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.

Campers leave urban areas, their home region, or civilization. Thanks Wiki!

Pretty excited about Big Sur this weekend and hiking into the Sykes hot springs, and Death Valley at the end of the month. I miss going camping/hiking more. I don't think I've ever regretted skipping a weekend's worth of happenings in town to go get stung by nettles (and then drink it as a tisane o' vengeance), barge through shrubbery, and shiver side-by-side like popsicles in a tent. And this is just car camping and all its shining luxuries, so wait until I convince you all to go backpacking.

I still have my scrappy sleeping bag from fifth grade that has taken me through Asian summer camp, Boy Scouts, and law school sojourneying. And I now own a new backpacking sack and a nifty 3-person tent, which a friend pointed out was essentially the first house I bought with a boy (it's my Commitment Tent!). All that remains is my ever-vigilant quest for an affordable camping stove, and I'm set to become an outdoor vagrant (are there other kinds?).

It's not that I'm even particularly good at camping. If there were ever a need for humanity to move back into caves, I don't know that I would last long. Namely, I can barely use a lighter, and this skill is even a recent development. I distinctly remember sitting in the darkness after hiking Half-Dome, staring at uncooked pasta, and then going to bed hungry, simply because we failed in Promethean fashion. As usual, it's partly my willingness to bear with things, being cold, being grimy, but in larger portion, it's clear that we get huge bonus points to Life when we wake up at 4 am because it's too hot in the Mojave desert, or when it's warm enough to leave the tent flaps open so that the ridiculous amount of stars and planets can just sink into our eyeballs.

And on a deeper (or more shallow?) level, I'm getting itchy to move along. Don't get me wrong. I love my job, and I feel like my ENFJ-self is being satiated by the friend clouds I like to have swirling around. I've just spent twenty-three years here in this awesome little city by the bay, and while on a daily basis, I smile at some ridiculous "only in SF/Portland/Minneapolis" moment that cheers and inspires me to ever-greater levels of kombucha crunchiness, I suspect that there's a big part of me that won't grow if I stay here in Kale n' Blue Bottlelandia.

Nettle tea

There aren't greener pastures that I'm looking for, and SF will always be home base, Red Leader, but part of me wants to have taken that job for two years in Nepal or the summer in Namibia. It's also not about regrets because I'm very happy with each turn I've taken to get here, and to do it all over, I'd do the same. Last year was really good for me travel-wise, and I honestly could not stop grinning (in a shit-eating manner) whenever I woke up in the middle of the South or in the bustle of Bangkok. 

Opportunity costs must always be accounted for, I know. It's just that work travel got lonely last year and it's not like you can cuddle with your escalating pile of frequent flyer miles. I'm going in circles now, but action plan is to branch out for my next employment stepping stone and to do more travel with friends. Burning Man and Canada are scheduled to consume my vacation time this year, but I want to somehow fit in Taiwan. Israel and Cambodia/Vietnam are somewhere in the mix, though probably not this year.

Lagged in blogging for the past two weeks so that I could catch up with my reading vows. I'm in the midst of Dancer From the Dance, and the novel is seriously trying really hard to make me go shop at Hot Topic. In other words, I love it and I really should just grow out the full emo hairswoop. Funny what a book on gays from the 70s still skewers today. 

You have to cuddle on a boat to rent in San Francisco.

Spending a whole day interviewing law students for summer internships turned out to be way more enjoyable than expected. I kept wanting to ask my old interview fun question: "Where would you hide an elephant?" It's humbling to think about how talented the pool of students was and my big takeaway was that I don't know if I would have made the cut had I interviewed the Me of three years ago. I'd be a decent interviewee, but I just didn't have much relevant experience in refugee/asylum/human rights. I did have all the tangential Public Interest kid things: the Holocaust project, renters' rights, workers' rights, immigrants' rights, gay rights, you get the idea. 

Many more law kiddies to interview, so narrowing it down to the magick six will be a tough one. It'll all come down to which ones will be okay with me sauntering into the intern pen and yelling, "Minions, come. We do law now."

Still sending out a few housing apps a day, but the rental market is as wacky as ever. To wit, we are now resorting to living on boats or living with Celibate/Gay Retired Cuddle Buddies.

Bugman just wants some loving.

