🇦🇺 Australian Pie Co. (Burien)
☕️ Burien Press (Burien)
🫚 Rachel’s Ginger Beer (Capitol Hill)
🇲🇾 Kedai Makan (Capitol Hill)
☕️ Narrative Coffee (Everett)
🇵🇭 Fil Up! Food Truck (Everett)
🇻🇳 Lotus Pond Pho (N. Seattle)
🇸🇳 Heritage African Restaurant (Burien)
Kyle Schwarber appreciation post.
C’mon Phillies, keep this man in Philadelphia.
May 2025 could’ve counted as three months! Birthdays, concerts, little weekend trips, freestylin’, and wrapping up a school year.With a new month and the end of the school year, summer is functionally here, even if it has a couple weeks left to technically arrive. Now that my kids are older, summer is becoming more of a *thing* again, and it’s kinda nice. I made a list:
⚽️ Go watch games for all three of our local pro-sports teams.
⛺️ Go camping with the kids… first of our camping adventures kicks off this weekend!
🥛 Make horchata. I’ve got a mango horchata recipe I’ve been wanting to do.
🎙️ Go catch a stand-up act that I’ve been wanting to see. Some interesting names coming through town here in the next few months.
🍽️ Jump in on a Dinner with Strangers event.
🪃 Participate in my first longform improv festival.
🗺️ Take our first trip sans kids to celebrate our 10th wedding anniversary!
I imagine running around and chasing after preschoolers in Disneyland is not everyone’s ideal way to celebrate turning 70, but it was my mom’s and that probably says a lot about her.
Happy birthday mom!
If you’ve seen it, you know the scene…
Go ahead and find ways to spend less time and energy on the things that don't matter as much, but keep it in service of being radically inefficient about the things that really do matter.
Ten years in Tottenham and finally, a trophy to show for it.
There were a lot of points throughout the year where it seemed the years, the injuries, and the burden of having two teams on his shoulder (incl. the Korean Nat’l Squad) had taken their toll.
But he toughed it out and captained that squad through some choppy waters. Glad he’s got some hardware to lift.
Who knew I’d be so knowledgeable about play structures, but this is one of the most unique playgrounds I’ve seen… this to-scale Gulliver’s Travels themed play structure in Valencia, Spain.
I don’t know how many of today’s youth get excited about Jonathan Swift’s giant tale… even the Jack Black movie was long enough ago that playground kids wouldn’t care. But hey, it’s always fun to climb around and slide down a giant’s face.
Philly Spring Break.
Looked like winter.
Tasted like summer.
Felt like the old home.
Introduced the kid to Wooder Ice.
I’m a tad too young to have seen Bill Walton as an active player, but he’s on the short list of guys I know I would’ve been a big fan of if that weren’t the case. The rare triple threat of being a true baller, a total goofball, and a really charitable voice for important causes. Not to mention, a bit of a local legend. Drew this a bit after he passed, but just getting to post it now.
It’s easy to think of time in the studio, in front of the blank page, or at your work station as your creative time and other things as a distraction. But those “distractions” are actually the world that feeds your creative work. Don’t be so committed to the output that you miss this whole other side to creativity.
To the mothers out there
It's easy to associate creativity with time in the studio, and getting your ideas out on paper or on screen.
That's the lower end of the funnel. But what goes into the top?
The broad picture of creativity requires that you go out and live your life so that you can have a rich response to what you see, feel, and do.
There are the men who can’t name a single close friend.
Nearly 30% of people my age report feeling "frequently" or "always" lonely.
But what really gets me? The stats on younger folks—high school and college students. Fewer are dating, hanging out with friends, or even going to parties. The kinds of reckless socializing that used to get kids grounded are now things we look at and say, “Huh… maybe that wasn’t so bad. Maybe it kept us connected. Maybe the kids should party more.”
Of all the issues former Surgeon General Vivek Murthy could have chosen to champion, he chose this one: loneliness. And he paints a picture that feels eerily familiar.
“College dining halls,” he said, “used to be the loudest places I remember. Now they’re quiet. People are listening to something in their earbuds, scrolling on their phones, on their laptops. And when conversations get uncomfortable? It’s easier to just pull out your phone.”
