Do I know you? One man's attempt at a lifelong head count.
NOTE: If you think I might have a photo of you—most likely at least one great photo of you—don't be afraid to ask me to post it (13bob13@gmail.com) along with a brief entry about how I know you. And if I've met or known you but don't have any photo evidence, feel free to send along YOUR favorite photo of you. (I'm fascinated by what that slideshow might look like.)
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Yucaipa, CA. Bubblicious. 2003
I love this girl. Sister Julie's first baby girl. My niece Bubbles has been a ham from the get-go as these photos will attest. Her sweet, kooky spirit shines through in every frame. Now she's starting high school next year. How did this happen? Hope she loves these pictures as much as Uncle Bobby does. (If you don't, you'll let me know, right Bubbles?)
Grafton, VT. A princess and her frog. 2003
It's absolutely crushing to think about the fate that will befall this sweet little girl in another 8+ years. For those who loved her, there's no doubt a sadness that can't be understood. I didn't know her beyond seeing her around this weekend in Vermont. But I know her Uncle Edmund is a good man. Here's a story from the Tampa Tribune about how Calyx's high school classmates are still thinking about her. Here's a link to the Calyx & Beau Schenecker Memorial Fund. And here are a few more pictures I took of these sweet kids one weekend in Vermont.
(posted 5.7.14)
Grafton, VT. Beau and Uncle Edmund. 2003
This is one of the best pictures I've ever taken. It's one of my favorites, anyway. I love the look on Edmund's face as his little nephew jumps in with the big kids. The boy wasn't afraid to join in, whether it be swimming in the pond or playing ultimate frisbee with us up on the grass. A few years later I would have dinner in New Orleans with Beau and his Uncle Edmund. When I heard the news of what happened to Beau and his sister, I thought back to this day. How happy everyone was. How much fun we had. How beautiful the setting was. And how, unbeknownst to any of us, we were in the company of a woman who would snap 8 years later and do the unthinkable. Chilling. If you'd like to donate to the Calyx & Beau Schenecker Memorial Fund you can click here.
Hunt, TX. Edmund, the polo hockey enthusiast. 2004
The guy you see before you is one of the best human beings I know. Which makes what he's going through right now doubly tragic. Just over 2 1/2 years ago, Edmund's sister-in-law murdered Edmund's niece and nephew, Calyx and Beau, who I had met back in '03 at Edmund's wedding in Vermont. The reason I decided to put Edmund's photo up today is because he showed up on my radar this afternoon when I noticed an article on Facebook about how the trial had started and Edmund's brother, Parker, was testifying. Can't imagine what these guys have gone through—and are reliving all over again. Our thoughts are with Edmund and his family today.
(posted 5.7.14)
Temecula, CA. Brunk yeah! 2004
With 6 sisters, it would've been real easy to get hosed in the brother-in-law department. But we got lucky with 3 rock solid guys who married our sisters. I even liked the first husbands. This guy right here, though, is top shelf, good times, fertile mind. Not only has he sparked many a...laugh, but I'll be forever grateful for the fact that it was Warren who custom-built my very 1st blog—www.TheGreatestYearOfMyLife.com 1.0. So we have him to thank and/or blame for that. I've got much love for this guy. If you haven't already seen these, check out my photos of the funky Brunk bunch.
Yucaipa, CA. Sister Jeni & Jaxon-in-the-belly. 2003
I was a junior in high school when sister Jeni was born. Now she's got a great husband (yay, Warren!) and a couple awesome boys old enough to play travel baseball—and kick arse, of course. (Yay Jaxon & Jrrred!) Meanwhile, Uncle Bobby is getting married in October for the 1st time—and trying to get his lady looking like Sister Jeni in this photo. Despite the age difference, I've had some gooooood times with my sister-from-another-mother and her family. This little 4-person-unit is full of some of the funnest, funniest people in my world. Check out these photos and you'll see what I mean. There are some classics in this batch.
