one of those times in history. If we continue to not act on smart gun policy, these shootings will keep happening. If we allow a certain demagogue to ban a people because of their religion, and another people because of their race, then my grandfather and millions of others like him will have fought to stop Hitler for nothing.

Thoughts and prayers are not going to end this. They are not going to donate blood. They are not going to counsel the grief-stricken, they are not going to bring back the sons and daughters that have been lost. Many politicians offering thoughts and prayers are the same ones who want to take away rights for those in the LGBT community, those who refer to God as Allah and those who have a darker skin tone than them. It should be painfully obvious by now that this divisive rhetoric is the cause of the violence in this country.

We have to find solutions. We have to demand solutions. We cannot let fear and bigotry continue to drive the decisions we make as a country. I believe that 99 percent of Muslims are good people; same with 99 percent of Christians, 99 percent of Mexicans, 99 percent of any race, religion or other group you can think of. But there will always be extremism. There are those who claim to be Muslim and yet are a part of ISIS, there are those who claim to be Christian and yet are a part of Westboro Baptist Church. Let us not be swayed by any -ism, let us instead seek within ourselves the resolve to find a real solution to gun violence, and all violence for that matter. It is a plague upon the human race, it is a disease on our land. We cannot let hate win.

Let us find the love for others. Let us embrace the beauty of those who love differently, pray differently or dress differently than you or I. Let us believe in our common goal, let us recognize that underneath it all we’re just skin and bones trying to survive in this world. We all have jobs or are trying to find one, we’re all trying to pay our bills, we’re all trying to soak in the natural beauty that surrounds us. “We all breathe the same air, we all cherish our children’s future, and we are all mortal.”

Let us strive for the power of forgiveness. People make mistakes and they say stupid things. Let us forgive the imperfections in others so that we may seek to better the imperfections within ourselves. Let us learn from our mistakes, let our hunger for learning never cease. We must not teach tolerance, but preach acceptance. We must not crumble under the weight of these tragedies, but embrace the idea that we all can be the change we wish to see in the world. We must find a way to put our bigotries and our phobias aside. This country, this planet, must always put love above fear and hate. After something like this happens, we all feel anger. There are a lot of bad people in this world; but you don’t have to be one of them.

Hate only begets hate. Let us find the fortitude to allow the good light of love into our world. When we as a people are free to love who we want, pray how we want and do what we want with our bodies, without belittling those who do these things differently, then we as a country can truly thrive. And that, my friends, is something worth praying for.

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The 10 Albums That Straight Up Blew My Mind

“I prefer you 1) Write less blogs on politics, and 2) Write more blogs on girls, sports cars, and Bruce Springsteen’s classic 1975 album ‘Born To Run.'”
                                                                                                              –Stephen Lachky

There’s been a lot that has made me angry lately. And it’s not a cynical anger, like an “Oh man, ‘The Big Bang Theory’ is quite possibly the least funny show that’s ever been made” type of cynicism; which, let’s be honest, I still do that. The Big Bang Theory is objectively just not funny. But I’ve made a conscious effort to tone that down a little bit. After trying cynicism with my attempts at humor for a little while, I’ve realized that it’s a bit too much. But again, this is not the type of anger I’ve been feeling lately.

Politics suck. They really do. For every uplifting episode of “The West Wing” I watched, there were enough real life situations to make me sick. The election cycle always creates this type of anger, and maybe I’m having the exact same realizations that every mid-to-late 20s person has; the world sucks, and so does growing up, as Ben Folds once said. So I guess you can say what I’ve been feeling is a frustrated anger. The point of this rambling can be boiled down to one word: moderation.

This is a word I’ve always felt very few Americans understand. McDonald’s, Doritos and gummy worms aren’t very good for you, but that doesn’t mean you have to torture yourself in the name of losing a few pounds. Same thing with television, cologne and social media. Too much of it, and you do more harm than good. But just the right amount, properly applied, can be beneficial.

So, when my tall and ticklish (and recently engaged) friend gave me the constructive criticism that graces the header of this post, I knew I had broken my own rules. I had gone from moderation to saturation, and during the course of that I had become boring. I still stand by and believe in every word I’ve written in those “political” posts, but when you’re repetitive, people will start to tune you out. So with all of that in mind, I’d like to write something fun for a change.

The album is dead. What for decades was the barometer for musical success has now become but a mere footnote on an artist’s tagline. Music has become much more focused on the single or YouTube view, perhaps in part due to listener’s shrinking attention spans. When people find out I still buy albums (no, not download. Buy the physical album. I like the liner notes) they give me a look that says, “Oh that’s adorable” and insinuate I was perhaps born in the wrong decade.

But some of my finest memories of musical discovery come from hearing an artist’s single on the radio, and wanting to find out what else they were about. So I would go out and buy the album. I’d always find the time to listen to it from front to back without interruption, so that I could get the full context of what whomever I was listening to was trying to say. Sometimes, I would be less than impressed. Other times, my mouth would be left hanging agape and I would play the album ad naseum until I had every drum beat and lyric memorized. Those were the albums that put a hold on me and, no matter how long I went without listening to them, never really let go.

A couple of my own rules for this ranking: Duh live albums count. As I said, no one actually buys albums anymore so the artist has to bring something to the stage lest they be forgotten. And when the power of a band’s live show is conveyed through speakers, that’s when they’ve got something really special. Also, I tried to ignore nostalgia as much as possible. It’s a powerful emotion, but I tried to recollect how I felt immediately after my first listen of the album. You’ll see that quite often, one song tips the scales from good to great in five minutes or less. So, almost 700 words in, and here it finally is, the 10 albums that straight up blew my mind.

10. Stunt – Barenaked Ladies

“One Week” had been getting mountains of air time, and I remember spending literal hours one day trying to memorize every word of that song. I succeeded, and I’ve still got it down. But when I played this album, I had immediately forgotten about the tongue twister, “ticket to China, the Chinese chicken, you have a drumstick and your brain stops tickin’.”

“Alcohol” is a song that became increasingly relevant as I got older, and the same goes for “Who Needs Sleep?” I absolutely adore “It’s All Been Done,” but when I heard “Some Fantastic” I knew I had a great album on my hands. The song combines daydreaming (“I can’t stand to wait in line long, so I built a new machine. It just measures up the distance, and then eliminates the folks between”) and genuine heartbreak (“Bye bye self respect, I haven’t had much of it since you left. I missed out on the best, of you.”) seamlessly. And those are two things we’ve all experienced at one point or another.

9. Third Eye Blind

The self-titled debut album of the most quintessential late 90s rock band was one that enthralled me from the start. “Semi-Charmed Life” and “Jumper” are probably the 4th and 5th best songs on this album, respectively. The opener “Losing a Whole Year” is the perfect introduction to an album full of angry heartache. “Narcolepsy” completes a fantastic one-two combo to open, but the song that makes this album for me is “Motorcycle Drive By.”

I remember I would listen to that song like I imagine most pre-teen middle-class white boys pretending to be punk did: I’d keep the volume at a normal level for the first part, and then when the beat picks up, right after he says, “I’ve never been so alive,” I’d crank up that jam and belt it out like it was the last song I’d ever sing. I don’t know what it was about that song at the time, but it just got the most energy out of me every time I’d listen to it. Also, just a little side note, my mother hated this album cover with every fiber of her being.

