the LIST

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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52. squeezy of atlanta

This is Squeezy. It's been over a decade since I met Squeezy when I was helping out at the annual Hands On Atlanta volunteer day in the fall of '03. Together with a bunch of other volunteers, most of whom I'd never met, I helped build a storage shed for a low-income elderly woman who needed a helping hand. At various points during the day there seemed to be too many cooks in the kitchen. So I gravitated towards this adorable kid who couldn't get enough of the trail mix I'd brought—especially the M&Ms. No wonder he's so happy. There's a chapter in my new book, B.O.B. a blog story (vol. 1 — here & there), about my day with Squeezy and the circumstances that led up to our chance meeting. Squeezy must be around 13 now. I wonder if his beaming smile still has the power to melt sentimental fools like me? I hope he's happy.

51. tom mee

City of Industry, CA. Carpet King Mee. 2003 — *City of Industry, CA.* *Carpet King Mee. 2003*

"Dude, when you gonna put me on the website?" my friend Tom asked the other day when I returned his phone call. Up to this point, I've been posting on here pretty randomly. I'll put someone up if I come across a photo I like. In the case of my niece, Katherine, who turned 11 on 1.11.11, I had to put her in the #11 slot. There are a few other number-specific entries. My friend Brian at #5. Ernie at #13. And I decided to put my friend Edmund up after I came across a news story about his family last month. But for the most part, it's been random. What I'd like to do is put somebody up here after they've requested an appearance. Like Tom. If you'd like to read more about my 35+ year friendship with Tom, check out this entry from my old blog. We've got a LONG and storied history, starting with our days surfing together in high school. Tom was also the guy Sister Tracy fell in love with at the end of her life and the 2 of them were together the night she became paralyzed. The photo I'm posting here is a shot I took of Tom at Bentley Mills, the carpet company he's worked at for 30 years. How do I know he's worked at Bentley for 30 years? Because in the summer of 1984—a few month after I graduated from UCLA—Tom was set to go backpacking across Europe with me. Only he backed out at the last minute. The father of our friend Ogela had just gotten him a job at the company that would later become Bentley. A full 3 decades later and he's still around, practically running the place. The guy is one of the hardest workers I know. But don't think for a minute he doesn't know how to have a good time. The guy is the epitome of "work hard, play hard." Tom has been a source of laughter and a catalyst for good times for a lot of people for a long, long time. He plays so hard he broke his back a few years ago riding his dirt bike in the desert. At night. Be careful out there, dude.

50. tony horton

Brentwood, CA. Mike Carp & Mr. P90X. 2003 — *Brentwood, CA.* *Mike Carp & Mr. P90X. 2003*

The guy on the right should be more than familiar to the millions of people who've gotten in shape—or tried to—doing P90X. I ran into Tony a decade ago at the bar on San Vicente where Brian Weeks used to bartend when the place was called Mom's during our UCLA days. Right down the street from Mezzaluna and Nicole Simpson's old place. Tony was buddies with our friends Mike Carp and Jon Congdon. When we got introduced Tony knew who I was, thanks to our mutual benefactor, Beachbody.com. At the time, Tony was the face man for a workout program called "Power 90"—the precursor to P90X. And I was in the middle of my nearly 2-year odyssey around the U.S., some of which was financed by the credit card I was issued by my friends Jon and Carl, who started Beachbody.com and hired Tony to be their on-camera workout guru. All I had to do was record my attempts to complete their 3-month Power 90 program while on the road, writing about my progress and posting photos on my new blog (TheGreatestYearOfMyLife 1.0) that was linked to the Beachbody website. The problem was, I fell off the workout wagon many times. I didn't exercise consistently. I felt guilty for not posting. For months, the "Power 90" link on my site sat in limbo with this photo of me—shirtless and hairy. The post under the photo was a brief mea culpa full of shame and guilt for not sticking with the program. This sorry state of affairs prompted Beachbody's CEO to write an article about me which I don't disagree with whatsoever. However, I won't link to it here. I'll allow you the pleasure of doing a search on the words "Bob Makela" + "failure." It's the 1st entry that pops up. And yet, here I am 10 years later—on a Friday the 13th, no less—ready to start P90X again on Monday. Bring it!

