On Friday, a day after an appeals court ruled that Donald Trump's temporary ban on refugees and citizens from seven Muslim-majority countries should remain suspended for now, it was reported that the Trump administration may be writing a new version of the executive order. That could be a sign that the White House is preparing for the eventuality of losing a Supreme Court battle—in case the sweeping executive order is struck down, Trump will have the option of signing a similar order, but one that that won't get suplexed by tag-teaming federal judges as soon as the government tries to implement it.

It remains uncertain whether the government will appeal the decision to suspend the ban, and of course the issue of whether the ban is legal has yet to be unresolved. But common sense suggests that a more carefully considered and implemented order restricting immigration would have a better chance of prevailing in court. Though the president has broad powers when it comes to immigration, anything Trump does will likely be challenged by liberal state attorneys general and civil rights groups. And since judges will surely remember Trump's "total and complete shutdown" speech back in 2015, the president will have to persuade courts that he's not trying to implement a "Muslim ban" by another name.

To learn more about what could be in the sequel to the executive order, I got in touch with immigration law analyst Muzaffar Chishti, an attorney and the director of the New York University office of the Migration Policy Institute. He told me Trump has a few options that could potentially earn him some lucky breaks, but nothing would be a slam dunk in today's legal environment.

VICE: Is there a way Trump could write another executive order that restricts immigration but avoids a lawsuit?
Muzaffar Chishti: Let me be clear: Anything he does is going to attract a lawsuit. They have to take that as a given. That's going to be the roadmap now on not only executive actions, but also every action

OK, so what might Trump put in a new executive order that would get a judge's approval?
Hints of what could be more defensible—given the history of the litigation so far—came from the arguments at the Ninth Circuit. [There's] a suggestion by the Justice Department counsel that [the ban] could just be applied to citizens of certain countries who have not entered the United States yet, or who have never entered the United States and would be seeking admission for the first time.

Why would narrowing it to people who haven't entered the US before have a better option?
Because the issue is first of all standing. Who can bring the lawsuit is really the most important issue procedurally. The state of Washington brought this, so what's the beef? The state is concerned about scholars and researchers who are at their public universities, who have been affected by this because they can't come back. That affects the research at the university. There are employees hired by Amazon and Expedia who have travelled abroad and they can't come back. So [Washington's attorney general] showed a nexus between the order and the interests of the state of Washington.

So are people who have never been to the US better targets for the new executive order? Or would it be easy for them to bring suit too?
[Lawyers in the Washington suit] asserted "We have some people in the state of Washington who would like to be united with their families." That is theoretically a good argument, but I'm not sure how much water it holds. By that definition, everybody would be able to bring a lawsuit against the federal government for anyone who has been denied a visa anywhere in the world.

This new version of the order wouldn't have to take that into account, right? Because people who aren't in the US aren't protected by the Constitution?
Wrinkles have been introduced now that are beginning to affect immigration policymaking. Cases have come down from the Supreme Court in the context of Guantanamo Bay detainees. Many cases came to the Supreme Court asserting that you cannot indefinitely hold people in Guantanamo. Two of those cases asserted that you cannot tell us the Constitution does not apply to Guantanamo. So it's Guantanamo jurisprudence, if you like that term, that has now begun to affect the authority of the president, even in the immigration context. That's a sea change.

Was there anything in the wording of the original order they'll probably tighten up in this version?
The mistake they made in the preamble of this order is that they involve 9/11, but then did not proceed to any country whose citizens had attacked us on 9/11. So judges said, "What's the rational basis? You're not including everyone who could invoked harm."

So it might be a good idea to take out that 9/11 stuff, and make the preamble a little more focused?
He could reference the Obama order on the visa program. Or the acts that gave President Obama the authority to do that. That would have been much more rational and related to the group that he was going to target. They could do what President Obama did, and [tighten up vetting after the Paris attacks]. That was never [seriously] challenged. You could say that was clearly in response to increased terrorism, but was not a complete ban. It didn't say no one from these countries can come, but there was extra scrutiny. He could do that.

Would he just need to say "extra scrutiny," or would there need to be more?
He could say that people of these countries will be given extra scrutiny at JFK or anywhere else. Or they'll be asked to come to X, Y, and Z for additional screening. It's the complete ban that created a problem for him. As the court said, this was both "wholly broad and utterly inclusive." "Wholly broad" im that it included every citizen of these countries from a 95-year-old grandmother to an infant. He could now say, Well look, I'll do it only for males over the age of 40. Whatever it is, pick your number, just so that it looks less broad. Or we could say that we'll only give you extra screening, not ban you.

Age discrimination wouldn't be a problem?
Constitutionally, it doesn't say anywhere that you can't discriminate. You can't say that we never do. There just must be a rational relationship between the discriminatory act and the intended goal.

What could Trump do that would make courts look favorably on an absolute ban from certain countries?
Increase the number of countries included so that it will look a little more rational. [Trump's first order] didn't include many other countries in the world which had been engaged in terrorism, including countries whose citizens attacked us on 9/11.

So the important thing is to make it perceived as rational? If judges perceive the order as rational, it won't get shut down?
I think the more important thing is that law is not a science. You don't get similar outcomes in different situations. That's why we have to fight for opinions.

Follow Mike Pearl on Twitter.

(Photos courtesy of Wavey Garms)

Wavey Garms comes from humble beginnings. Its creator, Andres Branco, made a Facebook group in 2013 so he and his friends could trade old clothes—but the page struck a chord, quickly picking up fans, to the point where it now has almost 70,000 members. It's also spawned a bricks-and-mortar Wavey Garms shop; a label that collaborates with global sportswear brands like Nike; and now, a book.

As said book comes out next week, I gave Andres a call to ask him what we can expect to see.

VICE: Hi Andres. What's your new book about?
Andres Branco: It's about the London I grew up in and what influenced me and my friends. We didn't have iPhones and social media, buses were 40p and you'd have to use a payphone to ring your mum. You couldn't just go on Hypebeast to find out what was cool, and Brixton was still moody.

Which aspects of London play most into Wavey Garms?
Graffiti and raving were my two biggest influences. The graffers would all wear [Nike] 110s and banging tracksuits, and in raves you'd see the olders wearing Moschino two pieces and big gold chains. We used to run around just being naughty, doing graffiti, sneaking into raves, smoking fags on the bus. London has changed a lot since then. I'm not saying it's a good or bad thing, but I just wanted to show people the London that ended up influencing Wavey Garms.