8. The ’59 Sound – The Gaslight Anthem

I had first heard of these guys by watching highlights of the Hard Rock Calling festival back in ’09. And any band loved by Bruce Springsteen is a band that I’m willing to lend a listen. I’m so thankful I did, because what I discovered was a testament to the continuing existence of bands who truly know how to rock. So many people lament how there are no bands left that play genuine rock and roll, but the truth is that they’re there. You just have to get past the mainstream.

“Great Expectations” showcases the sense of urgency that would be a continuing theme throughout the album right off the bat. But the final three songs really bring it home, particularly “The Backseat,” the album’s finale. This song brings me back to the warm summer nights in Kansas, when reprieve from the sweltering daytime heat would envelop us in comfort. My friends and I would sit on a porch drinking cold beer, just passing the time without a care in the world. And when you’re in high school or living in a house with six other people in college, it can sometimes be tough to get a little privacy. “You know the summer always brought it, those wild and reckless breezes. And in the backseat, we just tried to find some room for our knees.”

7. Whatever & Ever Amen – Ben Folds Five

This was the album that got the most spins by my brothers and I when we would play Tiger Woods PGA Tour after school. The funky piano rhythms of Ben Folds are irresistible, and his incredible talent is apparent on the opening track, “One Angry Dwarf & 200 Solemn Faces.” It’s a wonder to watch this man play that song live, and Jerry Lee Lewis would absolutely be proud watching Folds throw his bench at the piano at the end of the song.

The rest of the album, including “Kate” and “Steven’s Last Night in Town” are made for singing along. “Brick” showcases his straightforward lyrical prowess in addressing such a tough situation, and “Song for the Dumped” adds that relatable relationship angst for which Folds is now quite popularly known.

6. AC/DC Live – AC/DC

This album is from their run of shows on The Razor’s Edge tour in 1991. This is when the band was at their peak; the album from which the tour got its name had just been released, and many believed it to be their best work in the studio since Back in Black. This is because that album had two songs that would become staples in their live shows, one of which a mainstay in the decades to come.

We all love “Back in Black,” “Hell’s Bells,” and “Highway to Hell.” Hearing these songs for the first time mainly blew my mind because I found it literally unbelievable the kind of unique sound that can be created from just four chords. But “Thunderstruck;” that song is what really separated AC/DC from everyone else, and it came about 15 years into their existence. The intro guitar riff just builds and builds like a volcano about to erupt, and once it does, the sheer force of power is enough to knock you over. Angus apparently came up with it by taping over the other five strings on his guitar, so that only the second was visible. I’ve never seen them live, so my most fond memories of this song come from when it was played during crucial moments in big games at Allen Fieldhouse. One in particular comes to mind.

5. Blood Sugar Sex Magik – Red Hot Chili Peppers

The funky punk rock that the four people who comprise the Red Hot Chili Peppers are able to churn out of their instruments is truly a melody worth hearing. I had a greatest hits album of theirs, so I already knew four songs from this album, including “Breaking the Girl” and “Suck My Kiss,” which by the way, is just a fantastic song to hear them play live. But it wasn’t until I heard Blood Sugar Sex Magik front to back that I realized how insanely good this album is.

“The Power of Equality” makes apparent, given historical hindsight, the racial tensions that ran rampant at the time of this album’s release (“death to the message of the Ku Klux Klan”). I struggle to find a better back-to-back-to-back three song run on any album than “Give It Away,” “Blood Sugar Sex Magik” and “Under the Bridge,” which chronicles lead singer Anthony Kiedis’ struggle with drug addiction.

There it is though, the eponymous title track. Any RHCP fan would tell you that this song is probably not even in their top 20 best of all time, but for some reason it has a hypnotic hold on me. I guess you can call it a guilty pleasure, but that’s not entirely accurate because that would insinuate that I don’t want other people to know that this is my favorite track on the album, which is obviously far from true. “Blood Sugar Sex Magik” is what took this album from great to mind-blowing for me.

4. The White Album – The Beatles

I had heard the singles, thanks to the oldies radio station that played in my mom’s car. I took the Beatles at face value; the beginning of pop as we know it, all of their song’s about loving girls eight days a week while wanting to hold their hand. “Hey Jude” changed this perspective, but it wasn’t until I discovered The White Album that I really found out what the Beatles had hiding beneath their soft exteriors.

This album is a monolith, a gargantuan collection of some of the best songs that have ever been written. The catchy and kitschy “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” has been my mantra every time one of my favorite teams loses a crucial game. Obviously “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” with Eric Clapton sitting in on guitar, is one of the best songs not just on this album, but in the Beatles entire catalogue. “Happiness Is a Warm Gun” has always been a favorite of mine, and “Blackbird” is beloved by all. But where we get to the mindblowingness of this album is when “Helter Skelter” kicks into gear.

This song is forever linked to Charles Manson, killer and professional psychopath. But I remind myself this song was an influence on him, not the other way around. A quick perusal of the song’s Wiki page tells me that McCartney wrote it in response to Pete Townshend calling “I Can See For Miles” the loudest record the Who had written to that point. Which is a ridiculous premise when you hear it, and McCartney thought similar. So he wanted to write a song that was louder and dirtier, and he succeeded. This song is the escape for short-haired headbangers everywhere, and absolutely floored me when I first heard it. I got blisters on my fingers!

3. Talking is Hard – Walk the Moon

By now you all know this band. “Shut Up and Dance” is impossible to ignore, and people harbor strong feelings about it, some are not so positive. Like most of you, “Anna Sun” is what introduced me to this band, and I happen to like “Shut Up and Dance,” so I gave Talking Is Hard a listen. Believe me when I say that, like so many other albums on this list, the single is maybe the 5th best song on there.

The opening track “Different Colors” lays out the welcome mat for anyone who may be within earshot. “Come on lovers, come on haters, tonight we raise the fire. Cause if the people get to dancin’, they’ll forget about picking sides.” I wish it were that simple. “Sidekick,” “Work This Body” and “Aquaman” are the backbone of this album, but the song that shines brightest, perhaps to the surprise of even those who wrote it, is “Portugal.”

“I know everyone you know, you know everyone I know, our Venn Diagram’s are one circle.” When have you ever heard “Venn Diagram” worked into a song before? The answer is never. I believe that close to every song out there is written about relatable human experiences and emotions, but what makes those songs special is the presentation. “One summer turns into ten summers, one lover turns into ten others, but this memory is still with me.” I don’t care who you are, there is something you can relate to in that one line alone. “Portugal” was enough to put this album over the top, but the rest of the body of work in Walk the Moon’s sophomore release carried it into another stratosphere.

2. Weekend on the Rocks – Dave Matthews Band

Those who know me may be surprised by this; they may very well have expected The Central Park Concert, as it was the first album from this band that I heard. But this live album, showcasing highlights from their four-night stand at the famous Red Rocks Amphitheater, better encapsulates the wide range of sound of which DMB is capable. I challenge you to find a rhythm more complex than “The Stone,” or better drumming than what comes out of Carter Beauford on “You Never Know.” The pure deliciously evil guitar riff of “Halloween” absolutely scared the shit out of me the first time I heard it. But what really got me, what really set off my eternal love for this band, was “Pig.”