Temecula, CA. Big Daddy. 2005
My brother-in-law has probably got a pretty high 2degreesofTODD number. He's been in sales for years, so he's constantly meeting new people. Then there were the 6 years he spent as a catcher in the Braves organization, not to mention the college ball he played. Thanks to Brother Todd's baseball days, I'm 2 degrees of separation from Randy Johnson and Mark McGwire (Todd's teammates at USC). And to John Smoltz and Tom Glavine, a couple future Hall of Famers Todd caught in the minors. Todd also played for the Durham Bulls, which is how I ended up wearing this shirt in Spain last summer. We love Brother Todd. He was a damn fine Little League coach, too. Plus, he cranked out 3 extremely special kids. AND he brought a whole new level of Dewey into our life. Oh, yeah.
Santa Barbara, CA. Holding baby Jack-o. 2002
Of my 6 sisters, Jill is the only one who I grew up living with. Her dad married our mom not long after he got back from Vietnam when I was about 7. And for the next 10 years or so he occasionally made my life miserable. Best thing he ever did was help create a human being like Jill—and he doesn't even know it. Some of the best times of my life were spent at Jill's house in Temecula. I'd just come off of 2 years of paid wanderlusting and a mystical, magical 8-month stretch of living on an organic farm/B&B on an island near Vancouver. My intention was to prepare for a teaching gig in Asia with a 3-month stay with Jill. Instead, I stayed about 3 years largely because I loved hanging out with Jill and her family so much.
Temecula, CA. Sweet fro, bro. 2006
Noah's little brother, Jack-o, was one of the funniest little kids I've ever been around. And pretty damn cute, too. Don't believe me, check out these pics I've taken of him over the years. Or check out this video I made to commemorate the good times we had. Jack-o's 12 now. Last time I talked to him a few days ago, he told me he scored 27 points in his last hoops game. That's why he's listed at #23—his favorite player is LeBron. I try not to hold it against him. We're Laker people in this family, Jack-o!
Temecula, CA. Adventure boy. 2006
Having nephews is a beautiful thing. Especially when they like doing things you enjoy. Like riding bikes through mud puddles. Like marathon ping pong matches, hoops in the driveway, cannon balls in the pool, making funny videos, volunteering for talent shows and surfing at San Onofre. I've been a screaming fan at this guy's roller hockey games when he was 6 or 7. I watched an entire season's worth of Little League games when he was a 9-year-old all-star with a knack for big hits in clutch spots. (Go Phillies!) I saw a bunch of his pee-wee football games too, back when he played linebacker, wide receiver and that year he played QB and led his team to a 10-1 record. As of last summer, the blonde surf boy is now an east coast lacrosse star, a high school junior on the team that won a Virginia state championship last year. And now that we're moving to NYC this fall, I'll be able to watch Noah do his thing on a lacrosse field back East. Maybe we'll even ride our bikes through a few mud puddles.
Happy 24th birthday to this guy—my dashing nephew, who continues to make us all proud every single day. The boy is going places.
(posted 6.26.15)
Temecula, CA. Feb. 2004.
My nephew was 12 when I took this photo at my Mom's surprise 60th birthday party. Exactly a decade later, this guy would be convincing me and his dad to walk across Spain with him. I've been blessed and honored to have an all-star team of nephews and nieces—16 in all. But when you've got a brother and 6 sisters, there's bound to be a unique connection with your only brother's only son. So you end up doing things like going to Jackson Browne concerts and talking Bob Dylan and making videos called "In Search Of: the Olsen Twins" and walking across Spain for a month. And, as of last month, getting matching tattoos—my first. Buen Camino!
Castro Jeriz, Spain. Josh and the human GPS gang. 2013
Happy 23rd birthday to the big shirtless American with the backpack. It's been nearly a year since we began our big walk across Spain. What an adventure! Here's to a few more adventures down the road. Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiii....
(posted 6.26.14)
Hollywood Hills, CA. January 2009.