Why did you want to release a photographic compilation of your beginnings now?
Well, I've been wanting to do it for a couple of years, but things took a while because I was so busy. Also, we're in a time of image saturation, where photos get seen and forgotten on a daily basis, if not quicker. A book is something you go back to again and again.

How do you mean?
Well, our photographs are very personal—we didn't want them to be reduced to Instagram posts. My friends and I have been taking photos since we were young, and most of us only started because of graffiti. None of the photos were taken deliberately for the book, so they're all scanned from printed photographs which were taken on disposable cameras. Back then, we would sit at London Bridge for hours, seeing all the pieces rolling past on the trains. This was when the only way to see photos of graff was either in Graphotism magazine or through your mates, so it was like collecting football stickers or Pokemon cards—that's why we took as many photos as we could of trains or sick pieces. All the photographs in the book have been tucked away in shoe boxes for years. I'd look through them with my mates from time to time, but that was about it. So doing a book now seemed like the perfect way to share it with our wider audience.

So what do you want to show with this book?
I want to demonstrate how Wavey Garms came about. I didn't sit down one day and decide I wanted to dress a certain way, or start listening to certain music. The things in this book have been a huge part of my life since I was about 12. I still love going raving, I still look out the window at graffiti when I'm on the train, I still get excited when I find a certain garm I've been after. We spent a long time choosing the photographs to appear in the book. I didn't want to make the book about me. It's more about what we all used to do, wear and see.

What's it been like seeing Wavey Garms grow and expand to what it is today?
It's pretty surreal, to be honest. I started a Facebook group in 2013, for no other reason than for me and my mates to buy and sell clothes. I had no idea at the time that it would catch on the way it has and become so popular. And it's given me so many great opportunities, like putting on raves, opening a physical shop, doing collaborations with brands like Nike, which I love. And now getting to publish the book.

What makes this – and Wavey Garms in general – different from other fashion books and movements?
I think for any brand like ours, the key is authenticity. Take Palace as an example. The people who started that have been a big part of the London skating scene for getting on 20 years. Their brand has blown up, but at its core you can't fault it. They're not pretending to be anyone they're not, and they are smashing it. It's a similar thing with Wavey Garms; it's not trying to be something. We've all been a part of the London graff scene and going to raves for years. You can't fake that kind of history.

So how does it feel personally to have inspired and dressed a whole generation?
If people say I've inspired others, then that's very flattering. Everything I do with Wavey Garms represents my background, my experiences and my tastes. So seeing it strike a chord with a lot of other people is obviously extremely gratifying.

Do you worry your look will go out of fashion one day?
No. Things move on and so will I.

Cheers, Andres.

The Wavey Garms book will be available to buy here from the 18th of February. The launch party takes place at The Photographers Gallery the same day at 4PM.

@williamwasteman

Bali was never geared for skating. The government has only ever built two skate parks, while the streets are filled with traffic and potholes. So to get the scene to where it is today, Bali's skaters had to build their own parks and generally do some pushing. This makes their story something of a triumph, and a small miracle.

The following photos are all by legendary Bali skate photographer Batax. They're shot around the island. You can follow him on Instagram here.

It was Julian Bergougnoux, a French guy, who built the first bowl in Bali. He came to the island in 1998 looking for contacts who might be able to cheaply manufacture clothing for his skate label. It wasn't much of a label really—he'd just been selling stuff out of his garage in France—but on his first trip he met a Balinese woman who would later become his wife. He moved to Bali and seven years later he poured out the first concrete to be used for exclusively for skateboarding.

Julian says there wasn't much to skate when he first arrived. "It started out with just street skating on homemade rails or little kerbs and people would just set them up in a parking lot or a quiet street... it was pretty cool. Definitely better than nothing."

It wasn't until 2005 that Julian and some friends decided to build a four-foot bowl in his backyard in Sanur. He says he was just bored of skating the few parks and street spots that were available at the time. He hadn't intended to turn it into a public skatepark, but says the bowl quickly became "the neighbourhood's playground." Although it wasn't technically public, there was no fence and Julian welcomed pretty much anyone who wanted to come and skate it.

Since then, he's extended the bowl twice, attached a hotel called Eat Sleep Skate, and built a little bar and restaurant with a pizza oven. He charges a small entry fee for visiting skaters and there's an established crew of locals who shred it for free.

At around the same time Julian was building his bowl, another guy by the name of Afandy Dharma was working on establishing Motion Skateboards, which has now become the island's biggest skate brand. Afandy says, "I just bought like 10 boards from China and sold them to my friends. Then I bought like 20 more, then 40, and then I started printing them." In 2007, Afandy opened Motion Skateshop and was supplying the majority of boards to the local scene. At that point the best places to skate were Julian's bowl, the Globe bowl in Jimbaran, and a DIY street setup at Simpang Siur.

In 2012, the government destroyed the park at Simpang Siur and used the land to upgrade Sunset Road, leaving the skaters who lived in the area without anything to skate. Afandy invested most of the money he'd made from Motion into building a new indoor skatepark. He rented some land in Kuta and built a massive warehouse with a plywood street-style course inside.

These days, Motion is doing pretty well—not only as a shop, a board brand and a skatepark, but as a contractor for other businesses who want to build skateparks. And while skateboarding has been growing steadily in Bali since the 90s, it's really exploded in the last two years. Afandy says this is partly due to the success of Pretty Poison, a venue in Canggu that's becoming kind of infamous. Maree, the owner, describes the place as "a creative arts bar that's got a California style pool to shred."

Set in amongst rice paddies, Pretty Poison is just a single room venue with blank concrete walls, cheap Bintangs and one of the gnarliest bowls on the island. There are three local skaters—Sukma, Pipping and Donny—who are paid a salary to skate the bowl three nights a week. In addition to them, there's an interchangeable mob of foreign rippers who score a couple of free beers here and there in exchange for entertaining the crowd. On party nights, the place is so packed that it's difficult to get a view of the bowl, with masses of spectators coming down to get drunk and watch the skaters.