Never before had I heard such a powerful testament to love. This song is its own life force; it has a unique blend of sage advice (“don’t burn the day away”), sad reality (“all good things must come to an end sometimes”) and uplifting hymns (“all we need is the good light of love in here.”) The chorus induces chills to this day, and even though I’ve seen them 16 times I’ve only heard them play it once. Its lyrics encompass all human emotion, and takes us on a wonderful journey from the cloudiness of misery to the sunlight of letting love in. This song always picks me up if I’m having a bad day.

1. Born to Run – Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band

Front to back, there is no better album that has ever been made. Devoid of any fat due to every note having been excruciatingly agonized over by the Boss, it takes the listener down a path of hopes and dreams, which happens to run parallel to a road of agony and heartbreak. There is no better summation of life, no more powerful poetry that exists in the musical realm than on this album. Every song is an introduction, an encouragement to sit down and take that ride through the trials and tribulations that no one except Bruce is more able to encapsulate.

We begin with “Thunder Road,” where Bruce implores upon the young Mary to join him as he pulls out of the town full of losers. “Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out” is about him trying to find his own way (“It seems like the whole world’s walkin’ pretty, and you can’t find the room to move”). “Night” is undoubtedly the happiest song on the album, with the faith in his machine to win that drag race. “Backstreets” takes us down memory lane, perhaps of a time before the character had really grown up, when a tale of unrequited love between him and Terry never advanced further than the beach at Stockton’s Wing. On the LP, this is where side one ends and the vinyl is flipped over to side two.

“Born to Run” is a behemoth. On the studio recording, there were something like four guitars and an entire damn string section played simultaneously to achieve the “wall of sound” inspired by Phil Spector. The hope and optimism of a brighter tomorrow is evident in the urgency of his voice. Wendy needs to decide, and she needs to decide right f****n’ now, if she’s going to go with him. He certainly makes a strong case. And even though he doesn’t know when they’re gonna get to that place they really wanna go, he knows it’ll be someday.

The love song on the album, “She’s the One,” may not be a love song at all, depending on how you interpret the lyrics. “The angel in her eyes that tells such desperate lies” can be simultaneously irresistible and conspicuous. “Meeting Across the River” is a fantastic mafia tale, fraught with danger and carelessness. It truly seems like the character doesn’t much worry about what might happen to him. Then we come to “Jungleland.”

This song is Bruce’s magnum opus. It is the finest work he’s ever done, and it should be; it took six months for him to get this one song just right. It feels like a combination of West Side Story and Mad Max is playing out as the Rat and the Barefoot Girl attempt to escape the Maximum Lawman. It’s unclear whether it was the Lawman or just his dreams that gunned the Rat down, but one thing is for sure: the Barefoot Girl seems to feel relief now that he is gone. A more powerful saxophone solo has never been played, and it’s enough to make a grown man cry. A better album wasn’t heard before, and hasn’t been heard since.

So there you have it. The 10 albums that my mind just could not handle the first time I heard them. I hope to make this a continuing series, maybe songs or live shows will be next. In the mean time, what were the albums that blew your mind? What collection of songs on a singular disc from a musician just left you stunned? Tell me in the comments section. And remember everyone, a single on the radio is usually not the best song on the album. Happy listening!

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Sam Brownback: Still Out Here Ruining Kansas

The resting bitch face is strong with this one.

It was just a little over a year ago that I wrote about what the criminal Sam Brownback was doing to my home state of Kansas. Since then, he has not slowed down and he has not stopped. He is in fact ramping up his efforts to turn Kansas into a futuristic-dystopia similar to what the Immorten Joe created in Mad Max.

Brownback is pure, uncut evil. He just looks like the type of guy who will arrest one of your kids and at the same time try to convince you how much money you’ll save now. He is the scum of politics, he is dirtier than mud caked in dog shit. But he’s still sitting on his throne, unchallenged, telling you that the dog shit that now covers your home is actually making it smell wonderful.

I bet if you asked him, he would be against dictatorships that arise out of communism. He’d tell you capitalism works, and then go on some tirade about America and values and “religious liberty” (so long as you aren’t a Muslim) and everything else. But this is where seemingly all Republicans have problems. They want to make government small, but only if it benefits them. They’re completely fine with government invading your personal life and telling you who you’re allowed to love, who you’re allowed to worship or what you’re allowed to do with your body. And if it’s convenient for them, they seek to manipulate court rulings as well.

It was well documented how much Republicans hated the Supreme Court ruling in Obergefell v. Hodges, which made marriage equality legal at the federal level. “Why do these people make the laws?” they asked. “Why don’t we let the voters decide?” they pondered. Well, it’s because that’s how it works, and I’m pretty sure the voters did decide.

I think every voter knows that the President is entrusted with many powers, and one of them is appointing Supreme Court judges, pending approval of the Senate. The voters decide who they want to be President, the voters in each state decide which two senators they want to represent them.

It’s also pretty funny how little talk there was of all this from the Republican side in 2008, when the Court ruled in Columbia v. Heller to protect an individual’s right to keep and bear arms (despite the most overlooked line in all of the Constitution, “A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a Free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.” I would argue that individual citizens do no represent a “well regulated militia,” but that’s just me). When it’s something they agree with, they talk about upholding the Constitution and individual freedoms. When it’s something they disagree with, individual freedoms be damned, everyone has to do what they tell us to do.

That’s where we circle back to Sam Brown-stain-on-the-mattress, who is attempting to reshape the State Supreme Court purely because they are upholding laws he doesn’t like, such as striking down anti-abortion laws. They are so mad that they are threatening to take their ball and go home, by suspending all funding to the state courts. My parents would get upset with me if I acted like this when I was 12, much less an adult with a responsibility to the voters to protect all rights afforded to them in the Constitution.

Nowhere in the First Amendment does it say, “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof (unless you’re Muslim).” Nowhere in the Declaration of Independence does it say, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness (unless you’re gay).”

This is what upsets me the most. The hypocrisy of these “religious freedom” bills and supporting wretched trolls like Kim Davis and defunding Planned Parenthood (even though the GOP front-runner is well aware that abortions make up a very small fraction of what they do. Seriously, how can that overgrown oompa loompa be the front-runner?) while simultaneously touting they’ll decrease the role of government is just pure snake-oil salesman tactics. This is also what scares me the most, because way too many people are buying into this crap.

I was so sure that when President Obama came out in favor of marriage equality that no one would ever hold that office again who didn’t share those beliefs. I was so sure that once 99 percent of scientists agreed on the harsh, man-made effects of climate change that real solutions would be brought forth. Then they named climate-change denier Ted Cruz head of the Subcommittee on Space, Science, and Competitiveness. I was so sure that when President Bush’s tax cuts were partially at fault for causing the worst recession in 30 years that we would finally have the rich start paying their fair share. But people like Sam what-can’t-Brown-do-for-you has me sincerely concerned that Kansas will end up with kids who were educated by 20 year old textbooks.

In the next couple of years, I am still hopeful for a great ideological shift in this country. As important as this election cycle is, the mid-terms in 2018 will be just as important. We cannot keep electing xenophobic demagogue’s to public office. We have to get the small-minded bigots out, and elect those who truly believe in equal rights. Maybe then the bigger problems of this planet, like climate change, mental health and gun violence, can be solved.