I'm not the sort of person who's eager to ambush a celebrity for a quick photo. I've got a long list of famous people who I didn't get my photo taken with. But when you've just had a conversation that lasted an hour or 2, asking for a selfie when it's all over seems dirty. Maybe that's why they don't mind having you around. That being said, as Larry David would say, of all the famous people who I wouldn't mind getting my picture taken with, Jackson Browne might be top 3 for me. It may have been at this very point in the conversation with Jackson that I'm telling him how my friends and I used to absorb and dissect and blast his early albums. In high school I swore I'd name my first boy Jackson. (2 ex-girlfriends and a sister already beat me to it.) We speculated and floated rumors about Jackson's surfing days and we even stuck with him after the stories of his troubles with Daryl Hannah. All I know is, he seems to be a good man trying to live a decent life. He sent Sister Tracy a handwritten note and a card when she was hospitalized right after the accident. If it's even possible to lift the spirits of a 30-year-old tomboy who just found out she'd never walk again, Jackson's card may have done it. When my friend Meri invited me to this party for her daughter Karama, I knew I might have a chance to thank him for his note—and let him know that Tracy eventually ended up committing suicide 3 years after he sent her that card. Tracy, more than anyone in the world, would've appreciated the fact that I was in someone's living room in the Hollywood Hills talking to Jackson Browne about her and San Onofre and a movie I had just seen and loved called Surfwise. (Of course, Jackson knew one of the Paskowitz boys!) This may forever be my favorite Bob With a Celeb pic.
Cohasset, MA. October 2003.
Back in '03 Stephanie seemed to be one of those people who was doing what she loved—and reaping the benefits. At least, from all appearances. She loves dogs. She's a dog walker. She loves yoga. She's a yoga teacher. And she's married to Charlie. What's not to love about that life? In the age of social media, it can feel a little odd to still have people you've dated showing up on your Facebook feed. But is it really so bad to occasionally see how healthy your ex is, how adorable their kids are, how much fun they had on their vacation to Europe. Contrary to what the haters put out there, I'm happy when I see people I care about living rich, fulfilling lives. Even when their joy is coming from a photo of their homemade gluten-free apple pie. Seeing them appear on your Facebook feed is one thing. Having them invite you to stay with them—and finding out their spouse is great about everything—that's a rare man with a good woman. Good people. Their dogs may be downward. But their spirits are sky high. (No, I did not just write that.) Thanks for the guest bed, Mr. & Mrs. Ford!
Cohasset, MA. October 2003.
Meet Charlie and Stephanie. If there's not a word for "mensch" in the non-Jewish world, maybe it should be Charlie. On the night this photo was taken, I had just completed my first ever Bikram yoga class, a serious accomplishment for a guy with the flexibility of the Tin Man. I think Charlie may have treated us to sushi afterwards. Then we went back to their cozy little home just outside Boston, where these guys put me up in the guest bedroom during not 1 but 2 of my passes through Beantown during "the greatest year of my life"—the 1st one kicking off with a trip on Charlie's boat in the harbor. What's amazing about their generosity is the fact that I dated Stephanie—albeit briefly—while these guys decided to take a break in their 2-year relationship. I don't know what she was thinking. This guy's awesome. Super friendly. Smart. Funny. Comes from good East Coast stock. Ran the family restoration company when I was out there. And couldn't have been nicer about dealing with some dude who dated his wife showing up in his VW bus from California. After 2 visits with these guys, I was pretty sure Stephanie made the right choice. I'd like to think that a few months with me helped send her running back into the arms of the man she was meant to be with. Like a reverse Cupid.
Temecula, CA. Alberto. April 2003.