48. katrina scarface

New Orleans, LA. Upper 9th Ward. 2007 — *New Orleans, LA.* *Upper 9th Ward. 2007*

This is one of my favorite all-time shots. I'd seen this dude a day or 2 before I snapped this photo as I was sitting on a curb with Matt Fischer. He was milling around St. Mary's, the deserted Catholic school in the Upper 9th Ward that had become a makeshift outpost for post-Katrina do-gooders from all over America who came here to volunteer with Common Ground Relief, a controversial grass roots organization that sprouted up in the aftermath of Katrina in '05. When I spotted this guy at St. Mary's he looked a little like Samuel L. Jackson. But on this day he looked a little more sinister. The Tony Montana t-shirt didn't help. A few minutes after I snapped this shot, a New Orleans squad car came barreling up and a pair of cops jumped out, cuffed our guy and drove off with him watching his Huffy mountain bike fade off in the distance from the backseat of the NOPD cruiser, another accused crackhead to clog up the system. Somewhere in my digital archives I've got footage of the arrest going down. If you know my man's name let me know so I don't have to refer to him as "Katrina Scarface" anymore. I suppose I could call him Sam Jackson of NOLA. Hope he's off the crack pipe.

47. matt fischer

New Orleans, LA. Gutting the Lower 9th. 2007 — *New Orleans, LA.* *Gutting the Lower 9th. 2007*

I met this kid when we both spent a few weeks volunteering in post-Katrina New Orleans. I caught a few Craigslist rideshare lifts from L.A. to the 9th Ward, via Austin, hoping to help out and get a sense of what things were like down there. I think Matt showed up in Louisiana to get away and get his head straight. He'd dropped out of college and he may or may not have been trying to get off his meds. We bonded quickly and had some great talks. We gutted houses together for Common Ground Relief and when the work day was done we strolled around those deserted 9th Ward streets near the converted St. Mary's Catholic school where we stayed with hundreds of other stanky Hazmated volunteers, Matt smoking his cigarettes and talking about the events that led to him showing up down here. Me puffing on joints of New Orleans schwag, talking about the things I've done, the places I've been and my fascination with the number "13." The 2 volunteer trips I took to volunteer in New Orleans with Common Ground left a lasting impression on me—largely because of the people I met. Like Matt and Quentin, the singer/songwriter/altruist/hippie I hung out with during many a safety meeting during my 1st volunteer stint in New Orleans during Thanksgiving in '06. Matt was mi amigo during my 2nd go 'round at Common Ground the following spring. Along with a black dude named Wendell, who'd been left homeless after he stuck around during Katrina and stayed in the house he grew up in—until it ended up getting swept away through his 9th Ward neighborhood. The 3 of us—myself, Matt and Wendell—a trio of mismatched misfits if ever there was one went out for a late evening meal on my last night in New Orleans. We jumped in a cab and told the cabbie to take us to the best place nearby to get some food. A few minutes later he dropped us off in front of place on Frenchman Street. As I peeled myself out of the cab, I was shocked—yet somehow not surprised—when I saw the name of the restaurant: "13." I think from that moment, Matt and I were bonded forever. A few years later Tamale and I saw him in San Francisco. We met for drinks at an old Kerouac hangout. I haven't heard from Matt in a few years now. I hope he's okay.

46. sioux-z jessup

Santa Monica, CA. The world is AMAZING! 2002 — *Santa Monica, CA.* *The world is AMAZING! 2002*

The coolest thing about my friend and fellow UCLA grad, Sioux-z, isn't that she's been a traffic reporter on TV and radio for years or that she's bantered with some of L.A. greatest DJs thanks partly to her raspy made-for-radio voice or even that she once shared a joint with Jack Nicholson in a janitor's closet during halftime at a Lakers game during the Fabulous Forum era. And, sure, she's pretty awesome for inviting me to crash on her couch during my 30 Days of Couchsurfing experiment back in late '09. (Which you can read about in my new book.) But I think the coolest thing about Sioux-z is her adventurous spirit and her eagerness to explore the world. Many, if not most, of her trips all over the globe have been taken alone. (Machu Pichu much?) Which flies in the face of conventional wisdom that says women shouldn't be traveling alone. "Bullshit!" I can just hear Sioux-z scowling before retreating to a Dalai Lama-inspired lotus move into peace, tranquility and Oneness. Ommmm . . . .

