FOJ

Oh hi, how are you? Been a busy bunch of days since we last talked. Fourth Of July-wise, we'd all planned a giant river float, and so when the day dawned mid-70s-partly-cloudy, we fucking floated anyway. Plans are important.

It was a little hot and a little cold as the sun came and went. I forged the water face down on an air mattress, which was pretty boss until a wave smoked me in the head on the first set of rapids. Knocked my chapeau and sun spectacles right off, and refilled my Coors Light with Clackamas River water. However, when the river turned glassy-smooth and moved slowly, we all hitched our tubes together and made a giant floating friend barge. Lots of laughing and other moments of quality.

Many hours later, after we'd crawled out of the river and roasted our goosebumps in the late afternoon sun, everyone went to Hudson's house for a mini-ramp-orientated BBQ. This scene, right here—with sun-dappled yard, dogs, food, and friends—is quintessential summer stuff, non? Simple folk like myself could not ask for more.

P.S. I stole these pics from my pals' Instagram feeds. River shot: OriginalBK. Mini ramp shot: O_m_k

Denver I Do

After I walked up the side of a mountain and gasped in the razor-thin air; after I ate an all-veg meal from my parents' large garden; after I skated Lafayette park in ungodly heat with Ben and some Midwest road warriors; after I stood outside watching the night sky flash like a pink strobe light with the thunder rolling around in my rib cage; after I smelled fresh rain on hot dirt; after I drank too much wine and played very many matches of ping pong, which is an odd game requiring infinite finesse ... after all that, I watched my big sister get married in her backyard in the city of Denver in the state of Colorado.

If you don't believe in love as a politico-religious institution, then you're in good company. But all you gotta do is watch closely and see the way two people can look at eachother with flashing eyes to know that there's some real-love stuff in this universe (although it gets confused with lots of other of things, I think).

Aaanyway, Melissa and Sarah climbed up in front of a small crowd of people and read some lines they'd written about each other—talked about being a family, about knowing themselves better in the face of each other, about overcoming their own deficiencies in order to form a more perfect kind of whole. Some of us trembled and gripped our hands over our hearts. Some of us blinked away big tears. Say what you want—this lay-your-souls-bare shit is pretty heavy when it's real. The rest of the night was a blur of champagne and ganache. And for real, can you believe we live in a country/world where peeps won't give these two the right to enter into the social contract that is marriage?!

Sarah and Melissa—civil union number 440 in the state of Colorado!

Sizzling at Lafayette, but SO fun.

I never go stag to a wedding.

Wedding DJ of the future!

Summer To-Do List

1. Attend a Fourth of July BBQ. Play with sparklers.

2. Float the river. Obvi, right? But last summer I didn't do it once.

3. Live off watermelons and beer for a while.

4. Cut out everything in my life that isn't absolutely awesome—including the toxic shit and the shit that's of zero note.

5. Drink my first cold-press coffee.

6. Host a backyard cookout under sparkly strings of lights.

7. Take the dog on a road trip somewhere hot. Roll down all the windows, let the air fill the car.

8. Skate more backyard mini ramps. There's just no such thing as too much here.

9. Watch my big sister tie the knot. Maybe cry?

Sk-amping

I'm not sure how I could possibly be lucky enough to have spent a weekend doing things I like very much with 9 other people I like very much. It all started as a plan in my neural pathways but became a skateboarding/camping trip of kinda epic proportions. As the first mision of the summer, there was nothing to compare it to, but I can just  hope that any subsequential trips (of which there'll be many?) will measure up.

First stop, Hood River skatepark; second stop, the Hood River (brrrr); third stop, 76 gas station for ice cream and chips; fourth stop, The Dalles skatepark; fifth stop, the patch of shade beside The Dalles skatepark; sixth stop, our campsite along the Deschutes River. We made camp under the watchful eye of the ranger, who didn't cut us any fucking slack on our perimeter even though we had seven tents to fit. That's okay—it was cozy. Then dusk fell, and so came one of the best parts of any camping trip—sitting around the firepit sharing snacks and sips and stories.

After dark, the wind carried the smell of night and sage brush. The moon, I need to report, was an orange crescent that had risen slowly over our roasting hotdogs, and then a few hours later—as we lounged on a dark hillside neath the stars—plunged back below the horizon impossibly fast. Jesse played the guitar. We all watched it go.

Tight quarters.

Hood River secret spot.

Last light on the Deschutes. No reason why you wouldn't want to stay right there, right then, for, like, ever.

Camp cooks.

Almost as many dogs as humans—at any given moment at least one of them barking.

Morning light, dogs and dudes everywhere.

Big Pat

As a non-kid haver, I'm gonna argue here that age 8-11 is the best window to hang out with other people's kids. I had some family in town recently, including 8-year old nephew Patrick. Most of my favorite moments from the visit were spent just me and him, walking the dog and talking about stuff he's seen and stuff he thinks. No toddler fussiness. No teenager attitude. At this age, they're just cruising around being little humans. It's refreshing.