It’s tempting to blame failing institutions for our societal unraveling—but maybe the unraveling started long before. Maybe we missed the warning signs of social collapse.
Sociologist Robert Putnam made this his life’s work. He studied what happened when Italy was reorganized into regions and found a clear pattern: the places with the most community participation—people in clubs, associations, leagues—were the ones that thrived.
Later, he spotted a strange trend in the U.S. Bowling alleys were still busy, but league participation was plummeting. People weren’t bowling less—they were just bowling alone.
This shift tracked almost exactly with the decline of institutional trust and civic engagement in America. Putnam’s findings, laid out in Bowling Alone, hit like a warning bell in the early 2000s. That bell has only gotten louder since.
A recent documentary, Join or Die, revisits his work. It’s full of small-town pastors, historical leaders with membership cards overflowing from their wallets, and moments that made me want to sign up for a book club, a rec league, and maybe city council all at once.
Because participation matters.
The internet has made it easy to see people as little more than walking opinions. Some are constantly shouting theirs; others keep theirs tightly wound. Either way, online, we sort and shelve each other into neat categories: agree, disagree, block, unfollow.
But real life won’t let you do that so easily.
Face-to-face, we’re wired to seek positive interaction. There’s no handle to hide behind, no block button to press. Just another human being in front of you, shaped by a thousand unseen experiences.
Beliefs, after all, are snapshots. They shift over time. Mine certainly have. I’ve had to unlearn things, let go of assumptions, and open myself to perspectives I never considered. Reading helped. So did travel. But more than anything, it was being around other people—really being around them—that pushed me to grow.
One of the most underrated joys of community is that after-event buzz. A play, a game, a fundraiser—and suddenly, you're seeing familiar faces in the crowd. You chat with someone from your small group, nod to someone from work, hug a friend you didn’t expect to see.
It’s not just hanging out with friends. It’s the feeling of belonging to a larger circle. It’s a feeling I used to have in college all the time. These days? Not so much.
But every now and then, it still happens. A few months back, I went solo to a party at the improv theatre I perform at. There were games, karaoke, snacks—and for one night, the place was just for performers. I arrived alone. But the second I stepped inside, I felt like I was among my people.
I didn’t have to know everyone. I just had to know I belonged.
“The most daring thing is to create stable communities in which the terrible disease of loneliness can be cured.”
It’s easy to scoff and say “kids these days” need to just go outside and socialize. But that’s not fair. Community doesn’t just happen. It takes time, effort, space—and those are all in short supply.
Even for me, an unapologetic extrovert, it took years in a new town to build any kind of meaningful rhythm. People are busy, burnt out, working two jobs, living hour to hour.
Putnam once argued that a decline in social bonds can be just as dangerous as an economic collapse. In truth, the two are often entwined.
There’s a theory that suggests a full social life follows the 5-3-1 rule: five interactions a week, three close relationships, one hour a day for connection. Sounds lovely. But who has the time?
Still—when we do get those chances, when we’re offered a sliver of connection—we can choose not to pass it up.
If you’ve got an interest, however small, find a group. If someone invites you to join something, say yes.
Because in the end, the most meaningful things we do will always involve other people. And it’s far too easy to forget that.
Drew this inspired by some photos I took 15 years ago at an estancia in Argentina. Haven’t been back since but really hope that changes soon.
I turn 35 today, which makes me the same age as Steve Martin’s character in Parenthood (1989), see attached for reference.
I’ve had no shortage of reminders lately of how fast it all goes and what a gift it is to be here. Feeling grateful for it all.
It was a very good pre-birthday weekend.
Got to catch an art show & live set from G. Love at The Soap Factory… really fun venue for a show.
There was live painting…
A free roaming dog or two…
All the verses of Baby’s Got Sauce come right back like riding a bike. And we got a great moment of improvised jam with a local artist all while I’m still on my blues kick from Sinners.
Then AAPI Night at the San Diego Wave…
Pretty exciting match with a game-winner at the 95th minute.