I don't think I'd ever sat down and watched the Super Bowl until yesterday. We took a break to watch the sun do its dance of the seven pink veils, and of course we replayed the nine holograms of Beyonce and the Puppy Bowl. The awful GoDaddy commercial definitely solidified the Kinsey scale of all sixteen gay boys in the room. I did just link to it though, so I suppose some social media guru out there is chortling and getting paid. Such a quiet San Francisco afterward, just people exiting house parties into the warm night with a shrug and a "At least we had the World Series."

I like that I'm slowly building running back into my life. I've totally missed how good it feels to just zone out and nothing beats the sweaty runner's high when you're just stretching and all kinds of smiley. I do prefer running with other people, but the treadmill has been nice for colder nights too. 7:15 per mile pace for four miles right now since I'm trying to not overdo the cardio. Intensity upppp! I'm still committed to getting into biking, but even more so than running, I need a crew of fellow cyclists! I'm managed to keep my shoulder healthy, so still rockclimbing two or three times a week. I would love to work in the capoeira angola thing again, but I don't know when I'd do that. Anyone want to join me for a week at Capoeira Angola Quintal?

Gualala, Atlanta, and the Flu

Celebrating MLK in a little house by Gualala, CA turned out to be most excellent, if only I hadn't gotten the flu the same Friday we drove up. Bear and I feasted on pork ribs, the best mac n' cheese I've had recently, and yet the worst corn muffin ever at Bones Roadhouse. Between all the body aching, fevering, and phlegming, I was still able to get in a ton of board games. I swear I still get anxious just thinking about Ticket to Ride: Must finish my train route before bitches get in the way! 

Our one physical activity was a short walk along the coastline by the Sea Ranch Lodge, where we saw the sun fall into the ocean. And then there was drinking. After twenty-six years in California, it still hasn't stopped being amazing every time I go to the Pacific Ocean and just watch the waves wash in.

View from my room

On day three of The Flu and Me, I spend it frantically making widgets at the office. It's funny how the chocolate conveyor belt doesn't stop moving when you're sick or when you're about to head out of town. Nothing to do but fill your pockets and stuff your mouth. I loaded up on drogas and hopped on a plane to Creating Change in Atlanta, GA. People had warned me about how young the crowd is, but I didn't realize it until I got there and the wave of excited 19-year-olds swept over everything. It certainly isn't a bad thing, considering how much energy was infused into any and all just by the sheer spunkiness they were giving off. More power to the young folk for being so engaged. I know I certainly wasn't.

I went to a screening of God Loves Uganda, meet a ton of activists, and then between conference events, I made enough time to hit up the High Museum of Art and the Georgia Aquarium.

Food options were surprisingly limited, considering how Atlanta is a major city. I really didn't feel like having food court vittles every day AND I was sick, so definitely subsisted on apple sauce, prunes, and cereal for a few meals. I'm sure the hotel maids did not approve of my ice bucket contraption to keep the milk from spoiling. The Sweet Auburn Curb Market was awesome though, and I'm glad I made a trip there for lunch a few times.

Why does the Coke Museum cost $30?

Who knew piranhas were so  pretty?

 Since Atlanta was flooded with the rainbow contingent, there were more than a few gay men discussing their love of furry lean boys in front of the otter tank. That and woof-ing at the actual otters. Otters were displeased.

Otters are adorable!

And I still have the tail end of the flu. Ick.

Someone has to pay for the Revolution

Embarcadero an hour before sunrise

The South African time difference meant that we were at work at 6:40 am to interview a client, scurrying around in the darkness because the ACLU building's lights don't work before the ass crack of dawn. If it had been an episode of the X-Files, Eugene Tooms would have waited until I got settled in with my tea and Skype before consuming livers. Yesterday was the four-month mark since starting at ORAM, and I'm still excited to go to work every day, which either means it's a great gig, or I have a dopamine irregularity/mood disorder.

Public interest lawyering really can be all kinds of awesome, and it's funny to think that it could all have been very different if the economy hadn't swirled into the toilet. As in some poor law firm may have been deceived sufficiently or had just enough free associate spaces to say, "Sure, we'll take an extra weirdo."

