In between eating pastrami sandwiches, I’ve been doing a lot of celebrating. We celebrated birthdays recently. We celebrated Jacob’s—my college roommate—soon-to-be marriage by going to Denver for his bachelor party. We celebrated the arrival of summer with a very cold camping trip outside Mammoth. And we celebrated dads everywhere with Father’s Day.

I’d like these updates to be more than just updates. I’d like to use this to work through things, to think aloud, to muse. But I’m both too bashful and (occasionally) too apathetic. It manifests in a funny way. I don’t want to directly draw attention to my thoughts, my frustrations, my machinations; but I’m also too lazy to mask behind a metaphor. It turns out it’s easier to just dump a bunch of photos that make it look like your life is swell. Oh well, here are some photos and some sentences.

Birthdays

These past few months afforded the occasion to celebrate a two interesting birthdays. Interesting because of their proximity to each other on the calendar, but their ages could not be farther apart.

In April we celebrated my friends’ son’s third birthday. Watching this family blossom has been a real treat for me. Their kids, of which they have two, are adorable, of course. Seeing my friends start and raise a family — friends that I feel so close to, as to. a manner of living, that is — has been fun and fascinating. Not before them had I considered myself close to capable of being a father. Nor do I know. But the joy their two kids have brought them, and me, is not lost on me. The weight of the responsibility of it all seems centering. Whereas my life seems to have a lightness of being.

And a month later we celebrated my grandmother’s 75th. The life this woman has lived is fascinating. A Quaker raised in New Jersey, her father a scientist for the Manhattan project, a retired accountant, now living in California’s Bay Area. Somehow always at the center of the world: where ever that may be.

A birthday for a three-year-old is not for the three-year-old. Sure, you buy cheap gifts and maybe get them their own cake, but it’s an excuse for friends of the parent’s to gather. The three-year-old will not remember the event. A seventy birthday, however, is solely for the celebrant. To have made it to seventy-five is itself an occasion, but to have done and still be so full of life; to still have so many people, friends and family, gather to celebrate you is impressive. Having worked in an assisted living home in High School, I saw many celebrate their birthdays alone a with a sad slice of cake.

My grandmother, BZ, has lived a wonderful life. She’s the matriarch of our family. She’s been a huge impact on my life of course, but the many others she’s impacted grave a certain gravitas to garden party. She’s brought in and supported my friends, she’s been a booster for to the local hospital, she participated in local politics working mayoral campaigns, but most importantly: she’s been a deer friend to so many, as evidenced by the amount of people who came out and sang her happy birthday.

Birthdays are funny for me right now. I turn 30 this year. What have I done with this life? My hair grows thinner, I roll the bottom of my jeans. I’m riddled with indecision. Who would sing for me?

Following BZ’s party, the family gathered for brunch, I ordered a reuben sandwich, to celebrate my dad’s birthday. More on him later.

Camping and SoCal

The past few months have seen me in Southern California quite a bit. We had the aforementioned camping outside Mammoth Lakes in the beautiful Eastern Sierras, a place I simply can not get enough of. And in April, Owen and I also accidentally spent an extended weekend in LA visiting Cole and his social committee.

The reason for our LA visit was a show, but Owen and I made the most of it. We hit up the world’s best bar: Jumbo’s Clown Room, we relaxed at odd hours in K-town’s Wii Spa, we ate pastrami and ordered Green Tea shots.

The original plan was to fly down on a Thursday, work from Cole’s LA apartment Friday day, enjoy the weekend and fly home Sunday afternoon. But Owen and I hit the vacation button a little hard and pushed our flight out to Tuesday evening. There’s just something about LA, Frank, and visiting your brother that makes it hard to leave.

Aside from a few too many work trips to Vegas, the other big sojourn was our camping trip. Over Memorial Day weekend, outside Mammoth and just North of Lake Crowley, Owen, Cole, Reese, Brody, Frank and I congregated to celebrate summer and the first trip of camping season. Although it was terribly cold. Our first night in the low twenties after the sun set. Luckily it warmed up after that.