Maree is a middle-aged mother from Bondi who's obviously passionate and personable enough to have overcome the taboo of running a skate-related business without actually being a skater. "I don't do interviews," she tells me when I meet her at the bar. "It's not about me, it's about the guys who skate here." But actually she soon agrees to talk to me, slipping easily into a passionate rant about the space, her deep respect for young people and what she's learned about skateboarding since she opened Pretty Poison. The bowl, she tells me, is a replica of the pool they skated in the film Lords of Dogtown.

"You've got to understand that I had no idea of the can of worms that I was about to open," she says. "I didn't realise that it was going to take off like it has." And for a place that's been open for just over a year, it's been wildly successful, not just as a business, but in establishing skateboarding as something that people can accept and enjoy watching.

Afandy tells me that Maree has pushed skateboarding into unprecedented popularity through Pretty Poison. "In the beginning, when we were building [the bowl], she had her own idea of what she wanted it to be built," he says. "I was like, 'I know the kids around here and they like to skate mellow stuff' and she was like 'Nah, I want to built something gnarly, something hard to skate.'"

It really could have gone either way, but luckily there were scores of shredders, both local and international, who were ready for such a steep and unforgiving skate feature. Afandy says, "Props to her, she fully did it her way and she made it work. I think a lot of people see that and kind of want a piece of it."

Follow Nat on Twitter. Images via local skater Batax

Nightlife doesn't need drugs to thrive, but they're pretty good sisters. You could argue that every musical revolution worth giving a fuck about can be traced to whatever drug that generation was getting loaded on at the club. Listen to how hazy marijuana coils through the heady notes and cool tones of 20s and 40s jazz; how acid picked up rock & roll and flipped it sideways in the 60s; how 90s rave pounds like a heartbeat racing on ecstasy. Arthur Baker once told me that many 80s synth pop songs have their mids and highs cranked up because that's what yakked out people liked to hear. As VICE writer Clive Martin put it, "Kraftwerk may have brought the synths, Jesse Saunders may have brought the beat, but Sasha Shulgin brought the feeling." And if you've ever found yourself under a disco ball with a blotter stuck under your tongue, you know that once you've tasted that freedom, you're hooked.

Despite decades of fear-mongering and racially targeted policing, drugs remain America's greatest muse. That's because, more than tickets to reckless hedonism or chemical masturbation for your brain, the right drugs—like good raves—can be a form of radical political resistance. They rewire your neural pathways to pave new ways of thinking. They open your eyes to see past economic, gender, and racial divisions. They offer an escape hatch from your pathetic meat sack of a body, reminding you that you're connected to a greater collective whole. Fuck going to bed at a reasonable hour to spend your days hunched in a corporate cage, your druggie inner voice whispers. Stay out late, and let your self-obsessed ego dissipate on the dancefloor.

Read more on Thump

The first thing you see when you walk into Sonny Digital's four story house in Atlanta a ratty red couch that looks decidedly out of place in the new digs. He calls the piece legendary, and judging by some legendary stains, you can see why. "Don't sit on that," he says. I laugh, but he repeats, "Do not sit on that."

Born Sonny Uwaezuoke to a Nigerian dad and a mom from Michigan, Sonny Digital produced "Racks" way back in 2011 and has been on a hit-making tear ever since with songs like iLOVEMAKONNEN and Drake's "Tuesday" and 2 Chainz and Kanye West's "Birthday Song." For much of that run, he was living in a notorious spot on 516 North Avenue called 516 Studios, which served as a revolving door for a litany of collaborators in Atlanta. On any given day, you could find Cam Kirk shooting a music video, Metro Boomin' working on beats, or rappers like Que and the Migos laying down a verse or just laying down on the aforementioned couch of lore.

Read more on Noisey.

Most 20-somethings who've had Bart Simpson's face or Smiths lyrics stick-n-poked into their thigh at a house party probably didn't consider what kind of energy was being transmitted into their body forever. They probably wouldn't remember the experience the next day.

But the act of hand poking for Tlingit tattoo artist Nahaan, 34, is spiritual. He transfers power while he tattoos, and calls his work permanent regalia: it's a memory, a story, a language and a way of resisting. He's tattooed water defenders, respected elders and drug users. He's one of a few tattoo artists on the Coast practicing traditional Indigenous designs and methods.

Nahaan, who lives in the Seattle area, is relaxed, polite and open about his practice. He's also heavily cultural—from his huge formline neck tattoo, to the voicemail message on his phone, which is in Tlingit. VICE sat with him during a gallery demo, where he spoke about the transformative power of traditional tattoos, and what the practice means to him.

VICE: You refer to traditional Indigenous tattoos as "permanent regalia." Can you tell me more about that?
Nahaan: When people put on their finest regalia they hold themselves in a specific way. They really take the time to acknowledge. They talk differently. They act differently. You know, you wouldn't see somebody in full regalia go to the bar and get drunk. That kind of thing. If we have a similar kind of responsibility when we wear our tattoos, then it has the potential for being transformative for people who have alcohol issues or drug issues or communities who have those issues. It has that healing capability as long as we acknowledge that power within it and act upon that power. Especially for colonized communities. Communities that are dealing with basically 525 years of oppression. If we use that opportunity in order to empower each other it's a really valuable thing.

So it's kind of accountability, having it on your body forever, to your ancestors and community?
It's like a reminder. I say to a lot of my clients, when you see this tattoo, may it remind you of who you are, in the sense of referring to your power, your strength, your teachings. None of those teachings say to go get drunk, none of those teachings say to go smoke weed. That's not traditional for our people here on the coast; it's just not something we've done. It's something that we've been taught is socially acceptable because our colonizer said so.

Photo by Cara McKenna

You recently did a facial stitch tattoo on a woman at Standing Rock camp. I'm interested to hear more about that experience, and how tattoos can serve as motivation in resistance movements like the Dakota Access fight?
When I was there, I did the first tattoo for the folks out in the Red Warrior Camp, a design that they had come up with. It was an honour to do that for them and teach several Indigenous women how to tattoo with hand poke and also skin stitch.

That was really a powerful moment and I think that it leads to that same idea of responsibility. If you bear this mark, then it shows you were there and you put in that work, and you have a certain understanding—that you're willing to put your own life on the line in order to protect what is yours, protect what is all of ours.

People specifically wanted to wait until we were there together to get tattooed, to have that same energy of resistance in the tattoo itself. All the words and all the songs that she experiences while we're tattooing goes in because your pores are open, your skin is open, in a different way. It's a very different understanding than going to a typical tattoo shop and having it be somebody you've never met. They don't care about their energy being passed on to you.

