Monday, April 22, 2013

Like girls who eat what they're given

Judgemental Jug disapproves of your deviant lifestyle.
Maybe it's the price range I'm looking at, but the housing hunt has been an endless source of amusement for me, both in the Craigslist prowl and in the subsequent interviews. I have never interacted with so many people so eager to show how hipster, how green, how backflippy their lives are. Not that I'm not playing the same game, but a part of me wonders whether anyone realizes how ridiculous this process is. Will my conception of a meditative space or love of fermentation affect how annoyed I'll get when you leave hairballs in the shower? The aggressively 420-friendly crews, the older gay men wanting live-in escorts, and the "you can't even think about meat but we do yoga" houses are the best though.

Sing ittttt.
Lately, my fetal position and happy baby pose has been 90s jams and Sister Act. Now you know where I go when my mind otherwise doesn't want to interact. For two popsicle-dollars at CREAM, you pick two cookies and an ice cream. And then you rally to finish it all before it drips into a sticky mess. Not quite Diddy Riese, but it'll do the trick for munching.


And we're at the top of Twin Peaks. Market street is a light corridor and we're just driving and driving after making Indian food all day. Bend It Like Beckham's aloo gobi is as good as always, and we even made our own naan sans tandoor. All washed down by some bitter monkey astronaut hopbrew. I also roofie'd the host.

Mushroom masala, aloo gobi, palak paneer, butter chicken, naan
Cappucino and double chcolate cookies with matcha ice cream
Great Western Power Company bouldering comp was somehow less crowded than Ironworks, and way more friendly. Three V4s and two stemmy V5s later, I placed 28th place out of 122 climber dudes in Intermediate! I'm realizing I need to move out of my crimp-and-stem happy place and into slopers and roofs. I left right before free pizza arrived, but fell straight into the Ethiopian glory of Addis with Talia/Jason.

Not a shabby Friday after the most awful client conversation I've had as a youngin' lawyer to date. My assumption that in a feel-good career that you always get to be the nice guy is being slowly debunked or at least I'm becoming wiser in the Ways of the World. The two of us sat there watching someone cry over Skype for half an hour, and then we lamely said we should keep in touch. Coming from someone who's never dumped anyone (you do the math), I just felt pooptastic. All the traumatic stuff has never phased me, but it's the realization that some things just can't be fixed through persistence is honestly what messes me up.

I'm not known as TryHard Bear for nothing, I suppose.


The 20th of April started with Yoga for Cyclists. Four-person classes are awesome, and I'm approaching capoeira-era levels of flexibility (see: Mermaid and/or One-Legged King Pigeon Pose). Some spring rolls, a rice krispie treat, and some beers later, and I'm in regenerative stasis.


So far, El Tonayense taco truck has maintained its psychic bond with me, so whenever I hunger for lengua and carnitas, it just pops into existence, often right outside Mission Cliffs. Avoid its carne asada and chicken offerings, and go straight for tongue. I kept seeing Mexican families getting buckets of this stuff before finally trying it. Topped off with radishes and pickled peppers, om nom nom.

Insert your own demotivator/political metaphor.


We took an impromptu trip on Sunday after Baker beaching to Sutro Baths to watch the sunset and to scurry into the cavelette. It's funny the sense of well-being you get from having frothy Guinness on warm sand and wading into the Pacific until you're on the edge of getting riptide'd out. And right when all is white foam and reflected sunlight, you're like, "I'm Robin Williams in What Dreams May Come." Hey, are you still with me? We ended the weekend with some awesome Korean eats at Mother's Hands, all served up with a side of Asian mother guilt. "You not finish this? You not like?" was enough to prompt a trough-cleansing reaction. "We do like, we do like," we cooed afterward, leaving our 20% tip to Tiger Mommy.

Grimaces since we're missing the sunset to take this hot picture.

