Life Advice: Hide your ears and wear a little lipstick.

Holy smokes, Batman, who knew that a bag of fifty fresh oysters, wine, and plenty of sunshine would make for a good Sunday? Tomales Bay Oysters can now be knocked off my bucketlist, even if we didn't have the patience to pop the mollusks onto a grill to try BBQing them. Kumamotos, om nom nom. It did make me hunger for the big clams I had in DC though.

And that night, we finally made it to BrewLab! I'm surprised that pillagin' hipster hordes haven't descended en masse on this event since it has so many hashtagged things going for it. When we showed up to this quiet little house, a friendly lass handed us a mason jar (encouraged donation was $10-20, but it's an All-You-Can-Taste-Drink-Gorge, so...), and then we were in the basement/backyard where two different stations were serving seventeen homebrews. Breakfast in Bed (Oatmeal Maple Stout) stood out for smelling exactly like something you'd want to reduce in a saucepan and then drizzle over pancakes. There was also some flowery beer that tasted like summer or something that a talking rabbit would drink in Redwall Abbey.

There were more chest-length beards than you could shake a maraca/caxixi at, and when the sun finally set, the Kwanzaa lights twinkled on. It was one of those sickly sweet summer days that you just want to stick in a box to look at and remember later.

Kimchi time happened again. This time the means of production were not as robust, but we still pumped out thirteen jars of delicious spicy vegetable matter. I was honored with the task of washing all the little verminous critters before we salted and spiced and puree'd away. Another two days and I'll have bubbly tanginess to throw into anything I happen to be cooking.

And speaking of foodiness, I just published my first article on Spoonwiz on Cantonese consumption!

In more exciting news, I finally can stop trolling Craigslist for housing ads! No more insecure sex workers, techies looking for pot, or bros looking for live-in hos!

In June, I'm moving into an awesome co-op right behind the Grand Lake Theatre. It's right by Lake Merritt, a farmer's market, and Great Western Power Company. For the price of a parking space in San Francisco, I'll have a massive room and a separate study of my own to read/write. This doesn't even include common spaces where I plan to spend most of my time: the garden (so excited about herbs!), dining room, humongous living room, and the sunny reading nook.

I would have never found the place without Talia sending it to me and now she's even supplying me with bed, couch, dresser, and the massive desk I picked up off the street and cleaned hobo poop off of so many years ago. The Universe does indeed provide, but it helps to surround yourself with excellent friends.

Out of all the interviews I've done, this was the only one where I walked out and immediately got my hopes up, already planning out all the awesomeness that was going to occur if I got an offer. Somehow the house folk liked me enough too, so it all worked out in the end!

It's an excellent sign that this past Saturday during the farewell/welcome kegger, a friend brought up how chicken and waffles would be delicious, and bam, suddenly my future housemate was whipping up pumpkin waffles on a hot griddle. Excited to get to know all seven of the scrappy crew that'll co-habit the Randch, and hopefully there will be much climbing/brewing/camping!

And as part of the return to the East Bay, it was a great weekend to hit up the ol' Strawberry Canyon firetrail. I love the side trail after the connector that takes you to the tippy tip of the golden fields to where it looks like you could just dive into the sprawl of the East Bay towards San Francisco.

The shortcut to the trailhead still exists and it's certainly more well-defined. I remember the first time I charged into the underbrush, I was a skinny skinny freshman in college, and I certainly had no idea where the path went, but the idea of getting lost in the dark and wandering in the trees wasn't such a bad one. I definitely slipped and rolled down a hill into decomposing leaves, but emerging dirty and sweaty into the lamplight was pretty effin' triumphant. This time around, in broad daylight, it was just a nice escape into trees and foilage, and it was nice to know that somewhere in muscle memory, I still remember all the little winding roads here.

We'll wrap up with a teddy bear who clearly doesn't understand he's the other woman and that although three points of contact are the most stable, third wheels aren't always welcome, even in TeddyBearlandia.