I am hopeful that one day even Republicans will accept the fact that white, black, Christian, Muslim, gay, straight, it doesn’t matter; underneath the flesh and skin our skeleton’s look the same. If they truly want to tout Republican values set forth by Abraham Lincoln, then they will follow through on their promise to get the government out of everyone’s way. I hope that one day, who we choose to love and what we choose to do with our bodies will be of little concern to the government. Because at the end of the day, if we aren’t allowed to be true to ourselves then we can never be true to those around us.

I hope for a day when they will realize that, despite the presence of people in this world who want to hurt us, that only love begets love. Banning people because of their religion or the color of their skin is not “protecting ourselves.” That is giving in to the fear that terrorists are trying to instill. We must be a beacon of inspiration, not an example of hate.

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Guns: Where Violence and Apathy Collide

It’s become routine. A gunman, or gunmen, commits mass murder on an unsuspecting populace, a bluster back and forth goes on for a couple of days and then, like an elderly person with Alzheimer’s, we all just forget what we were arguing about in the first place and move on with our lives. There’s plenty of reason for this. We live in a time when outrage is at a constant. People get just as worked up about murder as they do about what some old crow on the View said about nurses.

Rationale and reason have given way to hysteria and people constantly finding things offensive.

So when some selfish asshole decides if he’s going to kill himself then other people have to die too, it’s just what we should be outraged by today. Tomorrow there will be something else, and it all will be forgotten.

That doesn’t mean there is any shortage of blame to go around. The media gets blamed because people think they essentially make martyrs out of these gunmen. Politicians on either side just blame the other. This song and dance goes on for a while, but nothing gets accomplished because, as per usual, common sense is largely ignored.

Once politicians were okay with 20 kids under the age of five being gunned down in one of the most vicious and cowardly acts I’ve seen in my lifetime, we all knew nothing would ever get done. How can they sit idly by while these horrible crimes are being committed and do nothing? Well, it’s either because they are lazy, or they rely so heavily on gun lobbyists for funding that they actively trumpet guns as a way for problems to be solved.

The arguments these people come up with for looser, not stricter, gun laws is appalling. To wit:

“We should just give EVERYONE guns. That way if some guy starts shooting up a place, he can be taken care of quickly.”

If some kid on the playground was throwing rocks at other kids, would you just give rocks to all of them and say, “all right, take that bully down!” Or would you do the sensible thing and take the rocks away from the kid throwing them in the first place? Yeah, that’s what I thought. Anyone who thinks more guns will solve the problem of guns is an idiot. A good guy with a gun is absolutely just as dangerous as a bad guy with one.

“Ban guns all you like, people like this are still going to find a way to kill.”

Really? This is your argument? You think that just because someone can kill another person using a knife, bat or bomb that guns shouldn’t be taken away? Who are you, Mr. Body’s butler? Guess what, there are laws against speeding but people still find a way to do that, don’t they?

That right there is the main problem I have. Some guy tries to blow up a plane by smuggling a bomb in his shoes, and now we all have to take our shoes off when going through security. How many gun deaths have to happen before something is done?

“You’re taking away my constitutional rights!”

Look, I’m all for the Constitution, but times have changed. Back then you’d have to be an expert to get off three shots in under a minute with a musket. Now, automatic weapons and assault rifles are available with ease. The Second Amendment, nor anything else written in that document, doesn’t just give you the power to do whatever you want. Freedom puts a great deal of responsibility on a person. The rest of the Constitution has changed with the times, this should too. A couple of examples:

Here’s what Article 1, Section 2 of the Constitution originally said: “Representatives and direct Taxes shall be apportioned among the several States which may be included within this Union, according to their respective Numbers, which shall be determined by adding to the whole Number of free Persons, including those bound to Service for a Term of Years, and excluding Indians not taxed, three fifths of all other Persons.” That last part there, written by racists with a few good ideas, was changed by the 14th Amendment, which was enacted not long after Lincoln gave the Emancipation Proclamation.

Then there’s the First Amendment, the freedom of speech which everyone holds so dear. This also applies to freedom of the press, freedom to gather peacefully, and freedom of religion. Of course, people want that freedom of speech not to apply to things they find offensive (like when a few students at Yale want one of the brightest minds of our generation fired purely because of what his wife said about Halloween costumes). The press can’t have freedom when they’re covering something we don’t like, that whole thing about gathering peacefully gets thrown to the wayside all the time, and people don’t like religions that aren’t theirs being practiced freely (like when a bunch of ignorant racists protest the building of a mosque because they think that the Muslim religion is an “evil cult.” Anyone who actually thinks this should also never be allowed to have a gun.) Sorry for the long run-on there, but the point I’m trying to make is, these freedoms apply to everyone at all times, not purely when it’s convenient to you.

There is still the stake of responsibility. You can’t shout, “Fire!” in a crowded room and hide behind free speech when the person who was nearly trampled to death sues you. And that’s where I circle back to the Second Amendment. Yes, everyone was given the right to bear arms by the founders of this country, but Hancock and Franklin didn’t intend for responsibility to be taken away.

When you want to drive a car, what do you have to do? Well first, you have to be of a certain age. Depending on the state, you most likely have to take some sort of drivers ed. course. Then, you have to take a written test, usually 25-35 questions in length. (I even had to take this test just recently when I got my California driver’s license, as I had moved from a different state.) Then, a DMV employee tests your eyesight. After that, the actual driving test. Ah, but to even get to that point, you have to drive a certain amount of hours, with your parent or other experienced driver, while you have a learner’s permit (in Kansas, I believe it was 50 hours.) Now that you have a license, you have to be insured. It is against the law to drive without insurance, which protects you in case of an accident. Oh, now you’d like to own a car? Well, here’s a certificate of title and lien, registration, license plate and tags, most of which has to be renewed every year, and claimed on your personal property taxes.

Think about this. If we have to go through all that just to own and operate a vehicle, it stands to reason a person should have to go through the same thing if they wish to own and operate a deadly weapon, right?

And that’s what we need. To own a gun, you should have to answer two main questions: 1. Have you ever been arrested for, or convicted of, a violent crime? 2. Do you have a history of, or take any medication for, a mental illness? If you answer yes to either of those, you should not be allowed to own a gun. Ever. But hey, if you answer no to both, then you’re on your way. But first, a few things:

You should have to be a certain age. I think 14 to operate, 18 to own is good. You should have to complete a training course that teaches operation techniques and safety instructions. This course should be at least 4 hours long. At the same time, you should have to spend a certain amount of hours at the practice range; 25 hours should suffice. Completion of the course and the hours are both required if you wish to own a gun and get your concealed carry license. Then, you should have to take a written test signifying that you’ve actually retained all this knowledge, and an eyesight test. You should have to take a test with a certified instructor who can determine that you know how to safely operate the gun.

One side note, this should have to be done with every type of gun out there. Want to buy a shotgun or hunting rifle? Class and training for that. A handgun or pistol? Class and training for that. I’m going to be honest, I wish that civilians weren’t allowed to purchase automatic or semi-automatic weapons. I think those should be left to active-duty military, but I realize that’s unlikely to happen. Anyway, class and training for those as well.

There should be a limit on the amount of magazines or bullets you’re allowed to purchase at one time. If you wish to purchase more ammunition, you should have to prove that you’re out of what you purchased previously. There should be a limit on the amount of guns you’re allowed to own as well, unless of course they are antique or collector’s items. But again, I know that’s unlikely to happen.