45. cutter shepard hodierne

Arlington, VA. White Gold. 2003 — *Arlington, VA.* *White Gold. 2003*

When I 1st met White Gold he was a junior in high school. Living alone with his mom, Lisa, in Arlington, VA. His cousin out in L.A.—my good friend and former roommate, GC—suggested I call White Gold's mom since I was in D.C. and she lived nearby. This was November of '03, during the 1st year of my wanderlusting around America in my VW bus and writing about it on the original version of TheGreatestYearOfMyLife.com. My home cooked dinner at White Gold's house turned into an unforgettable 1-week stay after he and his mom insisted on having me around for another night...then another night...and another. The conversation was that good. White Gold even convinced his English teacher to have me come in and speak to the class, seeing as how they were studying Thoreau and non-conformity. During my week in Arlington I also checked out one of White Gold's basketball games (he was a sophomore playing varsity) and watched some of the videos he'd made punking his friends. He was an aspiring filmmaker, so I left him with my DVD copy of Bottle Rocket, one of my favorite films ever and a low-budget masterpiece Just over 10 years later, this same kid—who presciently self-glossed himself "White Gold" when he was a curious jokester at a progressive high school (HB-Woodlawn) just across the Potomac from Washington D.C.—was winning Best Director at Sundance. It's true. But not until after going on the road with U2 as the band's official videographer throughout Europe—a gig White Gold picked up not long after taking a pair of road trips to San Quentin with me and my dispensary-owning friend Veeektor, who, a few years later, would go on to become one of White Gold's producers on Fishing Without Nets after financing the completion of the original short film version of FWN. (Which won the 2012 Best Short award at Sundance.) The way all this went down and played out is a classic story begging for more space than a paragraph on 2degreesofBOB.com. Maybe I can get someone to pay me to write it. Stay tuned.

* * *

The good news keeps on flowing. Found out today that Cutter's film, Fishing Without Nets, was just picked up for distribution by 20th Century Fox. By this fall we'll be able to check it out, if not at a theater near you then at least via video-on-demand. Hooray, Cutter! (And Veeektor.)

(posted 6.19.14)

44. veeektor shapiro

The way Veeektor remembers it, we shared a joint on the dance floor the night we first met at a birthday party for the west coast editor of InStyle. My girlfriend at the time was also an editor at the magazine. (That's where we'd met.) Veeektor's girlfriend was her assistant. He'd moved to L.A. from his home in Belgium, a veteran of the Israeli Special Forces hoping to make it as an actor in Hollywood. Unfortunately—or maybe fortunately—Veeektor peaked as a semi-regular extra on The Shield for a season and had a couple daughters with the girlfriend who went on to become an InStyle editor—and, eventually, his ex-wife. After owning and running a string of DVD and candy stores in various Southern California malls, Veeektor and his business partner opened up what would become an iconic medical marijuana dispensary on Sunset Blvd. in Silverlake. (Just ask the former patients/customers/devotees.) I was Sunset Junction Organic Medicine's first employee and I watched the place grow from a "holy-shit-does-anyone-know-we're-open?" operation into a thriving culture of cannabis healing and good vibes. One of my favorite jobs ever for many reasons. A few months before Veeektor opened the dispensary in 2009, we took a couple road trips to San Quentin for a project I was/am working on. Our camera guy/cinematographer/mad genius was a kid I'd met met during my road tripping days in '03. A few years later, this same kid would help deliver Veeekter to the front row of Hollywood. Or at least Sundance. At least, so far. (Yes, that's him in the "produced by" credits.) I've got nothing but faith in the guy. Victor the Aspiring Actor Turned Dispensary Owner is now Victor the Producer. He's a husband again, too. To a good woman. He even looks good in that not-so-new gray hair he's sporting. Just don't remind him that he looks older than me.