The Universe provides stuff.

After avoiding a campsite scuffle with two large Hispanic men and their bikini'd ladyfolk, we staked claim to site #15 in Willow Placer along the Merced River. An hour or two of sitting in the warm trunk later, the Deschutes Red Chair was still downright tasty. I built myself some cairns to mark the occasion before we set off on an easy 7-mile hike up to the North Fork of the Merced from Ralroad Flats.

And of course, after many attempts to go hiking while wildflowers are abloomin', we finally stumble upon natural bounty when we least expected it. We're about five miles in when we realize that there's entirely too much color in the foilage, so oh fuck, we're surrounded by purple and yellow wildflowers. No idea what the freaky alien flower above is, except I'm pretty sure it eats babies with those wild tentacles.

In addition to poison oak encroaching from every side, rattlesnacks made a few cameo appearances. This one watched us for a few minutes before slouching off into the shade. I kept thinking about the ranger's warning of some girl needing fourteen antivenom injections, but no two-holed bites this time around. After the sun set in the valley, we had an easy evening of eating roast chicken in the dark, carving up mangos, and nerding out on language talk while staring into the campfire. Not a shabby way to spend a Saturday!

We pack up camp at 7 am on Sunday morning to eat hummus by the roadside while waiting for our whitewater raft guides to show up. It's funny that the rafter/kayak crew are essentially the same people who are also climbers, as in all the names for the rapids could have easily been boulder routes (Balls to the Wall, Son of Ned, etc.). Just an entirely different life, where you're rafting for six months of the year, snowmobiling for four, and then climbing in Utah between seasons.

For warmth, I was given the most attractive green and white Christmas cardigan to wear over my wet suit. I now wish I had taken a picture of this monstrosity.

I loved that we started off the 17-miles with an immediate Class IV challenge called Cranberry Hole. We had just practiced going forward and backward, left and right, and then we were in the middle of a massive sluice of water. A decent confidence booster, and then the rest of it just passed by in a surreal jumble. It definitely all went by smoothly thanks to the excellent river guides. A highlight was our attempt to surf Gauge Hole. Four of us opted to try it, and as soon as the boat slipped into the watery chaos, all I can remember is hanging almost vertically from a toe hook before thinking, "fuck it," and falling into an underwater churn downriver. The two best rapids came at the end, with Split Rock blocking up the middle of the river and then Corner Pocket sucking up the current into a boat-eating maw.

Wetsuits are amazing by the way, and I don't know why I never had one for windsurfing.

I took a break from feeding my face to get in this picture. All-you-can-eat sushi is fast becoming a post-camping tradition, and I don't think people mind this deviation from the In-n-Out sprees. After reenacting the suburban childhoods in Modesto none of us ever had, we stumbled out of the parking lot into Kobe Sushi Buffet, where everyone speaks Mandarin and the 回転寿司 boats seemed to stall out every few minutes. We essentially said yes to everything that was offered, and I believe we ordered every special roll on the menu at least once. Keep the sashimi combos coming, because I can and will eat my weight in salmon.

We'd been trying to kill Chris all weekend. After his food poisoning, we ordered a mountain of wats and injera at Addis, dragged him on a hike, rafted a river, and then this sushi travesty. Two more challenges and it will be time to prepare for the Boss Fight.

Basically how we all felt headed back into a Monday

"Oh, my sweet summer child," Old Nan said.

It was one of those early nuggets of summer that San Franciscans know to tuck away before June actually rolls around and starts off the chilly times. Winter is coming to eat small minority children in August, and we're going to rub our hands together in a fog bank just thinking back to when it was just a little too warm for comfort and the air is still. We were awash in beercraft, and I can recall a BeerAdvocate explosion: Bear Republic stout, Back in Black, Brew Free, Dogfish Head's 90 minute.

When Erik produced a string of dragonfly kites, it was just the cherry atop, and we began our Instagram festival. Backlighting and shirtlessness being the markers of epic Like gathering, I am looking forward to reaping the Klout harvest.