Once you purchase a gun, you should have to register it. I realize you already have to do that, but I’m going to take it one step further and suggest that you have to have tags for it as well. These could be placed on the butt of the gun, so it can be easily seen, just as we place our car tags on the license plate. Speaking of being easily seen, the gun should have to be placed in a holster on your waist. I know that sort of defeats the purpose of “concealed” carry, but just as headlights on your car help others see you at night, others should know if you’re carrying. The gun(s) you own should be claimed on your personal property taxes, and the tags to be renewed every year. Your license should have to be renewed every five years, and a written test to be taken at each renewal.

I really don’t think this is asking too much. This is just common sense. No one wants to take away rights, but we have a responsibility to our fellow human beings to be as safe as possible. I know that nutjobs might still be able to gain access to guns with the intention of harming others, but that does not mean we shouldn’t try to make it as difficult as possible for them to do so.

The number of deaths caused by guns in Chicago alone doubles the number of soldier deaths in Afghanistan in the entire duration of the war. From 2003 through 2011, 77 percent of the murderers had prior arrests. Seventy-seven percent. Not allowing those with an arrest record to purchase a gun would take care of much of that problem in a heartbeat. I know a lot of the guns were not purchased through legal channels, but that’s where my system of registration and tags comes into place. This would make the guns easy to track and, much like if you were to sell your car privately, the title and registration would have to be transferred from seller to buyer.

I do live in the realm of reality and I know that something like this will unfortunately never happen. Extremists who believe it’s their right to walk around with high-powered rifles in a Chili’s unfortunately hold way too much sway over Congress. Those “activists” use fear to get what they want. So do terrorists. And we cannot continue to let that hypocrisy stand.

I realize that nothing I’m typing here is actually going to get anything done. I’m basically preaching to the choir here in California, and anyone in Texas who reads this will probably think of me as a nancy-boy quaker. But nothing I’m suggesting is an effort to take guns away from those who understand the responsibility.

All I’m saying is that, if we’re willing to sacrifice our privacy and personal space with NSA spying and TSA pat-downs because of one terrorist attack, then 25,000+ gun-related homicides from 2010-2012 alone should cause us to be willing to sacrifice just a little bit of our ego. We should be willing to do whatever it takes to protect us from harming each other, and ourselves.

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The Dream Is Real: Kansas City Royals Win the 2015 World Series

Players on the bench rush to celebrate their 2015 World Series Championship.

There’s a fantastic moment in the third Matrix movie (probably the only good scene in it, actually) when Morpheus is told, SPOILER ALERT, that the war is over. While other people hugged and cheered, Morpheus just stood with a contemplative look of disbelief. “I have waited for this moment my entire life,” he muttered to himself. “Is this real?”

And that’s exactly how I felt in the moments after Drew Butera secured Wade Davis’ final strike in Game 5 of the World Series. It was a moment I had been waiting for my entire life, and while we came so very close to experiencing it last year, that final out of victory eluded us. But now, in a complete 180 of everything I had become accustomed to when I was growing up, the Royals are World Champions. It’s something I never hoped or dreamed of witnessing 10 years ago.

You’ve heard or remember all the anecdotes; from 1995-2013 (George Brett retired in ’93 and it is likely we would’ve made the playoffs in ’94 if not for the strike), the Royals were the most inept franchise in sports. It’s not just that there wasn’t hope, there wasn’t even a glimpse of it, save for the 2003 season. And it’s not just that the Royals were bad, they were laughably horrendous. But still, everyone could feel the desire within each other. Kansas City wanted a good team, and they wanted it bad.

Baseball is a funny sport. Those who want or need something immediately likely do not appreciate this game. Prospects take years to develop, slumps seem to drag on forever, and there’s always long lines at the concession stands. Even the season itself feels like it lasts an eternity. So when Dayton Moore, hired in 2006 as the Royals new GM, said it would take eight years to develop a winner, he was metaphorically laughed out of the room by everyone in Kansas City. But he stood his ground, and kept telling everyone to trust the process. And as if he had time traveled in Doc Brown’s DeLorean, that process that Moore talked about so frequently came to fruition in 2014, eight years after he was hired.

I, along with many others, thought the season was over as Game 4 of the ALDS headed into the 8th inning. The Royals trailed 6-2, and I could not hide my despair.

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I should have known better. We all should have. Because the Royals stormed back for five runs in the 8th and added two more in the 9th for good measure to win the game. From then on faith never left the Kansas City fans, as we watched the Royals come back from multi-run deficits six more times en route to the crown. It makes perfect sense too, as faith is the only reason the Royals have made it to where they are today.

Consider Luke Hochevar. He was drafted #1 overall in 2006, and expected to anchor our rotation. But his best year as a starter came in 2011, when he posted a 4.68 ERA and only 128 strikeouts in 198 innings. Many were calling for his release or to be traded, anything that involved him no longer pitching for the Royals. He was considered a bust. But he moved to the bullpen in 2013 and has since posted stellar numbers. He had to sit out 2014 after Tommy John surgery, but in the playoffs this year he threw 10.2 innings and allowed no runs on six hits, including the two shutout innings in Game Five. He was credited with the win.

Consider Alex Gordon. He was drafted 2nd overall in 2005, and was predicted to be the second coming of George Brett. But that kind of pressure can weigh heavily on a 20-year old kid, and he did not play well in his first couple of years here. He played a mediocre third base and looked downright uncomfortable at the plate more often than not. He was demoted to the minor leagues, and would attempt to make the switch to outfield. Gordon made it back to the show as a left fielder in 2011, where he proceeded to throw out 37 baserunners over the next two years. He hit the game-tying home run off Jeurys Familia in the bottom of the 9th of Game 1, and opposing runners are so intimidated by his cannon of an arm they dare not even challenge it.

Everyone on this team has a similar story. Mike Moustakas was hitting so horribly in 2014 that he was sent down to the minors to straighten out. Same thing this year with Yordano Ventura and his pitching, although he was called back less than 24 hours later after Jason Vargas needed Tommy John surgery. I’ve lost track of the amount of times Kansas Citians wanted Ned Yost to be fired. Being the manager is a tough job, as they are the first to be blamed when something goes wrong and the last to be congratulated when something goes right. The amount of faith you have to have in Christian Colon, who’s first postseason at-bat came in the 12th inning of Game 5 with the score tied, is enormous. But everyone in the organization stayed the course, and now we all are reaping the dividends.

That’s the best part. This is no fluke, this is no coincidence. From 1994-2005, when Dayton Moore was working his way up the ranks of the Atlanta Braves’ front office, they won 11 consecutive division titles, won more than 100 games in a season five times, and appeared in three World Series, winning one of them. I truly believe the Royals are headed for that kind of consistent dominance. But that is such a strange feeling to have. I am still not used to how good this team is. And that’s where we circle back to the look of disbelief I wore on my face after we won our first World Series in my lifetime. When you look back on everything it took to get here, such as trading Zack Greinke for little known prospects Alcides Escobar and Lorenzo Cain, or signing a skinny 16 year old catcher by the name of Salvador Perez for $65,000, disbelief is the only way to describe what I’m feeling.