43. ogela norris

Tyler, TX. The laughing Buddha of East Texas. 2004 — *Tyler, TX.* *The laughing Buddha of East Texas. 2004*

Back when we were in high school together our Covina friends called him Victor. At some point—when he moved out to stay with his mom in Texas?—he started going by "Devereaux." Not sure what prompted the post-high school move to his middle name, but I personally had already resigned myself to calling him "Ogela" after a trip to the local bowling alley one afternoon in the late '70s. This was the days when you had to keep your own score with a pencil and a scoresheet. So after writing "Victor," I decided to tinker with the letters, since Victor clearly needed a ridiculous nickname. The "v" became an "o." The "i" became a "g." The "c" became a "g" . . . and so on. You get the picture. Stupid high school hijinks. Victor, er, Ogela laughed it off—he's got a big, happy belly laugh for just about every occasion—and decided I should thereafter be called "Cecil." Thankfully, that one didn't quite stick. (I hope.) When I moved to Austin on St. Patrick's Day in 2010, I figured I'd get to see more of Ogela—and trust me, there's more of Ogela to see than there was in high school. "All muscle, chief," is how Ogela laughed it off a few weeks ago when we saw him in Tyler. It was the first time our paths had crossed paths since I moved to Texas. (Had it really been 10 years since I saw him?) Luckily, we're seeing our old friend again next week during our return visit to Tyler. Tamale has a big curly girl hair show and Ogela gets to be my +1. This little visit is gonna require a follow-up paragraph next week. If you'd like to read more about this happy man, there's a chapter about my '97 Tyler pit stop in my new book, B.O.B. a blog story (vol. 1 — here & there). Check it out.

42. carlos t. dogg

*Hwy 285, NM. Summoning the aliens. 2003*

It's probably best that this guy's identity is hidden behind dark sunglasses. To me he's always been Carlos T. Dogg. The necessity for an alias kicked in when I realized he was certifiably paranoid. Which can happen when you're a ganja-loving government employee with a drinking problem. Carlos is rock solid these days—3 years sober and counting last time I saw him over Christmas. But back in '04 he was...not. He liked his cigarettes, cocktails and cannabis, in no particular order. Throw in the paranoia and you've got a very, very interesting traveling partner on a road trip to Roswell. In this photo, Carlos is summoning the aliens to come and pay us a visit. We were a pair of lovable, open-minded humans who wouldn't be so opposed to an alien encounter. And while most of you are surely assuming no such alien greeting party arrived, I can tell you unequivocally that something strange and wonderful and bizarre did happen that day. And it all started with Carlos and this moment right here on an empty stretch of road 40 miles from Roswell. I intend to write more about that day in my next B.O.B. book. But just know that it ended with me and Carlos dancing with the cutest girls in the joint at an old bar near the top of Canyon Road in Santa Fe. Another story yet to be written....

41. jim dunton

Jim and I were fraternity brothers in college, back when Jim transitioned from being on the UCLA baseball team to being a sorority row heartthrob. Nearly 2 decades later, Jim and his wife Loren were adopting this adorable little girl, Drew—a couple years before they had a miracle baby the old fashioned way. (Tatum is awesome, too.) After spending years in L.A., Jim and Loren decided to move out to North Carolina a couple years ago. And that's I got to convoy with Jim and his 2 dogs on yet another cross-country drive. I posted a series of brief videos of our L.A. to Asheville adventure. If you're ever out that way, give Jim a holler. He could use the company.

