Wisconsin, I love you, but I’m married, and you refuse to accept it.

More on that cryptic title in a few lines. I returned from my Midwestern sojourn yesterday after battling too much traffic there and here (big crash on the Deerfoot slowed my trip home, one made longer by a cabbie who has lived in Canada for 37 years and has not mastered English past the lesson on the hour-long unintelligible rant, and I am SO not kidding here) and was really tired when I got back. So let me first say that I had a lovely time, with family and friends and mostly very pleasant weather. I spent three days in Madison and among more formal events I loved to just walk around and absorb that fantastic college town, one that I was a happy (if poor, along with everyone else) grad student from 1986 to 1993.

I lived in seven places in seven years in Madison and for the first time since I left I got to see every one and documented each visit with a picture. Here was my grad student chronology:

First was this private dorm at 1317 Spring Street near Camp Randall Stadium. It was full of foreign students, which was neato, and homophobic undergrads from every corner of Wisconsin, which was not-o.

I got out of there in June 1987 and sublet a room in an apartment at 1034 E Johnson for the summer and then in August moved upstairs into a studio. This building had BATS. Yes, BATS.

After 15 months there (split between two apartments) I moved the next block over to rent a room with a guy named Mike and his soon-to-be-ex-wife’s spaniel named Daniel. I had to walk Daniel the Spaniel because Mike would just as soon as let him starve (and not get walked of course). I was there, at 923 E Dayton, for a year:

Cute house, but I had to move out at the end of my lease since the pending divorce made my presence tenuous. I moved into a townhouse attached to the rear of an apartment building a few steps west at 911 E Dayton:

I lived there with my cool roommate, fellow grad student Tom Conroy. It was nice to have a roommate who wasn’t scary depressed and didn’t bark madly or fly around the room at night. That lasted a year until August 1990, when I moved into my groovy studio- about 180sf, give or take, right off the Capitol Square at 115 S Hancock:

I was there for two years. Then in 1992 I had the misfortune to meet my last-year-of-grad-school abusive partner and we, at his rigid insistence, HAD to move in together, so we rented a one-bedroom in the Cardinal Apartments a couple of blocks east at 416 E Wilson, apartment circled here:

And so ended my life in Madison when I graduated with my PhD in 1993 and absconded for a post-doc at the University of Kentucky.

Madison is, now, a fantastic place to visit; it’s a sort of smaller version of Portland with the same young, laid-back vibe, and one of the coolest things is that everything in the campus and downtown area is priced for poor students… and one thing I am no longer is poor, so value is just insane. My hotel was just fine and there is too much good food, including my two visits to Parthenon Gyros (note that this site wasn’t working when I tried it) for something that is, quite simply, impossible to find in Canada: gyros on a crisp hot grilled Greek pita with a TON of tzatziki and perfect fries in a huge pile. I also made it to Dotty Dumpling’s Dowry where the burgers are without par- beef ground in-house so they ask how one wants it “done,” a rarity nowadays for sure. This pic does not do the massiveness of the burger justice but it’s the best I could do:

I have to finally say in regard to restaurants that I had one “finer” experience on this trip and it was at Restaurant Muramoto on King Street. I had had enough rich stuff in NW Indiana and fries and such in Mad City and my body was crying out for fish, and Muramoto came highly recommended. It was fantastic. I had a starter of a “salad” of deep-fried pork belly (so much for healthy!) on nice greens with shredded apple and a very bright mustardy dressing; I also had two big sushi rolls, spicy tuna and unagi; both were on par with what I might get here at, say, Globefish, but this place was relaxing and not at all crowded (I was the only customer in fact) so I would chat with the staff and such. It was a very nice experience.

The coffee scene in Madison is not quite where I’d hoped it would be; there were a couple of decent places with La Marzocco Lineas and latte art, but both served cappos that STARTED at 12 oz, so I was thrilled to find a REAL third-wave coffeehouse with a Synesso, beautiful beans from a roaster called Kickapoo Coffee (no roast dates sadly- even at Ancora, which roasts their own, no roast dates anywhere) and delicious crepes to boot. I promised to blog ‘em so here’s the exterior:

…with a sign of pure allure outside:

…and the counter with that two-group Synesso:

It was just about perfect. Way to go, Bradbury’s!

So I am almost completely in my element in Madison, and it’s as much a spiritual home for me as Portland or Toronto are, and is (seriously) one place I’ll consider having my ashes scattered. I mean, look at this idyll, a lazy end-of-semester day on Bascom Hill:

And finally yours truly on the Memorial Union Terrace, with sun and people and air that smells of clean water, lilacs, and in a little while, brats ‘n’ beer:

So, since I love the place so damn much, what’s with the weird title for this entry? Well, when I have nice experiences in the States (and this one was enhanced by the great time I had with my family in Indiana and with friends and colleagues in Madison), I start to muse about just maybe moving back. I’ve mused a lot–a LOT–about how awesome it would be to live in Portland, and of course other places as well. But here’s the rub, and it’s not a bad thing, but I’m MARRIED. I’m moreover married, legally and officially, to another man. And this man happens not to be an American citizen. This is a matter much more complicated than most people, Americans or Canadian or gay or straight, can appreciate. Yes, some states have domestic partnership policies and one, Massachusetts, actually allows same-sex marriage. Oregon has one of the best domestic-partnership provisions in the country, and so people sometimes tell me, “you and Brian can move to [Oregon, Massachusetts, California, etc]; they have same-sex marriage there too!”