You've mentioned some reasons why people you've worked with have decided to get tattooed. Are there any other reasons other than as a symbol of resistance or reclamation?
Sometimes it symbolizes, for instance, an elder in my community is a master weaver. She asked me to do a specific design across her chest and it was a design that she was familiar with because of her weaving. This was to signify her profession, her teachings and her responsibility in this lifetime, and likely other lifetimes too. I did that across her entire chest in honour of her being a weaver.

Photo via Nahaan's Facebook

How long have you been tattooing for?
I've been tattooing since 2009.

How has that informed your own journey of rediscovering your culture?
It has a lot to do with it. I had done a lot of homework and research in terms of my own Tlingit style of carving and weaving. I was in the books, always, when I was young. That's really all I had. But when I looked at other people's art it didn't move me in the same way that formline did. For some reason when I looked at formline I thought, that's the most beautiful form of art and I need to know more about it. It basically called me to it. That was a powerful understanding, you know, "you don't dance the mask, the mask dances you"—that kind of teaching. The tools are there and if it's meant to be they're going to be in your hands. If it's not meant to be it's not going to happen.

Can you tell me anything about your own tattoos?
You know, my neck tattoo, my bro Dion (Kaszas) did it, it's basically acknowledgement of the fact that people are like, "Are you going to get a neck tattoo? You're not going to be able to get a job." That was what I was told continually. But those aren't the kind of jobs that I'm trying to get anyways. Don't put me in that place, you know. Any place that wants to prevent me from working there because of my culture, I shouldn't be there. I shouldn't be in that space, that's the wrong place for me to be. My neck tattoo symbolizes that understanding. That I know who I am, I know where I'm from, and that's more important to me than having a job that is going to provide a false sense of security.

You have tattooed people from many Indigenous backgrounds. Can you tell me what defines a "traditional tattoo" and how that differs from person to person?
It's different for everybody. For me when I do my work I do my best to create a safe space for our practice to take place. What that usually includes, in most Indigenous environments I've been in, is prayer, is songs, an emphasis on spiritual teachings. We don't sit around and talk about something like, I don't know, the next dollar menu item at McDonald's.

These tools I have here are the same that we would use a long time ago, that signifies the spiritual practice, the agreement between the person who's getting tattooed and me. I say, you know, let this be a reminder to you when you're having a tough time in your life, remember who you are. That's your power right there. Don't you ever forget that power that's inside you. Help enable your community to believe in themselves, say it's OK to have facial tattoos, it's OK to have neck tattoos, because that's who we are, and we've been that way before. We need to be that way now, especially.

Photo via Nahaan's Facebook

Do you think it's particularly relevant given everything that's going on in the world now with this huge resistance movement and the politics in North America?
Are you talking about Trump?

Partially, yeah.
More than ever, and it always has been, we need to be who we always have been. I heard this teaching one time: when you know your history, you can tell the future. So if you know your history to that extent, and you have that ability, you can see where that same mistake might be made again. This time I think I'm going to do better. To know the type of things that our ancestors have been through, I mean Ice Ages and great floods, and we have stories intact about those things. We never had to write them down because we trusted each other when we sat down and told each other things.

What can you tell me about the tattoo you're doing today, and the method you're using?
This is hand poke, so this is basically taking a typical tattoo needle that's been sterilized and all that and putting that repeatedly in and out of the skin. Typical tattoo style minus the electricity. One of my teachers, he's a master storyteller, and one of my students as well because I'm teaching him tattoos. He says he tries not to use microphones when he tells a story because there's moisture in the story, there's life in the story, and that's really what gets passed on to the listener. If you don't have the ability to do that it changes the vibration when you speak through electricity. He likened that to me doing hand poke tattoo, he said this is our written language. So it comes across more clear if you're able to do that without electricity. That made some sense to me.

Do you ever use machines?
Yeah. I started out on machines. I felt like after six years of doing machine work, I graduated to doing hand poke and I graduated to doing skin stitch. The same sterilization and cross-contamination concerns, all those teachings carry over to any other style.

Photo by Cara McKenna

How does your approach relate to modern tattoo culture?
Modern tattoo culture is like modern so-called American culture. It's homogenized, it's patriarchal, it can be misogynistic, and it can be all the things that traditional, coastal culture is not. It's profit-based, it's exclusive culture where, you know, the white guy runs the shop and you have to go and learn from him in order to do anything. It's like savior mentality. It's like, we take away your culture, now we have it, and you have to come to us in order to get it back. That's really tough for me to do. So I've tattooed out of several shops in different countries but at the same time I'm really cautious in those areas, and I don't work in front of everybody. My approach is very different. It's something I'm more picky about. I turn a lot of people away for tattoos. I'm not doing it to get rich, I'm doing it because it's a part of our culture that was shamed away from us by our colonizers. Knowing that is a big driving force for me doing this work. Success to me is having my people come up to me and get tattooed.

Is there anything else you want people to know about the practice of traditional tattooing?
I want to encourage more Indigenous people to tattoo. Each nation should have its own tattoo artist, at least. Especially here on the coast where everyone has at least one carver, everyone has at least one weaver, we should also have at least one tattoo artist. You put these things in, it's a story, it's a memory. It's really important work to do. We have to encourage each other and enable each other to do this work for ourselves, and to tell our own stories as Indigenous people. That's what we're doing through this tattoo process.

Follow Cara McKenna on Twitter.

See more of Nahaan's work here.

As women feel more and more alarmed over threats to their access to healthcare, they may not realize their own doctors could impede their medical care as much as a new conservative policy.

"Unfortunately, women are taken less seriously more often than men when it comes to pain," Dr. Jennifer Wider, a nationally renowned women's health expert and the spokeswoman for the Society for Women's Health Research, told Broadly. "Studies show that doctors, regardless of gender, tend to undertreat female patients and take longer to administer medication to women." A 2001 study published in the Journal of Law, Medicine & Ethics found that doctors often incorrectly believe that women have a "natural capacity to endure pain" and possess more coping mechanisms thanks to the stresses of childbirth. A National Institute of Health study also shows that women tend to wait 16 minutes longer than men when they are receiving pain medicine in emergency rooms. According to the same study, women are 13 to 25 percent less likely to receive opioids when they are dealing with pain.