40. hayden christensen

*Beverly Hills, CA. Josh and Luke at the Newsroom. 2003*

From an entry on my old blog www.TheGreatestYearOfMyLife.com:

“Omigod,” he said like a ’60s Beatlemaniac, “that’s Hayden Christensen.” “Who?” “Hayden Christensen,” Josh said in an excited whisper, as if his teenaged Canadian hero might actually hear him through the thick glass window. “He played Anikin Skywalker in the last Star Wars movie. I can’t believe he’s here!” Personally, I never would’ve recognized the kid. But Josh is a Star Wars geek. His bedroom is full of the toys, posters and action figures that helped make George Lucas a rich man. So in an attempt to score points with Josh—a sweet, sensitive kid who I see all too little—I walked over and asked Christensen if he’d take a picture with my nephew. 'We can stop by and say hello on our way out and you make a kid’s day,' And that’s how it played out. Josh got to meet one of his heroes. I got to take a couple more digital pictures. And Hayden Christensen got his ego stroked by a 6th grader from Mission Viejo. Everybody was happy.

39. bonita makela

My Pops hit the jackpot with this one. Much of the latent trauma of watching our parents split up when I was 6 was softened by the arrival of this lady, who has stuck it out and stuck around for 4+ decades with my dear old Dad—who's been known to get me agitated on a simple 45-minute trip on the 10 in gridlock. For that alone, the woman deserves a medal. While at least 2, if not all 4 of her girls (Tracy, Rona, Julie & Jeni) were still in school, Bonita went back to school herself and became a nurse—a cancer and a hospice nurse. Yikes. She has described herself as my "wicked old stepmother." A quick glance at this photo will prove Bonita is far from wicked. I'd say 99% of the time she's one of the sweetest, funniest, most engaged, most generous people you'll ever meet. And when that 1% shows up you do not want to #$%! with this lady. But at her core she's all love and I'm excited by the fact when Molly and I get married on October 3rd, it will also be my Dad and Bonita's 43rd anniversary. The shared wedding anniversary is one of my favorite happy accidents in a lifetime full of happy accidents. Mucho amor, Bonita!

38. blaze blesius

*San Francisco, CA. Julio E. Blesius, man of mystery. 2003*

It's been about 10 days now since I flew out to Blaze's wedding in Sonoma County. Blaze and I have a few things in common besides being UCLA grads. We're both getting married this year for the 1st time at 53. Blaze's wedding was on 5.3. Molly and I are getting married exactly 5 months later on 10.3. I've had some good times with Blaze over the years. In Manhattan Beach. San Francisco. At the Fiesta Bowl. At Pac Bell. At Fenway. Unless he nixes the idea, Blaze will be making a trio of appearances in our new book. And why not? The guy is a good time. You're a lucky woman, Jennifer. The good news is, I've got many fond memories and a boatload of pictures of my good times with Blaze. These are just some of them. (For now.) I've even got a few from the days when this chiseled chunk of bald handsomeness had a full head of hair. I personally think he looks better now. Blaze is the human fine wine, getting better with age. And now he's a husband. Nice work, Blaze!

37. mike carp

There was a time in my life—13 years ago?—when Mike Carp would occasionally show up in my life. Usually at a party, a westside bar with Tony Horton or a gathering organized by our mutual friend Jon Congdon, most memorably at Jon's 40th birthday weekend in Mexico. Mike had his own film effects company, I believe. I also seem to remember him having some sort of brain surgery. (Correct me if I'm wrong, Mike.) I know for a fact that he, like me, had a sister who died way too young. He clearly had the soul of an artist too. Any time I showed up somewhere and realized Mike Carp was also there, my world got a little happier. And now that we're moving to NYC in November, I hope our paths will start crossing a lot more. (Last I heard, Mike was living in New York. Brooklyn?) Hope we see you soon, Mike. Until then, we'll always have Mexico.

36. albert de silva

*Watrous, NM. Albert de Silva has gas. 2003*

The story of how I met this man and why he's pouring gas into my vehicle inspired the first chapter of my first non-fiction book B.O.B. a blog story (vol. 1 — here & there). The title of the chapter? "Albert de Silva Has Gas" But of course.

35. mark fenton

*Careyas, Mexico. Modesto in Meh-hee-co. 2002*

This guy was an SAE pledge during my senior year at UCLA. A fellow English major from the sticks of Modesto, CA. Very funny guy, girls loved him. He was able to skillfully combine earnestness, affability and being a wiseass—much like a lot of his brethren from central California. Cut to 20+ years later, I haven't seen the guy since I graduated and he shows up in Mexico at Congdon's 40th birthday celebration. Apparently he's back in Modesto, owns a furniture business (I think) and still pretty much looks exactly like he did in college. Good job, Mark Fenton!