We camped on BLM land near natural hot springs and were, mostly, totally secluded.

During the day we explored up and down 395. We spent a lot of time in Mammoth’s tiki bar ordering green tea shots. We spent a little time off roading. We had planned a visit to Yosemite, but Tioga pass had yet to open. We plunged in the cold waters of June Lake, and soaked in the warm waters of the hot springs. At night we cooked over the camp fire, stargazed before the full moon came out, drank more than we probably should have, and made plans for the following day we wouldn’t actually act upon.

Fifty-two weeks in year. So few, really. And so hard to spend quality time with your people when life pulls you in different locations. Ryan and Aleck were supposed to join us for the camping trip, but obligations surfaced last minute. And of those fifty-two, only thirteen in Summer. How many more occasions will I have to fall asleep drunk under stars with my friends like an Eagles song? How many more years will I want to, or be able to, fall asleep on the dirt?

To be able to just pick up and go is an awesome feeling. The liberty that I can, on Friday afternoon, drive up to the Sierra Nevadas for a weekend, be it Tahoe or Yosemite; or drive out to the coast, Sea Ranch to the North or head South towards Santa Barbara; or book a short flight to LA or Seattle — that I can just up and leave is not lost on me. There’s a premium of weightlessness there that I’ve yet to figure out how to value it. It seems to me, not less or greater than, but incommensurable to other values.

I know this is not a new sensation. But to be careless with the decision seems worse than to make the wrong decision. That I can so easily jet out to Denver, and adjust my flights to accommodate my schedule alone is incredible. It’s a privileged position to be in.

Jacob’s bachelor party in Colorado

In 2013 my dorm shared a wall with Jacob’s dorm. In 2014 we moved into an apartment off campus where he taught me how to prep a hookah pipe. In 2023 Jacob and his now wife had a courtroom wedding, but this year, in 2024 they’re having an official ceremony. It feels like I just met this skinny, gravely voiced Indian kid from Manteca. The decade of college onwards has been phenomenal, but just keeps getting better. Watching your friends get married, start families, build homes: watching your friends grow is really something.

For Jacob’s bachelor party we went out to Denver. Jacob had booked the strangest AirBNB to accommodate the thirteen guests. The weekend was a blast. New friendships made, giggles had at Meow Wolf, bottle service downtown, hikes in Red Rocks and some competitive clay shooting.

The joining of disparate friend groups is never easy. Many people at different points in their life. But our shared love of Jacob, and wanting to celebrate him, brought us together in the corniest way possible. To me, the major aim of a bachelor party is not to celebrate the groom (although an obvious accidental consequence) but to endear the groom’s closets friends to one another before the actual ceremony. To that end, Jacob’s bachelor party was massive success.

Denver is a strange city. Perhaps I’ve been spoiled in California. Or perhaps I didn’t make it to the right parts of Denver. I quite enjoyed the city, but it seems like it’s major virtue is it’s proximity to, or rather put, leaving Denver. The Rockies are beautiful and home to some of the best out door activities. During the trip I found myself wishing I extended the stay for some personal time to fly fish or mountain bike, see a friend or two who lived in the city. Yet my longing to get home was stronger, perhaps, although I didn’t know it at the time, because I incubating COVID.

Following the trip I tested positive for COVID for the first time. Unsure if I could go into the office or socialize after I finally tested negative, as it was a short duration, I checked online for best practices. Funnily enough no one prescribes best practices anymore.

Father’s day

Luckily I seemed to be COVID free come Father’s Day. My parents were in town from Tahoe and before headed up the hill Sunday afternoon we were able to meet for another pastrami filled brunch.

My dad is an interesting guy. As is my mother and larger family. Too quote Hunter Biden’s crack music: I’m now older than my mother and father than when they had me. They met in college, at a Chico State party. These two Wildcats somehow made the transition from Sunday beers to family raising. And now, here at brunch, I’m asked if I plan to have kids soon…