I don't know why I'm bothering to bump up my tanning since Burning Man will just mean I emerge from the desert looking ethnic FOR REAL.

Why is it that we're never on the Western edge of Dolores, just down from the Gay Beach? It's curvaceous, has excellent views, though I guess the manflesh is somewhat lacking. I have yet to come up with a satisfactory alliteration for the hill corner that seems to have hula hoopers and families.

I remember buying a big pink frosted heart cookie and then we all threw ourselves upon it. For all that we pretend to be Big Kids, I'm okay with how happy we all look running down the side of a grassy hill with a kite, trying so hard just to keep the whole contraption off the ground.

 I remain amused when a six-foot drag queen struts across the middle of the Gayborhood.

With saffron and mango ice creams in hand, we took it upon ourselves to assess exactly how many of the Dolores Park commandments are never violated. Every Sunday, nobody smokes, dogs are kept on leashes, the park remains drug-free and clean, and certainly nary a drop of alcohol.

Goat curry and bhaigan bharta with Talia made for an excellent Tuesday, especially after the house I went to interview at set my spidey senses tinglin'. I just want a quiet space of my own, and having good people to keep the bustle n' beer level up would be a glossy plus. Is it too late in life to cobble together three or four friends and move into a giant house where we cook and brew and grow silly herbs?

Erik with some pizza flotsam.

Much like the chocolate toffee samples  that I always act surprised to receive in the Heart of the City market, I picked up a free massage at Dogpatch today. Are you supposed to make eye contact with a stranger who has his bare feet jammed under your arm while popping your shoulder? He talked to me about my bum shoulder vibrating on a tense frequency, and yet there were no chakras mentioned. I miss the fantastical yoga teachers I had at Berkeley, being asked to roll my hips into the rivers of eternity, or to hang my head like ripe succulent fruit. After being told over and over to relax and to let this man swing my arm through its degrees, I ran into some bros that I'd climbed with at Great Western Power Company, which made for some sweet clambering.

Can gay climber boys start high fiving after sends as well? Thanks.

And wrapped it all up at sunset with some Goat Hill, free tiramisu (thanks Yelp!), and epic tea time. I'll count it as celebration for bumbling through Hump Day of a strangely stressy week.

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.

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

The land of ostie de tabarnak de calisse

I finally got my act together to book the free Canada trip that I won from the New Yorker caption contest last August. And because people inevitably ask, here is a truncated version of the cartoon. This part that is cut off from the bottom is the name of the ship at Niagara Falls: "Maid of the Mist."

[THE CARTOON DOES NOT EXIST IN ANY WORLD I KNOW OF NOW.]

My winning caption was: "No, Jimmy, we will not be referring to Dad as Mistman."

Please don't ask me to explain why that's funny because I'm just going to mumble something about: 1) New Yorker humor generating a wry smile at best and 2) how apparently the editors saw something funny that I don't even get. Let's just talk about how each of those eleven words is worth $454. Eyes on the effin' prize!

So I'm taking Chris and Erik along, and the three of us are going to jet off to Toronto for five days over July 4th weekend. Yes, we're very patriotic like that, so just be glad we didn't choose to go earlier for Canada Day on the 1st of July. We'll ride the Maid of the Mist, traipse around Toronto proper, hitch a train to Montreal to see the sights, and then finish off with two days in Quebec. Trains, planes, and possibly automobiles are all involves. We're also going to be staying in a haunted castle. Hello, Château Laurier, hello.

And the title of this post is a reference to the amusing profanity of Quebec French that uses Catholicism for some of the big guns in its literary arsenal. I like that the Québécois can adequately translate "a fuckload of food" as "la bouffe en tabarnac."

