My condolences to all of US

As a friend semi-sarcastically posted this morning, "I think we can all agree that the shooting was bad." We all have heavy hearts for those victims and their families in Las Vegas. We should be able to say, "That goes without saying," yet we all feel compelled and responsible to still say it.

But shouldn't we all also be sending condolences to the American people at large? We have had so many opportunities to curb this kind of incident through levels of control and legislation that would keep the weapons this man used out of the hands of people like this man. This is an incident where more guns would not have prevented this or made it any less tragic. This is an incident where this man could have been identified for amassing weapons and ammunition if proper registration and tracking processes were in place. This is an incident where this man could have possibly been identified if Donald Trump had not repealed a rule to block sales from people with certain mental illnesses.

No one, and I mean NO ONE, has ever come forward with legislation to revoke all guns from all people and repeal the Second Amendment. That has never happened, and it never will. But reasonable people want reasonable laws passed so that these tools of death and destruction (that is their sole purpose) can be regulated to minimize this kind of incident as much as possible. It is time for courageous people to stand up and make necessary laws to protect us as citizens.

So I send my condolences to those in Las Vegas, but I also send them to the rest of us across the United States of America, because unless something is done to curb this violent nonsense we will probably be next.

We actually saw a person die tonight

The following is an email I sent last night to my mom and brother, Wyatt, after my wife, Vicki, our kids and I said goodbye after a quick weekend getaway to Pine, AZ. Pine is the home of our summer retreat at the base of the Mogollon Rim, about 90 minutes north of Phoenix. As we were leaving, we saw a heard of elk, about 35 strong captained by a massive buck with stout antlers and a menacing yet protective expression. It was an awesome sight of nature and wildlife, yet looking back felt more like some kind of animalistic warning out of a Miyazaki movie.


Mom and Brother,

Well, we finally just made it home, but not without a great deal of drama. The short of it is that we are all here, we are all safe. But, we actually saw a person die tonight.

As we went past Deer Creek, a couple of motorcycles whipped past us at way beyond high speed, gripping the curving highway leaning their motorbikes at 45 degrees or more. They weaved their way around cars and disappeared around the bend that leads up the big climb through where the roads get limited down to a single lane. As we made our way through that area, with any trace of daylight now fully evaporating, we noticed a third motorcycle cut right around us just as the left lane got pinched into the right. We all got in line to make our way through this section when I saw the other two waiting on the right, clearly looking for their other member of their group. He revved to let them know he caught up and then once the lanes opened up, all three bolted off around the bend of Mt. Ord and into the darkness.

We began the descent past the Sycamore Creek turnoff when I noticed what looked like a red flare against the median and quickly realized it was one of the bikes, so I started scanning the road for a body. Vicki, who did an amazing job driving through this incident, saw the body stretched across the left lane and dodged around it as I saw a second bike on the ground on the right shoulder. Cars began pulling over with people jumping out and heading up the hill to see if the could find the bodies and, more importantly, signal to the other cars streaking down the mountain to slow down. Vicki, among several others, was on the phone to 911 letting them know of the incident. We could hear the body in the highway get run over several times and by the time we got to it, it was hardly human any longer. One man dragged it out of the highway while a few of us looked among the roadside for any sign of another person. The cars screaming around that downhill bend and starting to stack up where we all pulled over were absolutely terrifying. The other motorcyclist whose bike was in the shoulder finally came walking back down the hill, clearly beyond shock but uninjured. He was joined by the third rider who made his way back up along the shoulder to find this devastation. It was amazing to see these young men high on thrill become so instantly mortified and broken, but their carelessness brought this upon themselves.

It took well over 20 minutes for the first emergency respondent to show up. I returned to the car to be with the kids. Vicki finally made her way back to us 10 minutes later. Amazingly, no other accidents occurred. Vicki said that one of the men who was up the road with her remarked to his wife just moments before the incident, "I wonder how long before one of them gets scraped off the road." Little did he or any of us know.