Most young women have dealt with doctors' stereotypical views of women. I first realized a doctor wasn't taking my pain seriously when I visited a new primary care doctor because an ovarian cyst had burst. Previous doctors had prescribed me the type of painkiller you might flush down the toilet after the pain had subsided, but my new doctor (who could never have experienced a burst ovarian cyst) gave me a cringey smile when I asked for medication. "I don't really love to prescribe painkillers for this kind of thing," he said. "Have you ever tried meditation for managing pain?"

Read more on Broadly.

For more of Nina Vandenbempt's work, visit her Tumblr.

This is it, we've found it. The most Canadian stereotypes in one place. Rarely do we see ice, beer, fishing, hockey, and Tim Horton's doughnuts on strings all at once. But apparently these are essential elements of an annual ice fishing derby on Lake Ontario, with the added hoser-ism of competitive shirtlessness.

I've never quite understood the urge to shed clothing in sub-zero temperatures, but in this case there was at least a chance to win a new TV or ice drill. The idea here is to strip down to your snowpants for as long as it takes to catch a fish, a tradition that's been going eight years.

Photographer Chris Donovan was there on Saturday to take it all in. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Follow Chris Donovan on Twitter.

Follow Sarah Berman on Twitter.

A mysterious cell process named anastasis (Greek for "rising to life") challenges our idea of life being a linear march towards death, and suggests that cell death can actually be reversed under certain conditions—essentially allowing cells to un-die.

Even as the cell is shrivelling up in response to radiation, toxins, or other stresses, it can in some cases undo the dying process and repair itself if the stress is taken away before the cell is completely gone, said cell biologist Denise Montell of the University of California, Santa Barbara.

"In the field of people studying apoptosis—this programmed cell suicide mechanism—it has been a tenet in that field that once cells trigger this death process, it's irreversible," Montell told me over the phone. Her research, beginning with a paper published by the journal Molecular Biology of the Cell in 2012, shows otherwise.

Montell's lab wants to see if they can use anastasis to salvage hard-to-replace cells in the human body, which could be important in treating ischemia or heart attacks. But it could also provide an accidental, chilling glimpse into the hows and whys of cancer.

Read the rest of this article on Motherboard.

I'm naked and sweating profusely, my makeup slowly sliding down both sides of my face. I wipe my face, smearing the towel's screen-printed logo with streaks of mascara, and as I lean back against the cool stone of the bathroom wall, I think "Yes, this is the best Burger King I've ever been to."

This is the part where the record would skip and I would cover myself with a Burger King bath towel. "Yeah, that's me," I'd say, staring directly into the camera. "You may wonder how I ended up in this situation." It's because I'm in Helsinki, in a well-appointed Burger King that has a full sauna hidden underneath its tasteful timber and stone accented dining area. The sauna opened last spring, and before anyone even sat on the wooden benches, sweating through their paper seat covers, it was already the world's only fast-food sauna.

Why? The easiest answer is, well, because it's Finland—and that's probably the most accurate answer, too. "Sauna is a year-round part of our lives here," Eve Turunen, a Burger King staffer, said as she led me through the restaurant. "We have a sauna with our friends and our family. We have a Christmas sauna, a midsummer sauna—all year."

Read more on MUNCHIES.

United States immigration officials arrested hundreds of undocumented residents in a series of raids conducted across at least six states this week.

It was the first major crackdown on the estimated 11 million undocumented immigrants residing in the U.S. since President Donald trump signed an executive order on Jan. 25 vowing to ramp up immigration enforcement activity and improve security along the U.S. Mexico border.

U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) Agents carried out raids this week in Atlanta, New York, Chicago, the Los Angeles Area and across North and South Carolina, the Washington Post reported, citing immigration officials. In New York alone, there were nearly 40 arrests in the last week, according to a leaked memo by Immigration and Customs Enforcement on Saturday. The memo said that 95 percent of those arrested had criminal records.

The raids have sparked an outcry from immigrant advocacy groups.

Read more on VICE News.

It's not hard to discern a general pattern over the course of American history when it comes to drug use: Every decade or so, a new panic emerges. In the 1960s, the slogan was "speed kills," and the alarm was raised about LSD. The 70s saw the emergence of a bona fide heroin epidemic. The 80s, of course, were high on cocaine, culminating in the crack era. The 1990s embraced nostalgia: Heroin was chic again, even if it allegedly fried your brain like an egg. The 2000s saw the rise of methamphetamine, and so far, this decade has largely (if by no means exclusively) been a story of heroin and opioids.

So what does this panic calendar portend for the future of our currently en vogue opioid problem—and drug policy in America?

The failure of any given generation to recognize the dangers of drugs not currently in fashion is such a recurring theme that it's been given a name. The University of Michigan's Lloyd Johnston calls it "generational forgetting," and, during the four decades in which he's led the US government's large national survey of youth drug use, Monitoring the Future (MTF), it has been on consistent display.

"We use the term to refer to the general idea that younger generations often do not know about the dangers of a drug-use epidemic," says Richard Miech, another professor at the University of Michigan and a co-investigator for MTF. "While one generation may have learned the hard way about the dangers of a specific drug… the next generation may have to learn the same lesson all over again."

"I often mention in it my lectures," adds University of California Professor Emeritus Craig Reinarman, a sociologist, "It seems to me that it's the result of a policy choice because the amount of cultural learning that takes place gets erased," he continues, explaining that as users become familiar with particular drugs, they tend to develop ways to manage risks. Drug education that focuses primarily on "just say no" doesn't leave room to pass these harm reduction measures down, he notes.

The problem is exacerbated by mass media outlets, which, as I noted in my last column, have a nasty habit of using select quotes and anecdotes to refashion the currently hot drug into the most deadly and addictive scourge ever. This results in ironic contradictions for anyone who actually bothers to read the archives and misinformation that drives public policy. Since every new threat is described as unprecedented, the lessons of the past go unheeded.

I experienced this for the first time myself in the 1980s, when, if you listened to the media, crack use was going to escalate forever until every suburban teen was curled up in a den with her own pipe. In fact, by the time a drug epidemic becomes a matter of public concern, it is typically already on the wane: Reinarman's research documented this quite clearly in a seminal analysis of that period. He notes that cocaine use in the US overall had begun to decline before the 1980s panic over it even started: the percent of the population who said they'd ever tried cocaine peaked in 1982, around four years before the media hysteria about the problem really took off.