No we cannot. States do not administer their own immigration programs, and Brian is not a US citizen. I am. He’s not. And the INS does not give the tiniest smidgen of consideration for same-sex couples who are of different nationalities. If he were a refugee then we’d have part of a leg to stand on, but he’s not, and really, the notion of having to subject Brian to the inefficient, protracted agony of trying to get a green card is something I don’t even want to imagine. Being married in a same-sex union and living in Canada and enjoying non-problematic equality as we do now is something that I will not surrender. Ever. I would only consider moving back to the US alone, and God willing, that’s not going to be an option for me for a long time.

Where does Wisconsin fit into this rant? Well, once upon a time, Wisconsin had the most progressive gay-friendly legislation in the US. It was the first state to make discrimination against people on the basis of sexual orientation illegal in the same sense and in the same contexts as was discrimination on the basis of race. Fast forward to today, and Wisconsin has a draconian “defense of marriage” act, one that also prohibits the state from legalising same-sex domestic partnerships, AND my alma mater, the University of Wisconsin-Madison, is not permitted to offer same-sex partners of university employees benefits (aside from tokens such as athletic center membership and stuff like that). No health insurance! No pension! This is a scandal and while I’m thrilled to see the advocacy from the university to get idiots like this monstrous asshole to appreciate the importance of providing staff with this perk (the same as is offered to all heterosexual staff), I really think the “advocacy” should be more aggressive.

I mean, this is fucking APARTHEID, people. Why are the “straight but not narrow” professors still employed there? Rights means voting with your feet sometimes, and in this case, I am asking UW-Madison professors- and sociologists, I am looking at you- to let the powers that be know that you refuse to work in this environment. It’s not up to the tiny percentage of gay employees to fight this battle. YOU are benefitting. YOU must refuse privilege. Nobody, especially that evil and stupid Huebsch ignoramus, is going to listen to the complaints of a few faggots and dykes.

And yes, I am serious. Wisconsin, I adore you, but I’m married, and you have to wake up and accept that.

Off to the Rust Belt

I depart tomorrow morning (early!) for 6 days visiting my family in NW Indiana and then a few days in Madison, Wisconsin- back May 8, when I expect our pin cherry tree in the backyard to be nice and fragrant for those precious few days in May.

Blog ya later!

San Francisco, USA

This is, believe it or not, one of my favourite times of year. The light returns with strident speed in February, with gains of three and even four minutes per day. It adds up. Terrible winter weather as we are having today is more bearable with the light of spring at the end of the tunnel- and even with spring still a bit distant, there’s the light of sunlight that I just mentioned, and it’s IN the tunnel, sort of. And there is the lovely guarantee of a week off thanks to that Canadian version of spring break known as “Reading Week.” Ours is next week, starting February 17 officially, but I am visiting Vancouver (and taking a stack of papers to mark, but no biggie) from the 15th until the 23rd.

Wait, wasn’t I just away from home? Yep, in San Francisco from last Friday and returning later-than-expected on Wednesday night. This was for meetings for the team members to present their research reports for this litigation consulting project I’m doing, and that part was predictably arduous and time-consuming. But we (Brian and I) had the weekend to ourselves, booking two extra nights at the Four Seasons, which was probably the poshest hotel I’ve stayed at yet (though our few nights at Arc The.Hotel in Ottawa a couple of summers ago was right up there too). The Four Seasons has spiffy everything, including the toilet paper:

We didn’t have great weather; in fact it was pretty much pissing rain on Saturday and Sunday (weather on the work days was, natch, perfect), but we had a great couple of days. The doormen at the hotel gave us nice umbrellas gratis, which helped. Anyway, there were really two non-work-related high points of this trip (the work-related high point comes when I get paid…BA-DUM!). One was taking BART to Berkeley and having lunch at the “cafe” part of Chez Panisse. I’ve always been a little leery of this place, first because any restaurant that gets universally glowing reviews is a little suspect to me, and second because, in a city/metro area with thousands and thousands of restos, it’s the only one that pretentious academic (as in Berkeley academic) types, who populate my social orbit too much, can come up with when you ask for food recs. “Oh, you’re heading to San Francisco? There’s a restaurant in Berkeley that you MUST visit.” So I’ve resisted going there.