34. mike mars

Eureka, CA.  Halfway House. 2003 — *Eureka, CA. Halfway House. 2003*

When I 1st laid eyes on this man, he was standing in the rain holding a cardboard sign that read: "Eureka" ... How could you not stop for such a poignant sight? I couldn't help myself. I already had another hitchhiker with me, a skinny 21-year-old from Holland named Alfin who was gung ho about adding another member to the traveling drifter party coalescing in my VW bus. It wouldn't be long before Mike was telling us he was, at that very moment, tripping on heroin. We heard some of his story, then I got him to bust out a haunting blues tune on my guitar while my video camera captured the whole thing. Nearly 6 years later, I was passing through Eureka again and I tracked Mike down at this halfway house. He'd been sober less than a month, but he looked good. He'd replaced the front teeth that were missing when I met him on Day 93 during Barstool Bob's 100 Day Great American Barcrawl of '97. And he seemed relatively healthy. We had a nice visit and I snapped a few photos of Mike and his friends from the halfway house. It was Memorial Day, so I took him to the local cemetery to visit his mother's grave. When we got back to the halfway house, a middle-aged local recognized the great Mike Mars from his days as a Humboldt County rock star back in the '60s. Meanwhile, the cardboard sign Mike was holding on that October day in '97 hangs from a wall in my home office. Eureka.

33. ruth schacht

*Los Angeles, CA. Los Feliz haircut. 2009*

Kay, the social worker at Jewish Family Services who connected us, told me Ruth was very sick before we ever met. She'd had heart surgery and she wasn't doing well, according to Kay, who made it sound like I'd be lucky to get 6 months out of my new friendship with this little old Jewish lady who lived about 10 blocks from my apartment just south of the slums of Beverly Hills. Luckily for me, Ruth turned out to be a bull, as fragile as she may have seemed, and lived another 10 years or so. For the first few years our visits were mostly once-a-week and we got to hear a LOT of details about each other's life. Then I went off traveling for a couple years, before settling back down for a few years in Temecula—2 hours from L.A. But then I fell in love with a girl who lived not far from Ruth's latest assisted living situation in Los Feliz. Soon, Ruth got to fall hard for Molly too. It was a beautiful thing seeing them together. I'm so grateful I got to hang out and get to know this woman. Here's an excerpt from B.O.B. a blog story (vol. 1 — here & there) about one of my visits with Ruth. Ruth was an old community theater actress, so she was okay with me taking her picture and videotaping some of our conversations. One of these days I'll get around to posting more of that stuff. Until then, here are some of my favorite Ruth pics. We miss you, Ruth!

32. sweet lew

Steamboat Springs, CO. Sweet Lew & the pooch pimpin' my TGYOML t-shirts. 2004 — *Steamboat* *Springs, CO. Sweet Lew & the pooch pimpin' my TGYOML t-shirts. 2004*

This photo makes me smile every time I see it. I'm not a big fan of dogs with smashed in snouts and breathing disorders. But this guy won me over. Maybe it's because he somehow channeled the charm of his master, Sweet Lew, my gooooood buddy from UCLA. He's the kind of guy who might not want his full name out there on such a website, so I'm gonna have to let him sign off on this first. Let's just assume he's good with it. How could he not want to share this shot with the world? Believe it or not, Sweet Lew was an all-state football player in high school who was a 4-year letterman on the legendary UCLA track team too. Yes, Lew was a fast white guy. By the time we caught up to him in this pose, he was a divorced father of 3 boys. Living in his dream house near the slopes of Steamboat. I spent a week with Lew and the boys during my wanderlusting days of '03/'04. Over the years I've had more laughs with this guy than just about anyone I know. For years I told him he could've been a comedian. Instead, he went into sales, kicked ass, built the house of his dreams and is living large in a beautiful ski town. I had one of my favorite weeks during my travels hanging out with this guy and his kids in '04. I hope life is still good for Sweet Lew.