As for crack, the first time the government measured use by high school students resulted in the highest number ever seen: 4.1 percent of high school seniors in 1986 reported having used it in the past year, though the vast majority of these had done so only once. That number was down by 25 percent within two years. Nonetheless, media coverage continued to report that a whole generation was at increasing risk because of the "deadly" drug. (In 1985, there were a total of eight crack-related deaths among youth in the entire US and such deaths were never seen in more significant numbers, as reported in Reinarman's book Crack in America.)

Of course, violence related to the illicit sale of crack, crack addiction itself, and the mass incarceration policy that was pursued in the name of addressing the problem did do tremendous harm—particularly in the black community in cities. And in fact, a healthy generational response grew up indigenously: the younger siblings and children of the crack generation—far from becoming the crack-fueled "super-predators" politicians had predicted—mainly turned to a different, and far more benign drug.

While the media and politicians were obsessing about young white Americans, grunge and the "deplorable" fashion trend of heroin chic, in the 1990s, the black hip-hop generation was turning to marijuana, according to David Courtwright, a professor of history at the University of North Florida, who cites research by Andrew Golub and Bruce Johnson.

Courtright, who is a pioneer in the study of opiate use in American history, notes that in the 90s, some black teenagers "shunned the drugs that messed up their elders. They would see what they called a 'thirsty crackhead' and say, 'I'm not going to do that. I'll smoke reefer instead.'" And some of the adults who had themselves been hooked on crack began using marijuana, too—to wean themselves off of the harder stuff.

Check out our interview with Alexis Neiers about 'The Bling Ring' and her drug problems.

It's too early to tell yet how our current opioid epidemic will play out and whether there will be another turn towards less risky drugs like marijuana—or whether this generation will switch to a drug type that has harmed prior generations, but received little notice lately.

If recent history is any guide, next up should be a stimulant—perhaps Ritalin, Adderall, cocaine or some new synthetic upper. Today's young people have been exposed to countless headlines and videos warning of opioid problems and they've likely seen the struggles of family members or older friends. But far less attention is given to stimulant risks.

Still, what is clear is that the move away from opioids is already happening among younger people. According to MTF data, past-year use of prescription opioids by high school seniors peaked at 9.5 percent in 2004 and was just 5.4 percent by 2015; for heroin, past year use peaked at 1.5 percent in 2000 and is currently only .3 percent. Daily use of prescription opioids reached .4 percent in 2009, but is now just .1 percent. Says Miech, of the trend among youth, "Since 2009, use of these drugs fell by 40 percent."

That's the good news. The bad news is that people suffering from opioid addiction right now are not being adequately treated and will continue to be at risk for overdose, particularly given the rising supply of fentanyl. If we want to stop the constant cycling of generations from one drug to the next, we need to focus more on why people use—not on whatever drug is particularly fashionable.

Follow Maia Szalavitz on Twitter.

Kenneth Nicholson's third menswear collection comes at a peculiar moment in the American zeitgeist. His spring/summer 2017 lookbook of tweed tunics and denim flares, debuting exclusively here on VICE, stands in stark contrast to the hyper-masculine, aggressive culture that currently has a chokehold on the nation. Nicholson is one of a few talented, young menswear designers who are redefining how the Western man is expected to dress. With gender-neutral silhouettes and elaborate finishes like velvet buttons and ruffled trim, his clothes blur the boundaries between classic menswear tailoring and the elegant flourishes found in high-end womenswear.

"I don't want to be forceful about it. I'm aware that I can't just jolt people," the designer says to me over the phone from his Los Angeles studio. "There's a story—people have to come along. I start off from a point of familiarity, where people can recognize certain elements, but then also see how some of it might be challenging conventional menswear." The tunic, for example, has been a constant in each of his three collections: first in linen last spring, then in velvet brocade for fall 2016, and now sleeveless and denim. While Nicholson's precise tailoring is typical of menswear, the tunic's hip-length hem is less traditional—at least on this side of the world. "I spent a little bit of time in Afghanistan, so I was introduced to their common ways of dress," Nicholson says. The Texas native, who graduated from the Academy of Art College in San Francisco, worked abroad after four years in the Navy. "To see the notion of movement in their clothing as a culture, and to see it on the men, was inspiring."

The designer, Kenneth Nicholson. Photo by John Clayton Lee

The rigidity in design and function of modern menswear is part of Nicholson's frustration with the current options available for guys. "In womenswear, they're allowed to experience the romance of just a simple movement of walking down the street," he says, noting the differences in silhouettes and fabrics that allow for greater physical self-expression between the genders. "Men don't really have that option. I want my clothes to allow men to engage in an emotional way when it comes to the way they dress and how they self-present."

Nicholson's aesthetic is deferential to the 1970s, when even the hardest guy wore bell bottoms and a flamboyant button down. Though these are sartorial qualities we'd consider more feminine today, consider Richard Roundtree or Prince, who proved that there's something about the swing of a wide-legged pant hem or the gentle folds of a tucked-in waist that can heighten a man's swag, sex appeal, and sense of self. Pulling off these softer silhouettes today requires a similar gutsiness, says Nicholson. He cites Young Thug as an example. "I'm really inspired by what he's doing with his fashion choices," he says. "I think his bravado and his vibe fit that bold fashion choice."

Still, Nicholson realizes that everyone is not an androgynous, superstar rapper. So he is gingerly nudging fashion-forward men awake, challenging them to take back their sartorial independence in a culture that lamely celebrates sameness. Kenneth Nicholson's plaid linen dress shirt isn't necessarily radical—it's versatile enough to be worn with just about anything. But when its paired with Nicholson's denim maritime swishers, it's elevated into a look that would make people turn heads. "When people dress and make those deliberate sartorial options, they're doing it because they're finding joy in it," he says. "In a political climate like this, joy is essential. And I think that is the revolution: to dare to be joyous in the face of adversity."

Scroll down to see Kenneth Nicholson's complete spring/summer 2017 lookbook, photographed by Milan Zrnic.

Follow Amirah Mercer on Twitter.