The 2015 World Series was an exorcism of all the bad memories Royals fans experienced for the last 20+ years. Ken Harvey getting hit in the back by a relay throw, two of our outfielders jogging back to the dugout while a fly ball drops between them, and letting Carlos Beltran walk are things that never have to be mentioned again. Now we can fill our conversations with the resiliency, fun, never-say-die attitude of the 2015 Kansas City Royals.

It’s surreal being able to claim my hometown team as the World Champions. I can’t wait to buy, or be gifted, every piece of merchandise under the sun to celebrate this team. These are the most special group of players I’ve ever had the joy of watching, and I am already so anxious for the 2016 season to start so that we can defend our title. But for the next few weeks, we can all revel in our victory at last. We can watch the parade today with goofy smiles on our faces and accept the new reality. The crown is ours, and no one can take it away from us.

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Major League Baseball Players Are Whiny Babies

Hold me back bro, hold me back!

There seems to be an epidemic recently within the game of baseball. It is not the use of replay or a shortage of sunflower seeds, it is players getting unnecessarily offended because someone on the other team violated the ever-changing “unwritten rules of baseball” by watching their home run a split second too long. Then said offendee reminds the offender that he’s a piece of crap, offender shrugs his shoulders, offendee takes a step toward offender, then the benches clear and everyone puffs up like they’re trying to ward off a strange animal. This “hold me back or I’ll REALLY get mad” mating dance continues for 30-60 seconds, or just long enough for the guys in the bullpen to get their sprinting exercises in.

This has got to stop.

Baseball is a game that has ebbed and flowed with the changing of the times for the last 100 years. And I’m not here to get into this, “things used to better” diatribe. Juan Marichal took a freaking bat to an opposing pitcher’s head in 1965, so I don’t believe that to be true anyway. Dust-ups have and will continue to happen all the time, but at least back then players fought like men and then got back to baseball. Take my favorite brawl of all time:

The fight lasts like 90 seconds, and everyone gets back to playing baseball. The best part of this though is that no one got tossed. They had a disagreement, they got their licks in, then they went back to the game. But take this “fight” from last year:

If you made it through that whole video, I applaud you. It felt like I was watching paint dry. There were like five ejections too. What. the hell. And we’ve seen plenty more like it this year.

It’s amazing to me how whiny and child-like players are these days. Take Madison Bumgarner.

Baseball’s resident old man threatening the neighborhood kids to get off his lawn, Bumgarner has exacted himself as arbitrator of baseball’s unwritten rules. Just last week, he got mad at Delino DeShields for showing frustration:

He got mad at another player about the exact same thing earlier this year. Apparently tossing your bat in frustration towards your own dugout after popping out to end an inning is “showing him up.” I’ve heard some people say this is because that act translates to, “That was a meatball pitch and this pitcher sucks and I should’ve hit that a mile.” That is the absolute dumbest thing I’ve ever heard; and I have two younger brothers, so that’s saying a lot. I think anyone who pops out with runners on base is frustrated with themselves that they didn’t get the job done. When you’re facing a pitcher that was the World Series MVP, you know runs are going to be at a premium. So you are upset with yourself because you wasted a great run scoring opportunity. But no, the world obviously revolves around Bumgarner, and every action by an opponent is a slight against him in some way.

The whole bat-flipping thing has been a way for “old school” baseball people to cry woes about how the game is being ruined by showboating young kids. Ken Griffey, Jr. heard the same thing because he wore his hat backwards. But these crusty curmudgeons are wrong in so many ways. Let’s involve Madison Bumgarner in this one again. He got mad at Yasiel Puig last year because he flipped his bat after a home run:

Let’s examine the video itself here. Puig does his thing, then puts his head down and runs because it’s only one run of a necessary three and it’s still the sixth inning. Bumgarner acts like he stood and stared at it for a full minute before taking another minute to jog the bases. Now let’s get deeper into this.

Puig is from a country that makes Venice Beach look like the Plaza Hotel. Poverty is widespread, and disease is rampant from lack of healthcare. Baseball is essentially the only way he ever had fun. When he came up with the Dodgers he marveled at the fact Gatorade came in more than one color. So he’s not going to just put on a stone face and talk about taking it one day at a time. He’s going to enjoy the things he’s doing. There are many players just like him from Latin American countries, and they’re all a bit louder and outgoing than baseball is used to. They’re going to flip their bat, they’re going to talk and they’re going to laugh. The point of saying all this is that Puig, and pretty much everyone else who’s flipped their bat after a home run, is not showing up the pitcher. They are reveling in the fact that they get paid to play a children’s game. But as Bob Lemon so eloquently put it, adults just have to screw it up.

Bumgarner’s assholeishness aside, I am not going to Bob Ryan this post and talk about all the problems in baseball without presenting a solution. And my solution is simple; here are written rules for baseball’s unwritten rules:

  1. If you get hit by a pitch, whether or not you perceive it to be intentional, wear it like a man and go down to first. There are of course amendments to this rule.
    1. If this pitch is above your hands and a fastball, there is reason to be pissed off. But if this is the case, the game situation must be taken into account. Is it a one-run game? Is it the third inning, and the starting pitcher still has a long way to go before needing to be taken out, and thereby doesn’t want to get ejected and tax the bullpen? If this is the case, then just go to first.
    2. If however, it is a 10-run game and the pitcher just let up a grand slam, go ahead and get mad. But you must do one of two things: charge the mound, or tell the pitcher to F off and go to first. No reason risking injury or looking weak by puffing your chest out against a mediocre reliever who likely got tossed since he beaned you right after letting up a grand slam anyway.
  2. If, as a consequence of your pitcher beaning an opposing player, you get hit intentionally, wear it like a man and go down to first. The same amendments from rule 1 apply here.
  3. If, as a pitcher, you allow a home run and the hitter watches it for a second or flips his bat, take a new ball, do a lap around the mound and figure out how to get the next guy out. Amendment:
    1. Did the hitter watch it for at least four seconds? Is your team winning by 5+ runs? Did the hitter call you a wimp and say something about your mother? Then yea, go ahead and fight that guy and bean the next guy up too. Get your money’s worth before getting tossed.
  4. If, as a pitcher, your teammate who is currently hitting .350 with 30 home runs gets hit anywhere above his hands, retaliate. Amendment:
    1. Hit him between his thighs and ribs, anywhere there is more flesh than bone. It’s ok to stand up for your teammate and send a message, but do it the right way.
    2. If you throw one up and in or hit the other guy in the knee, prepare to face the full wrath of the other 24 guys in the dugout. Stand up for yourself, don’t dance around like a rooster waiting for the rest of your teammates, because not everyone is a dependable truck like Mo Vaughn.
  5. If, as an umpire, a guy gets beaned and you perceive it as intentional, let the other team retaliate if they so choose. Issuing a preemptive warning in an attempt to “control the game” usually ends up backfiring drastically and sets you up to an impossible standard. I offer poor Jim Wolf as the most recent example. Amendment:
    1. Was there a fracas earlier in the same series, and some hot shot 23 year old pitcher thinks he’s going look tough and bean someone in the 1st inning? Yea, warn the benches. Other than that, let the self-policing play out.
  6. If you’re watching on the bench, and your teammate decides to start something, stand up for him no matter how in the wrong he is. Everybody needs to be able to rely on you like Tino Martinez was able to rely on Darryl Strawberry. Just to clarify, Tino was definitely not in the wrong there.
  7. This above all else: I don’t care what happened, don’t ever, ever get on Twitter and bitch about the other team like a gossiping high school girl. Looking at you, Jose Bautista and Yordano Ventura. Call the other guy a “nobody” to his face and then buy him a drink afterwards, because that’s what men do.