Sunday, April 14, 2013

Valleywalking with comfort of rod and staff


After a toasty night sunchipping by the Kernville river with some smoky Just Outstanding IPA, we got up with the sun and meandered towards Death Valley. Everyone's cramping buttocks were itching to walk, so we picked a dune in the distance, a voluptuous one that curved around a lower dune, and walked towards it, fueled by double cheeseburgers from In n' Out. Our discovery of the day courtesy of Mason is that you are allowed to request three different types of onions: grilled, cold grilled, and raw. Maximizing value is the name o' the game.

"P'tain, comme y fait chaud quoi!" being the phrase of the day, it was funny to see other people plodding out with no water and clearly insufficient sunscreen. Plump human lobsters be not so tasty.

California has got it going on when it comes to landscapes that make you want to blast Yann Tiersen as you bump along gravel roads. I've been on a OneRepublic kick recently, particularly when "matcha tea" choco chip cookies are involved, so I subjected car mates to that instead. Joseph Arthur, you can play your L Word macking jams as well.

With this scenery outside the car, it was hard not to take excellent pictures, despite my efforts to shake the camera and outright refusal to tweak any of the settings. Exposure time, da fuq is that? Similar color palette as our Bishop and Mammoth Lakes trip, though I guess I should have made the connection that anything in the eastern Sierras would have that craggy blue and sandy brown Billabong-ad look. And anyone that has played Diablo 2 would have expected bipedal cats in armor to be throwing spears and Molotov cocktails of toxic green fog.


Sand dunes are awesome. While planning out our sojourns, I'd picked up some online rumbles from grumbling locals that the only dunes worth going to were the remote ones so that you couldn't see people for miles. The Mesquite dunes we went to were literally next to the ranger station and as you can see, not a single person in sight. And we didn't have to push through sand for eight miles. There are the pesky footprints, but really, who are we deceiving? Bunch o' scrappy city kids running out into the desertlands in flip flops, yelping at the sunny face of the dunes for being hurty, sinking in knee-deep on the cooler side.


Most of the hike was scampering from shaded area to another. After a while, conversation faded to a calm patter and all you focus on is the warm sound of shuffling gravel echoing. Bright white sunlight has a way of making everything feel so clean and clear.

Group shot of the toasty crew

I <3 cairns.

Using cairns to mark how a trail meanders is always such a nice experience. Little blips of natural art that anyone can add to and such. #communism

I have sweet Boy Scoutin' memories of waking up in the 3 am darkness to stumble through the forest on a cairn quest. Sprinkled throughout the map were rocks with ragged notebooks to date and add your name to, and if you find them all, you get a some bling shaped like hiking boots. Do it all at night by flashlight and they dye the boots black.
Sexually and gender non-conforming rocks
While we rested in the shade of the canyon, I obviously felt obligated to sift through the rocks and build a rainbow. How else will future settlers of the valley know that a crew of gays and a lady passed through? Look on my artworks, ye Mighty, and despair! We'd seen a few examples of this rock art, as we started the hike, so obviously other people had noticed how multi-hued the place was.

The quick scramble into the upper Fell Canyon
Honestly, not worth a mention in the hike guides as a "climb." V0---? You step on the pile of loose rocks, grab some jugs, heave your body upwards, and you're done. Discussions of people agonizing over whether to go up and over made me think that this would be some epic stemming.

Tectonic tilt

The end of the hike culminates in a huge boulder sitting at the foot of a dry falls. I know flash floods are dangerous in canyons, but it would have been a great day for a gentle flood to come down (along with a set of six inner tubes. Preferably in green, thanks).

Badwater Salt Flats
We raced out of the canyon to catch the sun setting over the salt flats. Like walking on crunchy craters of the moon. Some of us tasted the salt. Minerally. Boraxious.

So many more trips to be planned and on the horizon: grunion run, Joshua Tree, Half Dome, Oregon, Long Beach. Excited!

Craters of salt and sand

Artist's palette rocks before driving back to SF