Sometimes it must seem like the weight of the world is pressing down on my stepdad Al. His daughter has Down Syndrome. His wife, my mom Judy, is 13 years older than Al—a fact we didn't find out until they'd been married for a bit. He looked older than his years and I suppose he felt uncomfortable being 4 years older than his stepson. That may have accounted for the fact that he was drunk the day I met him. Which is ironic, because in the 30 years since, he's been one of the most sober people in our family. At his best, Al runs on adrenaline and love. The weight of the world can be heavy when you've got a family and you're working retail. Al's the lead cashier at Temecula's big Barnes & Noble. One of the constants at every job Al's ever had is that his co-workers and customers seem to love him. I think he's missing his calling by not doing voiceovers and being a professional sitcom audience member—his laugh is booming and infectious. His game show contestant ebullience won over Richard Dawson when Al was in the 5-spot during our appearance on Family Feud in the mid-90s. And when you can charm a half-in-the-bag Brit who shuffles through hordes of middle America families while working his craft of game showmanship, well that's saying something. Go, Al!
New Orleans, LA. QC in the Lower 9th Ward. March, 2007.
I met Quinten during my 1st 2-week stint helping out in New Orleans. We were both volunteering with Common Ground over Thanksgiving in 2006, gutting houses and doing our part to help the displaced people of NOLA. I found a kindred spirit in Quinten, who introduced me to the joys of Hazmat suits, safety meetings and lo-fi music-making. Along with hundreds of other volunteers from all over the U.S.—and the world, really—we stayed at the abandoned St. Mary's Catholic school, where Quinten discovered an abandoned old reel-to-reel tape recorder in a closet. During his many months of volunteering—he was still in New Orleans when I returned for another 2-week volunteering stint the following spring—QC wrote and recorded an entire album's worth of material on that tape recorder. I took my favorite song from that album and made this music video, using my photos and video to illustrate some of the things Quinten writes and sings so poignantly about. I think his lyrics are brilliant on this song, a Dylan-esque catalogue of vivid images and haunted characters. Last I heard, he's living in Colorado, raising 2 little kids with the lady he met after he finally left NOLA. I miss this guy.
Leon, Spain. Day 14. July 2013.
Way back in junior high school, when I was at the height of my days of being a douche to my little brother, I came up with what I thought was the perfect nickname for the sibling you loved to tease and torment: Deke. A perfectly reasonable, if rarely heard, nickname. Especially when I told him it was a cross between "dick" and "geek." My secret little burn on baby brother that I could get in around the adults who'd be none the wiser. What a little prick, I was. But we'd been in a cycle of teasing and fighting—with extended runs of disdain, apathy and tolerance during many a front yard whiffle ball game, a game of hoops in the driveway or tackle football at the school with Cousin Mike and Cousin Mitch—we'd been going at it pretty much from the time he showed up 14 months after I was born. One of the earliest b&w photos from our childhood is of me landing a right jab to his head. So I find it fitting that my little bro is sitting next to that suffering pilgrim. The poor guy suffered early on for having an asshole for a big brother. But here's the irony of the whole thing. This photo was taken last summer while I was "doing The Camino" in Spain with my little brother and his son, my 21-year-old nephew Josh. And instead of having contempt and disdain for my younger bro, I have a deep love and huge respect for the guy. Especially after walking across Spain with him. He's got a love and a connection to his family that is impressive. He doesn't proselytize about his faith but tries to walk the walk and let his deeds lead. No preaching. And, as impressively as anything, he claims that after listening to me explain how the name has grown from a stupid putdown into a term of endearment for me, he's okay with me calling him "Deke." I told him I'd stop if he wanted. But I've called him Deke since we were kids. A bunch of our friends, even some family members, called him Deke. I know him, in my mind and heart—the heart that love this guy deeply—as Deke. To me, Deke is a God-loving badass who's been able to forgive and overcome the dreaded asshole big brother. He's a damn inspiration to little brothers everywhere!
Lake Okoboji, Iowa. 1995?
Missing Sister Tracy more these days than ever. She would have been 47 today. Among the many things to feel sad about, how about the fact that she won't be able to be at my wedding in October? Here is a photo album I created today with a few of the old pics I've scanned. She would've loved the digital age. Happy birthday, Traky!
(Posted on 5.27.14.)