More rules and amendments may be added as situations arise, but the point is simple: stop playing Clint Eastwood and enforcing your own version of how you think baseball should be played. Unless the guy blatantly insults you or obviously shows you up (and it will be more obvious than Marvel’s lack of attempts at a decent plot) just play the game you get paid to play.

One more unwritten rule. No post on baseball and etiquette would be complete without mentioning these two. If you are a young rookie and are facing someone you perceive to be “old” yet has thrown a handful of no hitters, and you get hit by him, take it. Say thank you sir may I have another, and go down to first. Don’t do what Robin Ventura did, and don’t EVER underestimate old man strength:

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12 Days on the Mountain: A Story of Survival

The San Antonio Falls, with the summit of Mt. Baldy in the distance.

There were many things I did wrong that day. They will all become apparent as the story unfolds. What I want anyone who reads this to get out of it is a lesson. Do not make the same mistakes I made.

Saturday March 28th, 5:30 AM

It’s a two and a half hour drive from my apartment in San Diego to the Mt. Baldy trailhead, so I wanted to get an early start. I put together all the food and water for the day for myself and my dog Walter, who accompanies me on all my hikes, should whatever mountain on which I am hiking allow him to do so. He’s not a fan of car rides, but I knew he would love being outside all day. I was on the road just after six.

8:30 AM

We arrive at Manker Flats, and hit the trail after about 15 minutes of double checking I had everything. We would be hiking the Devil’s Backbone Loop trail, which looks as follows:

I didn’t quite start at the actual trailhead, I started to the right of it further up Baldy Rd. by the ski lifts, which would make it about a 10 mile roundtrip hike. This is a map I had looked at on my computer a hundred times, as I have been planning on hiking Baldy for quite some time now. All I needed was good weather and a Saturday where I had nothing going on, and this day qualified. It was an absolutely gorgeous day. As I had looked at that map online a lot, I did not grab the map that was available at the trailhead.

10:30 AM

We (all “we” references are myself and my dog) made it to the Baldy Notch around this time, and we had a look around. There were two other dogs roaming the grounds whom I was told belong to the Notch manager, and Walter played with them for a bit while I looked around. I always try to drink in as much of a place to which I have never been. After that we started again.

There were some steep sections of the Devil’s Backbone trail, which is aptly named. Very narrow in some parts and riding along the ridge, there wasn’t much room to let those coming down this direction pass.

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Looking up the Devil’s Backbone trail towards the summit from just above the Notch.

It was a very enjoyable hike to the top. Walter made it seem like he had somewhere else to be, as he was tugging me up the whole way. He kept looking back as if to say, “C’mon man, pick up the pace, I want to be home in time to watch the Wisconsin game tonight.” But since we had just come from sea level and were now above 8,000 feet, I had to take my time.

Just after 1 PM

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Myself and Walter on the summit of Mt. Baldy. We couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day to hike.

We ascend the final grade to the summit, and wow was it worth the effort. Clear blue sky for hundreds of miles in every direction meant pristine views that act like a B12 shot when you make the summit; suddenly you are full of life and energy. There must have been 50 people on the summit, but there was plenty of room. I poured Walter a bowl of water and gave him his lunch, as I sat down to eat mine and absorb my surroundings. I let Walter wander and introduce himself to everyone, and they all loved him. He’s so friendly and calm, people love to pet him and be around him. After about 30 minutes I decide it’s time to head down.

I was unsure of which path to take. I ask someone and they say, “Stay to the left.” A couple of dogs were playing in a pile of snow, and I let Walter have his last little bit of fun before the hike down. I planned on being back to the car no later than four.

Approximately 2 PM

As I said there were a lot of people on the mountain, and the hike down was a bit of slow going. It was at this point that I for some reason felt bogged down by all the people, and moved past them. Looking back on it, I realized that I had blinders on; tunnel vision if you will. I was just walking along, staring at my feet, not really paying attention to where I was going. It wasn’t much longer before I realized I lost the trail, and had no knowledge or ability to retrace my steps.

When I say “no ability,” that means that we had descended some very steep (I’d say 45 or 50 degree grade) slope and couldn’t climb back up. The only way to go was down. I would spend the next three hours sliding down the mountain on my backside, with Walter diligently following behind. I realized I needed all four limbs in order to control myself, so I took Walter off his leash and put it in my backpack.

I heard the sound of the San Antonio Falls, and I thought to myself, “If we can make it to the water we can just follow that down to the trailhead.”

Approximately 5 PM

We made it down to the falls. All that stood in our way was one last rock face to clamber down, and then we could follow the stream down the rest of the way. It was very difficult to get down this face, but I made it. I thought Walter could too. But I turned around and saw that he was not following.

This scene is very difficult to describe. Part of me wishes I had taken a picture so that everyone could see what we were faced with. But Walter sat on top of the rock face, and he couldn’t move. Not that he was injured or caught on something, he was just stuck. The rock was too slippery and he was scared. For 30 minutes I stood there, begging for him to follow me. “Walter come on buddy, I’ll catch you! Just jump on down and we’ll go home!” But it wasn’t working. The more I begged, the more he wanted to get to me, but couldn’t. He started yelping and whining. It was at this point I realized I soon had a decision to make.

I was out of food, and had very little water left. Not to mention another hour long hike to get to my car, and nightfall would soon be upon us. I had extra clothing – a sweatshirt, athletic pants, stocking hat and thin runner’s gloves – and I might have been able to survive the night, but then what? We were next to the falls, but that snow runoff is not good to drink. All the while I’m thinking this and trying to figure out how to get Walter down to me. After trying to no avail, I made a choice I had to make: I left my dog there.

Nearly completely dark, and I made it back to my car much worse for the wear. It was very steep, and I realized how much of a mistake it was to think that we could follow a waterfall back to the trailhead. I drove down to the Baldy Village, found a motel room for the night, ate a little food and filled my car with gas, as it was about a half gallon from being empty.

8:30 PM

I drive back up to the trailhead, and start walking the road to try and get closer to where I had to leave Walter. But I had to leave him in a spot well above where the end of the falls meets the road back to the trailhead.

I’m yelling his name, clapping, whistling, anything I can think to do. But anyone who has stood next to a waterfall knows it is very loud. The person you’re talking to could be three feet away and you’d still have to shout. I was also worried about coyotes or mountain lions hearing me. I spent almost 45 minutes out there, but knew there wasn’t much I could do.

I got back to the hotel room and called home. I knew my mother wouldn’t answer a strange phone number (I couldn’t use my phone because there was no cell service) calling her at close to midnight central time, so it took a while to reach her. But when I did, the gravity of the situation hit me, and I cried like a baby. Just uncontrollable tears and sadness; I had to leave Walter on the mountain, and it was all my fault that we ended up in that situation. It was all my fault and there was nothing I could do to go back and change it.

I talked to her for a while about what I should do next, and then showered. It was like taking a salt bath. The cuts I had accumulated all over my legs, arms and hands stung like a nest of wasps.

I tried to sleep, but couldn’t. What have I done? I kept thinking to myself.