As we were leaving Pine, we did come back across that heard of Elk, making their way down Bradshaw to the meadow. I half joked to the kids once I got back to the car on the side of the road after the accident that those elk knew something and were trying to keep us from getting on the road tonight. The entire incident still haunts me, even as I sit here in my bed now. Yet I also thought of the 10-15 cars of people who immediately and instinctively pulled over to assist in whatever way we could. In a span of a few moments we saw how stupid, foolish and selfish a few people can be while so many more are so good, so decent.

It was a hard remainder of a ride home, but here we are. We even stopped at Target to get Lucas a few supplies for his first day (he is grinning ear to ear in anticipation for tomorrow) and some yogurt so we could have a sweet taste touch our tongue before truly calling it a night.

Thank you for a wonderful yet quick weekend. I love you both. Be careful out there.

Love,
Jason

Here is the report from the Payson Roundup on the accident.

Making America great again?

How does one go about making America great again? Apparently, you follow these five easy steps:
 
1) Instead of properly vetting qualified personnel to surround yourself to navigate this new venture of Federal government, you hire a bunch of self-centered, novice government and administrative sycophants (not to mention all those family members) who you will end up firing within six months.
 
2) Instead of working with leading experts to put together health care reform that can help all those coal miners and blue collar workers you romanced to get elected, you focus on imaginary voters and Russian conspiracy, contradicting yourself endlessly at every step.
 
3) Instead of building stronger foreign relations with your current allies and new relationships with adversarial nations, you antagonize all your friends, focus on building a see-through border wall to avoid flying bags of narcotics and hit on the wife of the newly elected President of France.
 
4) Instead of putting forward new economic stimulus and tax reform packages that will push the national economy to tremendous new heights (believe me), you ride the coat tails of the the previous administration's economic plan that continues to generate a bull market and job growth but claim it as your own.
 
5) Instead of leading, making sure the buck stops with you and owning accountability for everything on your watch, you play the greatest victim, pointing fingers everywhere but at yourself, blame fake news (#sad), FBI investigators and your own political appointees for your own failures.

All things considered, I'm kind of glad America has sucked all this time.

A list of music you didn't ask for, 2016 edition

As the clock eclipses New Year's Eve, 2016 style, I feel compelled to once again post a list of my favorite albums from the past twelve months. Much has been said about the many losses and tragedies from this year, but here's what we did get: a new Franz lady named Paloma, a new look Prius and new music from Radiohead. Here are my top ten from the past year, in alphabetical order except for my favorite, listed last.

Bon Iver, 22, A Million
Justin and his legion drop another collection, this time a bit shorter but still with all the warbly deeps and highs and esoteric lyrics that only Vernon himself understands.  

David Bowie, Blackstar
What a farewell from this devastating creative force. Part tribute to his fans, part personal catharsis, all brilliant.
 

Car Seat Headrest, Teen of Denial
To think, I got to see these guys in The Valley Bar months before this album dropped. Lucky me. I'm not kidding.
 

DIIV, Is The Is Are
These guys self-describe as controversial. That's marketing. The music is still amazing, echoing Joy Division, New Order, Nirvana but wholly current, filled with a man's demons of addiction.
 

Glass Animals, How To Be A Human Being
This sophomore effort is not as deep in sticky jungle beats as their first great outing, but this is more relevant of now, bursting with references and sarcasm of the moment.  

Jagwar Ma, Every Now & Then
Another amazing debut follow-up, this time from some Aussies who know how to make beats to wiggle your buttocks. These guys just generate flowy sounds.  

Solange, A Seat at the Table
The lesser know Knowles sister made the superior album this year, and without an uber-hyped HBO special tie-in. This record plays like Marvin Gaye's What's Going On, Stevie Wonder's Innervisions or Prince's Sign of the Times - full of soul and conflict, moving a #blacklivesmatter conversation forward with beauty and grace.  

STRFKR, Being No One, Going Nowhere
The boys from Portland - now featuring a new guitarist from Phoenix! - would be the house band for my end of the world party.  

A Tribe Called Quest, We Got It From Here…Thank You 4 Your Service
One of the best rap bands ever, finishing as strong as Bowie. RIP Phife Dawg.