It was exactly 14 days ago—on 3.14.14—that we marked the 13-year anniversary of Tracy's suicide. Her story is a complex one, filled with much joy and immense sadness. Surely, there was suffering on a scale few of us will ever know. But her life was also filled with more blissful, insanely funny moments than most will experience in a lifetime. Her last 3 years as a heartbroken fighter in a wheelchair shouldn't be the tragedy that overwhelms the rich, colorful life she had during her first 30 years on the planet. This photo is, in my mind, the essence of the sister that I knew. Laughter and light in her eyes. A girl of the suburbs of SoCal. Cornfed from Covina, but she would've fit right in among the cornfields of Iowa. She's probably jumping out of those cornfields and scarring somebody. There are scores of you out there—hundreds? thousands?—who must've shared a laugh with her? One of the many tragedies of her life is the fact that she wasn't around long enough to watch the arrival of camera phones and Facebook and Twitter and Instagram. She was all those things before the Internet. No one in my life sent more letters, turned down fewer happy hours, took more pictures and made more phone calls to stay connected with the people she loved. Count yourself lucky if you were one of them.
(Posted on 3.28.14.)
San Gabriel, CA. Jam session in Cousin Bill's garage. 2002
The rest of the world knows hims as Aaron. But from the time Sister Katy started calling "Aaron" what sounded more like "Uh-knee," he's been Ernie to us. It didn't hit me until I sat down to write this entry that in a few weeks—I'm not even sure of the date, only that it occurred in April—it'll be exactly 25 years since I was first introduced to Ernie at an orphanage in Hollywood. That 25 years have been fraught with lots of ups and downs—for both of us. But we're here. Alive. Feeling good about the future. And today's not bad either. At around 11 tonight I'm driving to the airport to pick up Ernie and his girlfriend Vanessa. They're staying with us for a week and we'll be celebrating Ernie's 34th birthday. If he makes it to Monday, he'll have outlived Jesus. There were times during our 25 years in one another's orbit when that would've seemed like a miracle in itself. Welcome back to Austin, Ernie!
(posted on 3.28.14)
Happy 35th birthday to this guy. Who crushed it about an hour later at our wedding. Best officiant ever.
Photo by Josh Makela
Me & Ernie. Casa Verde backyard. The day after he officiated our nuptials. Preparing to sign the wedding certificate. Austin, TX. 10.4.14
(posted on 3.31.15)
Venice, CA. State champ. 2004
This photo was taken at about the time when I personally realized this little girl could be good. Real good. She's a scrappy little 8-year-old here. Fresh off winning the California state title for her age group. I must've gone to 3 or 4 or those games. When the stakes are high for a little girl trying to hit a fast-moving softball—and you know the little girl and you know she's sensitive—it can be nerve-wracking. And exhilarating. Like when your little niece comes up big in the biggest games of her young life. A full 10 years later—yesterday, actually—I sat watching her play again. Only this time I was at home in Austin, TX. Watching, for the 1st time this season, a live streaming of her game in College Park, MD on our Apple desktop. The little girl with the monkey around her neck got a full-ride to play softball at the University of Maryland. Yesterday, in the 1st game I've ever seen her play on my computer, Hannah went 4-for-4 against Howard with 2 doubles. On Monday night I'll get to see her play on TV for the 1st time, when Maryland's game against Notre Dame gets the ESPNU treatment. Go Hannah!
New York City. Christmas Break Road Trip. 2014
More than 10 years after we saw her win the California softball state championship as a 9-year-old, Hannah came to stay with us in Brooklyn during her Christmas break from college. The little girl grew up to be a pitcher/outfielder at the University of Maryland. Go Terps!
College Park, MD. Still wearing #12 after all this years. May 2016
Last year when I came down for Hannah's weekend series at Maryland, she wrapped up a 3-game sweep of Penn State by pitching brilliantly on Sunday and doing the postgame interview on the Big 10 Network telecast. This year the Terps lost 2 of 3 to Indiana. But they won the last game of the season and Hannah made a few sterling plays in the outfield and nearly hit a home run. Next year she's a senior and it's sayonara softball after playing since she was a T-ball twig. I'm gonna miss watching this girl's brilliance and grit.