Fresh out of a Labor Union Summer with the AFL-CIO, I had put myself through at least fifty on-campus screener interviews and a dozen callback ones. At most of these talks, they'd flip through my resume of public interest red flags and ask me to defend why I'd spent my summer with a labor union, why I feel like the firm's pro bono program would be enough to "satiate my public interest spirit" (direct quote). Sometimes, I'd run into someone who would proactively defend why they were now second-year associates. My favorite line was an assertion that "someone has to pay for the Revolution." Not that I have anything against firm life, but somehow it just didn't work out (Firms, it's not you, it's me.). Throughout it, I did my usual Try-Hard Bear thing: I hustled myself through Lavender Law's OCI, followed up on any and all personal connections, etc. In the end, I didn't get a single offer, and I scrambled to chase the public interest jobs that I should have been hunting down in the first place. Stormy times indeed.

This is certainly the gray matter doing its sneaky thing by smoothing out all the inconsistencies along the way, but it seems to have worked out so far. Where I end up next is thankfully a question I can delay for a while, and it's a relief to be off of the usual schedule where as soon as you land a one-year fellowship, you're already casting your resume back into the great dark seas.

YOLO artwork

Lois the Pie Queen

 Finally made it to Lois the Pie Queen for breakfast. I don't know why you would have fried chicken for breakfast, but it happened, and now I wonder why we don't usually have it. We got seated under the YOLO collage, and I again wondered why I haven't already moved to Oakland.

Especially when the BART stations get all glamm'd up:

After I took this shot, other BART denizens also whipped out their phones to take the same. It's disappointing to climb up into Oakland and expect Sapphire City, but I met some fun people to climb with at Great Western Power Station.

And to wrap up, here's a picture of Dinga with no context. 

Whatever you may be thinking about, he disapproves of it.

Refugees: Too gay or not gay enough

Refugee determinations can depend entirely on a refugee telling intensely personal stories to a stranger behind a desk and being believed. In gay/lesbian cases, the credibility assessments are particularly tough calls, and asylum seekers are too often caught between being too gay or not gay enough.

And yes, this is what we deal with all the time at work: convincing people in power that their gaydar is not up to par and/or offensive.

Not gay enough.

Not that we want gay identity to be swallowed up into sexual identity, but even sex tapes have not been enough to substantiate a claim: "In one extraordinary case, the Canadian tribunal actually viewed a sex tape of the applicant and held that it did not involve his claimed partner because the perfunctory nature of the sex, lack of smiling and conversation led them to conclude that ‘The sex acts appear so mechanical it looks more like an encounter between a “John” and a male prostitute, rather than two men very much in love with each other’" (quoted from Jenni Millbank's awesome article).

There was even a movement toward hooking up gay folk's genitalia to machines and playing them porn. Full disclosure here is that I helped do the research for the published report.

Anyone who works in the field can rattle off any number of ridiculous examples of these gaydar stereotypes, but here are some that stand out for me. Many are laughable, but the main thing to keep in mind is that this isn't just a silly OkCupid "Are YOU gay enough to be a refugee?" quiz, but that people who don't pass muster on these arbitrary Western pop culture-oriented questions are sent right back to their countries, where they are horrifically abused and/or executed. Sorry, #debbiedowner.

• Reading Oscar Wilde and André Gide: A senior caseworker in the UK looked at whether asylum seekers had explored "their sexuality in a cultural context . . . reading Oscar Wilde perhaps, films and music."
• Enjoying Greco-Roman wrestling
• Appreciating Madonna and Bette Midler
• Plucking your eyebrows
• Dressing as a woman
• Knowing the layout of the local gay clubs or bathhouse: In one case, the applicant was asked whether or not they had been to a local gay bathhouse and then questioned as to which side the towels were on. The big twist is that the bathhouse does not provide a towel service. Gotcha there, Mister Refugee!
• Being sexually promiscuous
• Drinking Bailey's Irish Cream: In Cameroon, a judge handed out five year prison sentences in November 2011 to two "obviously effeminate" men for having this "typically feminine drink" (many a straight college boy has had this in a hip flask or as an initial foray into the world of Drink, so who are we kidding?). The convictions were overturned today on appeal (not a refugee case, I know, but since it happened today, I couldn't help but mention it).

"Typically feminine drink"

On the other hand, one of my favorite quotes from a 2010 British case (abandoning the requirement of discretion in LGBT cases, at least in the UK) is summarized in the following:

Thank you, Lord Rodger.