Re-match, bitch.

My senior year in high school, I went to the Grand Canyon. I'd been plenty of times before (after all, you can't live in the "Grand Canyon State" without going at least once), but this time was going to be different. We were going to be hiking into the canyon.

I was pretty unhealthy in high school and generally unaware of the outdoors world. But, my friends were going so I talked my way onto the trip.

"Are you sure you want to go?" one of my teachers asked me. He was concerned that someone of my, er, caliber might have a hard time hiking downhill for 2 miles and coming back on a steeper incline for another 2 miles.

"I can do it," I said. I flashed a smile, dropped some witty banter and I was in.

We got to the Grand Canyon in a group. I was nervous because the only exercise I ever got was walking from the main building in the high school to the carne asada stand in the back parking lot. More so than being nervous, however, I was cocky. I compared myself to the people I saw hiking into the canyon.

"Alright," I thought. "If that guy over there can do it, I can do it."

I started at the same pace as my classmates but after a quarter mile, my pace slowed considerably. My knees weren't prepared for two miles of downhill and grew shaky. One of my friends and a teacher, Ms. U, stayed behind to walk with me while the rest of the group practically ran down the trail. We stopped every ten minutes because I needed a break. I'd sit on a rock to take a break and watch as kids, teenagers and grandparents passed by me, smiling and laughing. I didn't understand how someone could be smiling while walking down. Good Christ, I could barely convince my mouth to open wide enough to breathe let alone smile.

We were a mile and a half down when another teacher, Mr. M, came trekking up the trail to meet us. The same Mr. M who I convinced to let me come on the trip was now informing me that he didn't think there was enough time for me to go all the way down to our intended meeting spot.

"It's just that it gets pretty steep up here," he said. "Everyone else is already almost down there and there's still another half mile to go from here."

I stared at him, out of breath. My friend who had been walking with me looked at me, then Mr. M, then down at the ground.

"I just want you to remember that for every bit you go down, you have to go back up," Mr. M said.

I nodded. "I'll just start walking back up then. I'll meet you guys at the rim."

Mr. M nodded and my friend gave me a wave. I was humiliated. I wasn't embarrassed at what Mr. M had said to me; he was just trying to look out for myself and the rest of the group. I was mortified that I overestimated my ability to keep up with my peers. I'd always had the mentality that if I thought I could do it, I could do it without any practice or preperation. When it came down to the wire, I convinced myself, I could do any physical task that was demanded of me. It was bad that I didn't realize my philosphy wasn't true before I made the journey down a giant canyon face, but it was even worse that something so obvious had to be pointed out to me in front of my friend. The more horrifying thing, however, was that I was more than a mile into the Grand Canyon and I had no idea how I was going to get out. I was stuck.

So, I started walking. I slowly trudged up and put on a good face as donkeys and senior citizen groups passed me. I made jokes and laughed when my classmates, done with their lunch near a drop off that I never got to see, caught up to me and proceeded to pass me yet again.

"We're trying to beat Mr. M up to the rim!" they shouted to me.

"We'll see how that goes," Mr. M said trotting up a few steps behind them. Those bitches. I could barely breathe and they were having a race up the Canyon.

I was exhausted and defeated in more ways than I could imagine. My toes were numb and the walking sticks that carried my shaky legs down the canyon were now just another source of excess weight. I was just about to give up and try to hitch a ride on a donkey when Mr. M came lumbering down the Canyon.

"I thought you could use the company," he said. It was the first time in my life that I remember feeling overwhelming gratitude towards someone. I would have punched a donkey down the canyon at that point if he had asked me to. A little while later, Ms. U joined in our trek up to the rim. After 8 grueling hours in that bastard Canyon, I made it to the rim. My classmates welcomed me when I got back to our camp and everyone did me a favor by ignoring the elephant in the room (or the campground).

The Grand Canyon kicked my ass that day. I had never in my life felt so defeated. We came home and my ego mostly recovered, but there has always been a scar on it that just can't quite fade away.

Well, this weekend, I'm looking to tackle that scar. I'm looking for a re-match with the Grand Canyon. I've got broken in hiking boots, lots of sunscreen and a healthier self to bring to the table.

This weekend, I'm coming for you, Grand Canyon. I am going to stomp your ass with my gianormous hiking boots and then I am going to eat an ice cream cone and marvel at your ridiculous natural beauty.

This weekend is our re-match. It's on.

Pop Quiz

What are college kids doing with their paychecks?

A.) Blowing it on two-for-one drink specials every Thursday night.
B.) Bribing Sallie Mae loan services to forget our number.
C.) Saving it up to go to a university we can't afford.
D.) Buying blow from Shifty Petey on the corner.
E.) Forgetting all the debt we've collected during our time in college and spending it all on concert tickets.

Answer: Mother-effing E. Suck it, Sallie Mae!*

*Seriously, if there's any way you could forget my number that would be spectacular.

By the Power of Sam Elliot's Mustache

In the great city of Tucson, we have a little something called Rodeo Days. That is, we get two days off because the Rodeo decides to haul it's country ass into town. This is a big deal in our fair city. Schools close, businesses close, there's even a parade. A PARADE.

Funny thing is, nobody actually goes to the rodeo. Have you ever been to a rodeo? No, because they're boring. There's only so long I can watch a guy buck around on a bull (read: 8 seconds) before I want said bull to impale my skull because I'm so bored. And the rodeo clowns? Don't even get me started on those goofy bastards.

I'm not complaining though. I love any excuse to take two days off from school. It's just, I think the rodeo further perpetuates the stereotype that Arizona is still like it was in 1897.

I like to imagine that tourists are seriously disappointed when they come to Arizona. I mean, think about it. The only movies that feature Arizona are westerns. Tombstone, 3:10 to Yuma, Wyatt Earp and pretty much anything John Wayne or Sam Elliot ever starred in. People see those movies and are like, "Hell yeah! Let's go to Arizona so we can drink whiskey and wear chaps." People say that because the old west was badass, aside from all the tuberculosis and scalpings. Nothing will ruin a good whiskey buzz like not having a scalp.


Pictured: One of the most feared old west gangs, the Surly Bedwetters, led by the terrible Snotty Scotty Jones (first from right)

But the old west is in the past. It's yesterday's paper, baby. Old news. We don't ride horses in the street. I haven't seen a shootout in the streets outside a saloon since I lived in Nogales. Shit, can you even take a train to Yuma anymore?


"It's HOW FAR to Yuma? Fuck it."

I feel bad for people who travel all the way from, well, where ever it is that they're coming from to see Arizona, expecting it to still be old-westified. Sure, we have the Grand Canyon. And I guess Tombstone has a Cracker Barrel. And Bisbee has all those art snobs. But there's no shoot outs, nobody named Billy the Kid or any chance you can wander into a brothel. We're all "civilized" now with our fancy "technology" and and "laws". Turns out you can't just walk into a bar, take off your clothes and ask the bartender for a bourbon on the rocks and his finest whore. You'll get arrested if you do that. Something about indecent exposure and illegal prostitution. I don't know, I'm not a cop.

Yes, my friends, the old west is long gone. It only comes around one weekend a year now. And on this glorious, slightly retarded and always appreciated Rodeo Weekend, I will be nowhere near those bull-humping weirdos.

Instead, I'll be appreciating all the things time and knowledge has gotten us since the Wild West days, like the Internet and indoor air conditioning.