And my favorite of the year...

Radiohead, A Moon Shaped Pool
Sure, it may be a bit of a greatest hits collection of songs never before committed to an album, but what a glorious collection of sonic and lyric perfection it is. Fewer electronic production flares, richer and deeper orchestral and instrumental arrangement, these songs deal with disenfranchisement, distrust, loss, heartache, climate change and confusion. Every second is brilliant. Of course, my brother says these guys could fart and I'd think it was amazing, and he's probably right - but Thom, Jonny, Ed, Colin and Phil have more than earned that. This album is still sublime.

Aaaaannnnd...three bonus songs that killed:

Sylvan Esso, Radio  

Beck, Wow
 

Childish Gambino, Redbone


2017 reportedly has new offerings from The National, Spoon, Beck, Vampire Weekend, Grizzly Bear, The Shins, Japandroids, Arcade Fire, Gorillaz and LCD Soundsystem, and who knows what else that will pop up and surprise us. Looks like I'm gonna need a bigger LP shelf.

Music you didn't ask for

I used to love year-end lists, I guess mainly because I thought they kind of validated what I liked. But then I realized that the weird stuff I liked tend to fall off of the radar of most everyone else, especially when it came to music. There is nothing more subjective or diffuse than music because of two things: people shake the junk in their trunk to different stuff; there's sooooo much stuff out there to make you shake the junk in your trunk.

Anyhow, I still troll the year-end lists of best albums because I love finding new stuff. Last year I came across my absolute favorite album for quite some time in Lord Huron's Lonesome Dreams (if you haven't given it a listen, do so now...and see these guys live if you ever get the chance. You will not be disappointed). While most of my list for this year actually came from either bands I knew and loved already or learned via SiriusXM, one great discovery was made just under the wire and has been in heavy play mode ever since.

So, here's my list, hoping the one or two of you who read this might find something new. If nothing else, Sophia likes what I play (and what's better for a dad's ego than for his daughter to tell him he's got great taste?).

1. Vampire Weekend, Vampires of the Modern City


2. Cayucas, Bigfoot


3. Arcade Fire, Reflektor


4. Daft Punk, Random Access Memories


5. Yo La Tengo, Fade


6. The Mother Hips, Behind Beyond


7. Typhoon, White Lighter


8. Atoms for Peace, Amok


9. Foxygen, We Are the 21st Century Ambassadors of Peace & Magic


10. Volcano Choir, Repave


11. Wiped Out, Paracosm


12. Dr. Dog, B-Room


Happy 2014, y'all!

I am a very fortunate human being

I am a very fortunate human being. I am married to an incredibly loving, nurturing, supportive woman. I have two children who are far more intelligent and kind than I could ever expect to have the right to be. I am able to go to work and earn an honest wage at a place whose sole endeavor is to make the world better and healthier, all in the name of education, which I believe is any human’s greatest pursuit. I am surrounded by family and friends who value one another so selflessly and openly. I cannot take this for granted.

One Fan's Sense of the Myth and Legend of Lance Armstrong

In the summer of 2004, Lance Mania was in full swing. Lance Armstrong was about to embark on a record-setting sixth straight Tour de France victory and his dominance in the sport of professional cycling was unchallenged by the rest of the pro peloton.

I was one of those who fell in line, ordering packs of the ubiquitous yellow Livestrong wristbands that were more a symbol of being an Armstrong fan than anything having to do with supporting cancer research. The fact of the matter was Lance Armstrong was easy to root for. He had charisma, he overcame cancer, he embodied that ballsy American arrogance swagger that all Americans love but the rest of the world hates, and he rode the hell out of his bike with a ferocity that even his greatest rivals admired. He was in the same atmosphere as Michael Jordan and Tiger Woods. He was a sporting god. A deeply flawed sporting god.