So far, I've used this space to primarily talk about sex and disability issues, from the difficulties of dating with a disability to my complicated feelings on devotees, to the joys (and anxieties) of paying for a sex surrogate. Of course the challenges of having a disability extend beyond the bedroom, and one thing that's been on my mind lately is the winter and, more specifically, snow.

Normally, when it snows, it's supposed to be a kind of magical, invigorating experience, a blanket of frosty quiet upon the world. With the holidays come additional notions of a White Christmas and the like. But, for disabled people like me, snow is an immobilizing force, rendering us trapped, unable to enjoy the winter wonderland and be sociable like everyone else. With so much of my freedom taken away, it feels as though I'm a prisoner in my own house.

Thankfully, living in Vancouver, I don't often have to deal with it. But when it does happen, like it did in 2008, things can get gnarly. I remember being trapped inside the house for a week straight with access to only my MacBook and TV. At first, it was fun—I was 16 and I liked the idea of snow, looking at the winter wonderland outside. I imagined trekking through and playing in it, having a snowball fight, driving up the street for a chai latte at my local coffee shop. Because of my disability, however, none of these were options.

I want to be as independent as possible, but I have to remind myself that sometimes asking for help is OK.

This past December, it snowed again and with it came similar feelings of excitement and frustration. This time my entertainment was predominantly Netflix and my laptop. Eventually, after a week and several days, I was able to emerge from my house to roam the streets.

Treading in the snow with my power wheelchair, I have to be more alert and aware, to be extra careful to not get stuck. When I do get stuck, my wheels get buried in the snow and I have to get someone to pull me out. I'm often with a friend who's walking, so they can help, but sometimes it's difficult. I want to be as independent as possible, but I have to remind myself that sometimes asking for help is OK—that's what friends and the people around me are for.

Getting stuck isn't the only problem. When the temperature drops, my cerebral palsy causes my muscles to stiffen up and it becomes difficult to function. It's important for me to do stretching exercises and go swimming, especially in the winter, so I don't end up turning into a rigid ball. Even the simple act of operating my chair in cold temperatures can be a difficult task. When I start shivering, I can't move or control anything.

I've learned it's best to avoid the coldest days and to travel on snow that is hard-packed. The wheelchair is also a great, literal icebreaker: My chair can plow though small patches and even snow banks. Still, more than a few times, I have felt the wheels lose traction and nearly come crashing down. I know riding through the snow like this is risky, but who doesn't deserve to have a little fun once and a while?

When I was six or so, my parents wanted me to enjoy snow despite my disability. I remember my dad would take me out with a toboggan and all bundled up in a scarf and snowsuit. He would take me to the top of a large, snow-banked hill and, after properly securing me, send me flying, laughing all the way down. My parents would later tell me this laugh was quite infectious. I remember feeling so free like I was floating on air.

For many years, I have mainly relied on a power wheelchair to get around. But when I was little, I remember occasionally using a manual one. My mom and I were living in Victoria, British Columbia, when there was a massive snowfall—a record-breaking 150 cm (almost five feet)—so much, in fact, that most people were either stuck or had to dig their way out.

More than a few times, I have felt the wheels lose traction and nearly come crashing down. I know riding through the snow like this is risky, but who doesn't deserve to have a little fun once and a while?

I remember how scared I was, how little I knew of what was happening. We lived in a busy apartment complex, where there was always something going on, but because of the heavy snowfall I couldn't see outside, only hear, and this frustrated me. I wanted to just play with my friends. It took three days, but eventually the sidewalks and streets were cleared enough for me to venture outdoors.

The power wheelchair I use today offers me more freedom and independence than the manual one of my childhood. But, when it snows, I miss my manual one, which was so much lighter and resistant to getting stuck. I could play in the snow, build snowmen, make snow angels—my friends in the apartment complex would often transfer me to the ground for this. Once, they even made me a makeshift catapult so that I could join in their snowball fight. The best part was that I didn't need my parents to hang around. That freedom was magical.

Sometimes I think I just need knobbier tires and maybe a warmer coat, although even if I got them, there would invariably be something else to inhibit my snow-going. One positive of being cooped up is that it's led me to a greater appreciation for the wheelchair that I do have, which is my only form of getting around. It's also given me the time (and motivation) to finally write this column. In the grand scheme of things, I am relatively independent, loved, and lucky, and no amount of snow can change that.

If you've got questions or would like advice about dating and sex in the disabled community drop us a line and Spencer will try to address it in a future column.

You see that doc, 13th? The film is really good, up for an Oscar, and on Netflix—so you have no excuse but to check it out. It explores the mass incarceration epidemic that plagues the United States, a country that has 5 percent of the world's population and almost 25 percent of its prisoners.

With America's massive prison population, there's also a demand people to guard its prisoners. The Bureau of Labor and Statistics says there are almost half a million correctional officers in the US as of 2014 and that figure is projected to grow. Despite all the correctional officers out there, you law-abiding citizens may never have had a chance to meet one in the wild. So I spoke with Dwayne Harris, the Deputy Sheriff to the Fulton County Sheriff Department, to see if the life of a guard is anything like what we see in shows like Orange Is the New Black.

This interview has been edited for clarity and length.

VICE: Have you ever developed a friendship with any of the inmates?
Dwayne Harris: Well, I worked with the state prison system and for a county jail now. If you're around anybody for a long enough period of time, you're gonna find some kinda bond or relationship with them. I wouldn't call that a friendship. But they're just people like we are. Only difference between us is they're locked up. They hurt just like we do. They're there 24 hours a day, we're there eight.

You gotta get a bond with your people—in and out of the cell—to know who's good and who to watch out for. And the orderly WILL tell you who to watch for.

What do shows and films about jail get wrong and right about prison life?
The only one I can think of that I seen is on HBO from forever ago… Oz! Now, Oz is kinda close to being right. Most of the people in the place where I work at, in the inner city of Atlanta, most of them guys went to school with the guys who work there. That's the biggest problem there. They were friends before they were inmates and employees. We have a lot of people get caught up cause they are still friends with the inmates.

Has the job affected your prejudices in any way?
Somewhat. When I was down south in Georgia, things were a bit more laid back. Up in the city, these guys are more violent.