I notched my first 5.11b ('Dacks!) last week, and I'm definitely feeling how the months of pure bouldering have improved my toproping. Solid climbing day today too! I flashed two 5.11a routes, the first one being super stemmy, which is right up my alley. My big concern is keeping my right shoulder healthy, so there are definitely times when I could just lean back and go for a lunge, but it ain't worth months of wishing I were clambering and starting from scratch. I'm signed up for two more outdoor trips: Goat Rock on the beach in Sonoma Coast State Park and Cosumnes River Gorge.

I have no idea why the Irish vampire chimpanzee didn't attack sooner.

 I can confirm that trivia night at Rogue Ales Public House has been the best one I've been to in San Frnacisco (so far). Organized, audible, and the rounds were entertaining. Who knew there was a prolific bluegrass band devoted to doing covers of...everything? Add in the excellent Rogue beer selection, and yeah, get me another pint of  Hazelnut Brown.

Such a relaxing Saturday bouldering with random bros at Great Western Power Company. I don't think I've had so many congratulatory fist bumps in my life. GWPC is definitely like the 24 Hour gym by Montgomery. Tiny but often empty, and it has a cozy feel. Definitely one of my favorite Touchstone gyms and I haven't even found anyone to toprope with there yet!

Kelis will never get to play any other songs.

Trueburger'd afterwards with Talia/Jason before headed off to talk to Berkeley undergrads. My first career panel, and it's so weird to talk about your life so far as some planned route, when really I had very little idea what I was doing while I was doing it. It was good to be asked to do some navel gazing, and I stand by the fact that it really was all about the people. Connections got me jobs and friends kept me happy, inspired, and motivated. I like that I've stumbled into two fascinating jobs since law school, and I really can't wait to see what's next. Meeting tons of people who do international work keeps opening my eyes to what's out there, and I don't think I'll stop osmotically learning in the near future.

Wrapped up the Saturday night with Samovar times and some Turkish oil wrestling at Hi Tops. Kisbets are for putting your arm through! There really need to be more venues to hang out at that don't involve drinking.

Sunday was yoga times, and then crisping at Dolores Park with amigos. And finally sampled Truffle Man's wares. Rum and dark chocolate: yes.

Sausage festin' in hot springs

Checking Sykes Hot Springs off my bucket list for the year was an easy one since Big Sur is only 2.5 hours from the City. From the trailhead, we set off with our loaded packs on a 10.5 mile trek into the shrubbery. My first time using the new pack and while there definitely is a little adjustment to be done to make it fit in glove-like fashion, the heft of my stuff felt pretty good.

The hike had a a few fun obstacles, mostly involving crossing little streams. So cool to have these giant redwoods as bridges, though I cringe to imagine what a faceplant/sideplant would feel like. Little madrones and big adult ones everywhere, so splashes of silky orange on all the light greenery.

Cragginess

Once we arrived at the campsites, we threw down our stuff, pitched tents, and immediately set off for the hot springs. Darkness swept in pretty quick, but it was fun scrabbling around on rock faces, hillsides, and again across a giant redwood. Wearing flipflops for this obstacle course was not the best idea ever, but we did finally get hit by the cloud of sulfur. Frogs freaking out as well. We stripped down to join some wasted bros and their even more plastered ladies in the river-side hot spring. For straight boys, there was certainly a lot of references to our end being a "wall of dicks" and "sausage fests." And claiming to wake up with Vaseline on anuses. Truth and such.

Basically pitch black within an hour, but the frogs are still screaming and we get the hot spring to ourselves. A bottle of wine and hot soaking after a hike is...just as awesome as expected. We hustle back to camp, cook up some turkey chili and rice, wash it down with Back in Black IPA. Note to self: snag a six-pack of 21st's cardamom beer (Sneak Attack).

Group shot as we take a quick breather

So much eating before the hike back. PB&J and avocado/cheese sandwiches!

Mid-nom.

The pit bathroom. It was basically a throne on top of a steep hillside.

View on the drive back

 So glad we decided to stop at Kome for sushi buffet times on the way back! I must have eaten my weight in geoduck and imitation crab.