Well, needless to say, we went at Brian’s urging, and it was tremendous. Not a speck of snobbery, just perfect food and perfect service in a beautiful space that’s pure arts and crafts heaven. Here’s Brian before the temple:

and the two of us apres lunch:

The food was masterful, simple in that slow food sense but perfectly balanced and, in its way, complex. I had a salad of beet and cauliflower, room temperature thank you very much (I hate cold salads), a main of pan-fried, lightly breaded rockfish with TINY roast potatoes:

… and the most tender, succulent cole slaw I have ever had ever in my entire life, and desert of house-made (of course) coffee ice cream with toffee and biscotti. There was nothing challenging about the food at all, which is shocking since I’d never have expected to say this about Chez Panisse, but it was one of the most COMFORTING meals in a fine resto that I’ve ever had. Only criticism: the butter that came with the superb bread was too cold and hard, but since we were first seating (11:30 AM) I suppose this was forgiveable. The bill for two salads, two mains, and two deserts, with one glass of wine for B, was about $114. Much better value than one finds in Calgary these days, sad to say.

The other high point was my happy decision to visit my college friend Evan Rose on Tuesday night. Our client had organized a “team dinner” on that night but I wanted to see Evan as we missed one another last time I was in SF. Evan is an architect with SMWM, and they actually have a project in Calgary, residential attached to the Deerfoot Meadows “lifestyle centre,” which is a whole other topic. Evan and his wife Josslyn live in a very much my-style part of SF called Bernal Heights, in a very cool old house to boot with a professional kitchen that Brian would murder for (unfortunately Brian headed back on Sunday so he couldn’t meet them). We had superb grilled (indoor grill with hood! Class!) Ital sausages and then homemade ice cream, with good conversation and the sort of vibe that’s hard for me to find, usually. Great times.

So, what’s become of my love-hate relationship with “the city”? I have to say that my hate part is tempered. I did see a lot of the same social disorganization that I saw in SF on my last trip in ‘04. But I can honestly say that even in the Tenderloin (which I traversed on foot twice) is looking better these days. SF is still and always a pedestrian paradise. I had a great time. Not perfect, especially since most of this stay was about work and lots of it. But I can say something that I did not, could not, say after my last trip, which is that I look forward to another visit, this time NOT for work or a conference. And I’m happy to say that, and mean it!

Euro trip photothread

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=63085&id=704240404

I enabled “everyone” access for this, so I am hoping that it’s accessible to people who aren’t registered on facebook. If you can’t access it, let me know.

It’s good to be home!

Heute hier, Morgen dort

Back in Frankfurt. Three days here and three days of rain, but the warm muggy rain of early October is supplanted with cold rain today. Still, I could get used to this city. Great skyscrapers and logical street plan, manageable size, convenient to a lot of cool places (too many), and really, despite what I said about Berlin being multicultural, Frankfurt (and Köln, really) are more diverse, more like an American or Canadian city in the presence of huge numbers from OUTSIDE Europe. This was not as observable in Berlin, the parts I saw anyway.

So I go home tomorrow having completed this way-too-late-in-my-life vision quest to try, among other things, to recapture some of what made the world bigger and more inviting to me when I came to Germany at 17. It´s worked; I feel like I have a big demanding monkey off my back. The bloom is a bit off the rose though, not that this is a bad thing. Specifically, I found myself sick of Berlin as I was departing yesterday. Despite its being an improvement over Köln in the smoking area, it was still horrible and became unbearable the last few days when temperatures plunged (we even saw a tiny bit of snow), and eating outside was much less inviting. Germany has to contend with this. To have so many places of employment that specifically employ young people–bars, restaurants, and coffeehouses–100% smoking is forcing them to work in HAZARDOUS ENVIRONMENTS, especially in a country with a double-digit employment rate. Don´t send me crap about “choice” because most employees have no choice on this matter there. Germans can be so progressive in so many ways but for Christ´s sake, this is a no-brainer, and with some exceptions (Frankfurt is mostly smoke free as of the day before I arrived), Germans smoke with a sense of obnoxious, ignorant entitlement.

I´ve also reached the limits of my tolerance with hipsters, and my neighbourhood in Berlin was practically pure hipsters. White 20-somethings who all look like Tegan and/or Sara (men as well as women). They all look alike, they ALL EFFING SMOKE, and they all carry themselves with this trust-fund air that I just cannot be around anymore. Also, their clothes look so damn uncomfortable, too-tight ugly-ass jeans, too-tight ironic t-shirts, all bundled up even when it´s hot, the damned detestable cigarette as fashion accessory. I am so over this world-weary pose. There were fireworks the other night in Berlin, not sure why but it was spectacular, and while I´m taking it in on the street this group of typical Prenzlauer hipsters were gabbing away on the sidewalk making an obvious point of not even LOOKING at the fireworks that were exploding all around the Fernsehturm. That´s the kind of pose that I´m talking about. Too cool for fireworks. “Puff puff, what club are we going to, puff puff, what are all these idiots looking at,” repeat.

Of course none of this is to say I haven´t had a great time, but it´s important not to idealise every place you visit. I could live in Berlin (if Brian could learn German), but it would have to be on my terms and all that. That´s all.

I´ll miss a lot: bread that puts ours to shame, their amazing take on doner, trains, the resplendant green of this country, the parks, the buildings of course, the opportunity to speak the only foreign language I ever learned formally. It´s been a tremendous experience, my first visit back to Europe since 1981. But I want to go home now.

Next post from Calgary, with lots of pics!