Sunday March 29th, 7:00 AM

Morning light eventually came and the first thing I did was head to the visitor’s center to let them know the situation. My legs were in bad shape from the previous day, but I couldn’t leave without trying to find Walter. I got back to the trailhead, and headed up the actual route I should have come down from the previous day. I told everyone I saw to keep an eye out for Walter, and if they found him to take him to the visitor’s center, as they’d have no way to contact me because of the lack of cell service.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to get back to the spot where I left him, but hiking up the trail, I was able to get to a ridge that overlooks that exact spot where I last saw him.

And he wasn’t there. In fact, I saw no movement down there of any kind. I stood and I stared, I looked around the whole area to try and spot him. But he was not there.

1:00 PM

At this point I’m lucky to be walking. My legs are just completely gone. I was fortunate to run into a couple of search and rescue guys, and they said they would put out a call. Running on maybe two hours worth of sleep and bum legs, I didn’t know what to do, so I called my dad. He said I had to go home. All the way back to San Diego.

The guilt and sadness I felt as I drove away from the mountain is impossible to describe in words.

End of Day, Monday, March 30th

By this point I had put ads on Craigslist, LostMyDoggie, Facebook, Twitter and had contacted numerous shelters in the area. But it didn’t feel like enough. I was an emotional and physical wreck. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have made so many mistakes to allow this to happen?

Thursday, April 2nd, 6:00 AM

I never thought I’d have to do this again so soon. I was taking today and Friday off work to go and look for Walter. When I got to the mountain, I stopped in the Baldy Lodge to ask if anyone had seen a dog who fit his description.

No one had, but it was at this point I realized that his missing was already well known among the locals on the mountain. They’re all part of an online message board, and someone had put up a notice. It wasn’t just I who was looking for Walter.

Saturday, April 4th, 8:30 AM

The kindness of everyone on that mountain is the only reason I was able to keep together while searching for my dog. Missy, the manager of the Lodge, personally made almost two dozen calls to people who lived in houses near the trailheads. A man named Rich, who worked for the Forest Service, drove me around in his truck and together we covered as much of the mountain as we could in one hour what it would have taken me six to do the same. We talked to everyone. I handed out flyers and had even bought binoculars to try and see as much space as possible.

I realized a lot of things in being back on the mountain and searching for Walter, but most of all I saw how lucky I was to make it down in the first place. We were so far off trail, and in such a dangerous situation. It would have been very easy for me to sprain my ankle or tear my ACL and make it difficult or impossible to walk. In talking to some of the locals, I heard that hikers lose the trail once a week. One woman I talked to said she’s lived on the mountain for 45 years and had just lost the trail on a hike a couple of months prior. This did not make me feel better, as Walter was still missing.

After 48 hours of hiking an untold number of miles on the mountain, visiting animal shelters and hospitals in the towns just below the mountain and having no luck, I decided there was nothing more I could do. I once again drove back to San Diego dejected and filled with sorrow.

Wednesday Night, April 8th

I had completely given up hope. Everyone kept telling me to stay positive, but I couldn’t. Everyone kept telling me not to feel guilty, but I felt nothing else. It was all my fault. My mother had scheduled a flight to San Diego that would land tomorrow night, and we would spend the weekend looking for Walter.

When all the flyers had been posted, all the calls to the shelters had been made and all the personal searching up to this point had not returned my dog, I did the only thing left to do: I prayed. Anyone who knows me is aware that I am not a religious man, but when all logic and earthly attempts to solve a problem have been made, what else is there to do?

I went to sleep for the 11th consecutive night without Walter by my side.

Thursday, April 9th, 6:00 AM

My phone ringing wakes me up. “Hello?”

“Is this Brian?”

Still half asleep. “This is he.”

“I think I found your dog.”

Now I’m awake. “Is he wearing a Kansas Jayhawks collar?”

“Yes. I found your information on the tags.”

At 6:05 I called my parents. At 6:10 I was in my car. The man who found him lived in the last house one could possibly live in on that mountain, way up by the ski lifts. This is about 7,000 feet up.

8:45 AM

413436

I was so excited to see him. And then I saw him. He looked awful. He had lost 15 pounds, which is a lot when he only weighed 65 to begin with. I examined his paws and legs and saw that he had quite a few cuts; no surprise considering where he had been for the last 12 days. Looking at him I knew the story was not over; I had to get him down to the nearest animal hospital immediately. I hugged the man who found him and drove down the mountain.

12:30 PM

We are now back in my apartment in San Diego. The vet I took him to was a very knowledgeable and nice man. He gave Walter a couple of shots, prescribed him a pain med and antibiotic, as his skin had been exposed to the elements for so long we had to make sure there weren’t any tick bites. He gave him a check up, and told me that despite being in the elements for so long, he was healthy.

Photo on 4-9-15 at 12.41 PM

First photo of his return home. The relief I felt and the comfort he finally felt was pure joy.

Upon returning home, I went to get him more food, and it was like Ghandi after the fast. I knew he was starving, but as his stomach had shrunk, I couldn’t give him too much too soon.

He got on the couch and curled up in his familiar spot. He slept for the next eight hours. He was finally home.

Epilogue

Since then, Walter continues to get better everyday. The cuts on his legs and paws are almost healed, and his personality remains unchanged; he is his normal happy, loving self, and he has gained some of the weight he lost back. He lies next to me as I type these words.

I still think about that day a lot. If you were to ask me what I was thinking, I would tell you I wasn’t. There are so many things I could have and should have done differently to prevent all of this from happening. Bottom line, I underestimated the mountain. And as any experienced hiker will tell you, as soon as you underestimate the mountain, that’s when it wins.

Learn from me. No matter how experienced you are, have a map with you or on your phone. However, don’t rely on that phone. Have a compass with you as well. Tell people where you are going. Always be prepared; have extra food, water and clothes. If you are unsure of the trail, always be looking around. Look back to where you have come from, as even if you are following the same trail down that you are coming up, surroundings can change. If you are unsure of where to go, follow other people on the mountain. If you do lose the trail, don’t do what I did. Stay up along the ridge, use your sense of direction and find your way down safely.

The most important thing: if you find yourself undersupplied, it is taking longer than expected to reach the top, or weather is closing in, turn around. You can try to summit another time. Don’t tempt fate by pushing yourself too far. Always know your limits, and always keep an eye on the sky for impending rain or storms, as weather can change quickly at high altitude.

It is nothing short of a miracle that my boy found his way home. He survived cold nights of 25 degree temperatures with 40 mph winds, and 60 degree days with a harsh sun up above. I don’t know what he did or how he did it to survive on that mountain for 12 days, but he did it.  If only dogs could talk.

We’ll go hiking again some time soon. He’s only two years old, and I imagine a 14,000 foot peak or two are in our future. He loves being outdoors and he loves going on hikes. But what happened on Mt. Baldy will never repeat itself. Perhaps we will even go back to that mountain one day. It is a beautiful place, and I honestly cannot overstate how nice everyone is there. But I will have a map, and I will ensure that we get down safely.

You never think something like this will happen to you until it does happen to you. I and my dog were both incredibly lucky. Learn from me. Don’t let what happened to me and my dog happen to you and yours. Hiking should be a fun and liberating thing, so long as you are prepared and aware. Enjoy yourselves out there, and remember what Morpheus said; there is a difference between knowing the path, and walking the path.

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