I have always loved watching the Tour de France, long before I ever realized how much I loved to ride a bike. Back in the early 80’s when CBS offered limited coverage on the weekend with John Tesh giving commentary over his own synthesized musical score, I sat hypnotized by the coverage of the pro peloton winding and weaving through the undulating French countryside. The scenes of Greg Lemond battling Bernard Hinault or Laurent Fignon for tour supremacy while Claudio Chiappucci would make his fleeting yet heroic attacks made me alternately gasp and cheer in amazement. And then there was the group of North Americans sponsored by the corner convenient store, led by a  burly Mexican named Raul Alcala, a scrappy American named Davis Phinney, and the beautiful climber from Idaho, Andy Hampsten, who gave all of us Yanks a few moments to cheer and dream that an American on an American team would someday wear the maillot jaune in Paris.

After Lemond’s body gave way (after accidentally getting shot by his brother-in-law on a hunting trip) and Hampsten never could piece together that one, great tour, the American dream in France faded and the Tour became dominated by Spain. Yet in 1993, word began spreading of a scrappy Texan whose cockiness knew no end, nor did his talent. In 1996, Lance Armstrong, still known more as a one-day classics rider than a grand tour contender, was listed as a potential challenger for the yellow jersey but withdrew in the rain after the sixth stage. I remember turning to my brother and adamantly saying, “Lance Armstrong will win the Tour de France within the next two years.” About four months later Armstrong was diagnosed with cancer.

I had mostly forgotten about Armstrong over those next couple of years. Americans named Julich, Hincapie and Andreu had become the names of note, and Armstrong’s return couldn’t be anything too serious. And then he finished fourth in the 1998 Vuelta a Espana, Spain’s version of the Tour. The field for the 1999 was considered incredibly weak – no Marco Pantani or Jan Ullrich, both out for drug issues – and the Tour really was there for Armstrong to take…and he did just that, winning by a staggering 7 and a half minutes. The die was cast and America was hooked. Our cancer boy defied all odds and won the most beautiful and challenging sporting event in the world.

In the following years we were treated to classic moment after classic moment. The Look. The Field Crossing. The Musette. The Catch. There were indications that performance enhancing drug use could have been happening at the time. In 1999, Armstrong tested positive for cortisone, but he quickly produced an approved prescription for cortisone cream for his chapped ass and all was OK. His team was an infallible armada clad in the red, white and blue kits of their US Postal Service sponsor, always hitting every impossible climb with ferocious speed and undying relentlessness. It looked…impossible. But it was real, and unbelievably impressive. Perhaps that was the problem that the vast majority of us never acknowledged.

I defended Armstrong to those who would question his legitimacy. I said “Why would anyone who came so close to death be so willing to put such damaging chemicals in their body once back to full health?” I said “How great is it that at a time when the world hates Americans they cheer for a team with the US and US colors all over their uniforms.”

As we all now know and will get greater detail thanks to (seriously?!?) Oprah Winfrey this Thursday, Lance Armstrong was a doper, like much of the rest of the peloton during his racing career. What sets Armstrong apart in terms of his guilt is how horribly he treated those around him who attempted to tell the truth. Armstrong was and is a good old boy from deep in the heart of Texas. In short, an ass hole.

To this fan, Armstrong’s admission comes as a total surprise. Not that he actually doped. I think every fan realized this years ago and most who truly followed the sport figured it out while he was still winning. The surprise is that he is actually admitting to it. I figured he was taking this to the grave, either because he grew to believe the lies or because he had so much tied to it through litigation that financially he couldn’t let it out.

But looking back, as a cyclist, there are those great moments that no amount of doping can replace. Armstrong was a truly great cyclist and the fact that so many of his peers have confessed does speak to his doping keeping him on a level playing field rather than giving him an advantage. Doping did not help carry him across that rugged field outside of Gap. Doping did not lift Armstrong from the tarmac to not only chase down but pass the entire field after that fan’s musette pulled him to the ground on the Luz Ardiden. Doping did not drive Armstrong to chase down Andreas Kloden after Armstrong tried to gift the stage to his then teammate Floyd Landis, only to see Kloden snatch it away. Each of those moments came courtesy of Armstrong’s amazing bike talent and his unquenchable desire to win. Just like Michael Jordan. Just like Tiger Woods.

Just like those ass holes.