I say it's like a chemical unbalance with them. When crack was serious, in the 80s, the kids born there—they are all in the jailhouse now. Seventeen on up. Either one of their parents was on drugs or both of them were on drugs and these are the withdrawals we have with these kids and the off balance they have. When I came up here from a small town in south Georgia I saw how bad the crack epidemic was and just couldn't believe it. I got here in 2003 and, oh my God, it really did hit me because I hadn't seen much else. Got these 14 to 24-year-olds in jail now, coming in and out, in and out. And they've got real violent, violent crimes.

What's the most depressing thing you've seen at work?
Well, I worked in the courthouse watching inmates and they've got these babies being killed by the mother and the boyfriend, not the father of the child. And that's really bad. About the baddest thing I have ever seen. It's rough. At the courthouse, they show the body, the autopsy, the pictures, and everything and you can't take that image away. That kinda takes you to another level with it.

What's the funniest thing that's happened at work?
My job consists of taking inmates to funerals sometimes and when we do that I gotta search the casket to make sure they're not putting weapons in there or anything from the family members. And when I do that, they play all kind of tricks on me 'cause I gotta search the whole casket and everything. And they'll get behind me and make a sound or [act] like the body's gonna move.

What sort of interesting currencies have you seen inmates using?
What they do like is snacks. They buy their commissary [items] on Friday, get it on Saturday, and then gamble all night with it. Honeybuns, stamps, all that. They don't have money on the books, so that's how they do.

Do the inmates ever do anything that you can't help but be impressed by?
If you see some of the crimes they do, especially with the credit cards. Anything to do with a computer, they're a genius. But they won't use it for the better good, just the bad stuff. But the way they do it is genius, to be honest with you. If they only used their minds to do something good… you'd be surprised what you can do. We have very smart people in prisons now.

You know that Atlanta Child Murderer, Wayne Williams? He does the computers now inside the state prison. Any problem they have with a computer, he fixes it.

What's the worst injury you've had or witnessed on the job?
I had to break up a fight once and pulled a muscle in my back, but that's pretty much it. Not that bad, but you sore for about four weeks after that. We had one employee inside the zone and he brought a guy to medical, and they had a coffee pot in there, and the guy hit the officer on top of the head and split it right open. That's about the worst I've seen. It truly should have never been in there. Split his head wide open.

What do you fundamentally disagree with about how prison works in America?
I think they make it too easy for us. I don't know why [the prisoners] like coming there [to prison].

For instance, our jail holds about 2,400 and we have 3,000 there. This is how they do it. Wintertime, all the homeless get arrested ,so they won't be cold. Then, come summertime, they wanna get out so they can roam the street and don't have to worry about the dang weather.

What are the politics of most prison guards? Are people psyched about Trump? Expecting less federal scrutiny?
Everybody is scared of Trump. Everybody is scared of him, talking about taking us back in time. They're not looking at the bigger picture. The average guard and the average inmate are scared of him.

Follow Justin Caffier on Twitter.

Words by Pin as told to Nikita Velasquez; photos by Nikita Velasquez.

When I opened my first parlour, I couldn't imagine how shitty it was going to be. For the first two years, on a daily basis, I would receive phone calls and visits from men who were asking if we offered "happy endings". I was very naive back then and didn't understand what they were talking about. When I found out, I was shocked and disgusted.

Soon these kinds of requests became just another part of the job.

Now, I own two Thai massage parlours in Stockholm. The first opened 11 years ago and the second 18 months ago. Every day, I get up at 6AM, and make sure everything is in order at home before I get ready for work. I say goodbye to my two teenage daughters, and take a taxi to work. I get there at 9AM.

My employees come in from 9:30 AM and together we get the parlour ready. We stock the shelves with ginger tea, massage oils and clean towels. At 10AM the first customers drop in. As my girls don't speak Swedish, I handle the bookings. Since I have two places to worry about, my phone rings all the time.

Things are always a bit slow before lunch. That's when we're able to receive drop-in customers. They're mostly guests from a hotel around the corner. During afternoons and evenings, we're usually fully booked. Our standard massage costs 500 SEK [€50], but we also have a jacuzzi, sauna and manicure area.

At the newest parlour, I have four full-time masseurs and at least two interns at all times. I cook lunch every day at work and we take turns to eat. My parlours are open until 8PM, so I spend all my time rushing between the stores. I go home at around 9:30 PM.

I started this business not only because I'm good at what I do, but also because I wanted to offer people, mostly couples, a time to relax. I'd say 90 percent of my customers are women, athletes or couples.

I'm originally from the North East of Thailand, and so are most of my employees. People from this area are known to be hard-working and dedicated. Thai massage is an ancient healing system – it's a respected practice that I'm proud to be part of. A traditional Thai massage practitioner is required to complete 800 hours of training before they get their diploma. I train my employees for free. We're like a big family, cheesy as this may sound.

But things weren't always this peaceful. When I opened my first parlour, I had no idea what I was getting into. I've had guys coming in asking for blowjobs, handjobs or getting completely undressed ahead of the massage. I've received phone calls from strangers in the middle of the night. My two daughters have been affected by all this as well. They quickly had to learn not to answer calls from unknown numbers. Sometimes I let my ex-husband answer the phone so he would scare them off. Many of these men have threatened to write bad reviews about my parlour in different online forums when I haven't given them what they want. I've reported some of them to the police, but nothing has happened.

I don't blame parlours that do offer sexual services. There are women there who are in vulnerable positions; women who come from nothing, own nothing and have families they need to support. I don't think the women who get caught for performing sexual services are the reason to why my line of work has a bad reputation. I think the problem is a combination of men, the police and the media.

It's sad how something I'm so deeply proud of is considered a dirty business in Scandinavia. There are over 300 Thai massage parlours in Stockholm and the police suspect that around 40 of these offer "happy endings". Although that's a lot, it's not the majority.

Of course this whole situation has ties to Thailand's reputation for sex tourism. In a way, Thailand has become a holiday destination for the perverted. It's something that's been brought back to Sweden, resulting in the idea that all Thai massage parlours offer sexual services.

Every time news emerge about prostitution at a Thai massage parlour, I know I will start receiving strange phone calls again. And so I have to ride out the wave until next time. It seems to me that these news stories are published for entertainment purposes only – not to change things and protect us. My employees know they are safe when they work for me but they have also told me many horror stories regarding places they worked at before.

Even though the situation is much calmer now, my job has been both a blessing and a curse, which is why I wouldn't want my daughters to choose this line of work. I hope my work will pay off and give them a bright future. After all, I only do this for my kids.