Bing bop boom boom boom bop bam
Proud dad moment: Seeing Rhys nail the target with the Phillie Phanatic’s hot dog cannon.
Bravo Tina!
Chocolates Valor
Pretty pleased with this hat pickup from Gilda in Philly.
Only the quickest little pit stop in PDX, but actually my first time flying through here since they redid the airport.
My ongoing mission continues… seeking out Filipino food in places you might not expect. One of Helsinki’s classic food halls offered up Kalamig. Talked to the owner here, and she’s been in Finland for 30ish years. Ordered up a simple roast manok, since sometimes in Filipinos cuisine, the simplest dishes impress me the most.
Pokémon squad’s about to be unstoppable with Rhys’ Mewtwo in the mix
Cardiac walkthrough at The Franklin Institute in Philly… basically like living through a Magic School Bus episode.
She’s *TEN*
I grew up in Philly. At least partly. My bicoastal childhood had two acts, and though Philly got the earlier half, the one I don’t remember quite as strongly, it made its mark. This is probably most noticeable during baseball season, when I ride hard with my Phillies, during improv scenes when I play up Philly characters, or whenever I say the words water or orange.
Despite those hallmarks, though, it has been a while. When my aunts moved to LA years ago, I no longer had any family or close friends remaining in the city. And since time passes pretty quickly, it's been over a decade since I’ve been back.
My five year old just so happened to be on Spring Break, and when I weighed the options of spending extra on babysitters and manipulating my schedule yet again versus the prospect of taking a few days off and going on a trip… it was an obvious choice. Plus, it’s not like Philly is the most in-demand destination for early April.
We wound up getting water ice on our very first day. We spent a day in the Franklin Institute, which has an impressive set of displays for kids to enjoy. He got to try his first and second cheesesteaks as we ate at Dalessandro’s and Chubbies’ back-to-back. (For what it’s worth, Dalessandro’s was my pick for the winner and he had the opposite take. Love a kid who forms his own opinions!)
And of course, we went to a Phillies game and it was a treat to see them face the unbeaten Dodgers and hand them their first loss. Citizens Bank Park is an electric place.
It was a short and simple trip that reminded me of how much I missed Wawa and that made me wonder about my “how-it-could’ve-gone” life like the movie Past Lives.
Another father-son trip that was truly the best. Having just renewed his passport, I’ve got to note the pretty cool collection of stamps we got in his first issue: the Philippines, Guatemala, Spain, Canada, Portugal, Estonia, and Finland.
He and I have done more trips than my twins, but that’s just because they’re younger! In my notes app, I have an ongoing brainstorm of ways to make sure they’re equally treated to some fun trips with Dad.
Is it a lot? Probably, and I’m aware of it. But travel is one of my favorite things about being alive, and it’s a love I’m happy to pass on to them. At the very least, I want them to be well-introduced to different places and cultures and to give them a chance to develop a love of travel on their own.
Also, in a family of five, a full house is our norm. I wouldn’t have it any other way, but there are tradeoffs. One of those trade-offs is the fact that traveling with our full-sized family is pretty expensive and that each individual traveler probably gets a little less out of the experience as we compromise for five rather than two. Another one is that one-on-one time is scarce. When caring for three, it’s easy to get caught up in my role as a referee for the inevitable spats three kids close in age will get into. When I get a little extended one-on-one time, it becomes so much easier to appreciate each kid’s unique persona.
Being able to do this, of course, is a really big privilege. I can’t take for granted that I’m pretty fortunate to have the resources, the time, the health to take these trips… not to mention the spouse and support system that leaves the other two kids in good hands.
But that’s all the more reason not to squander the opportunity.
I’ve been told that my dad had a map that he marked of places he wished to take me someday. He passed away when I was five, and since most of our time together was taken by me being a baby, then him being sick, we never actually did get to do a whole lot of travel. I’ve heard stories of a late-stage trip to Hawaii that he and my mom took, both thinking they were doing it for each other, that ended up being rather difficult.
Unfortunately, nobody really took a picture of that map. Much like his record-collection which was sold at a garage sale before I had an appreciation for older music, it’ll remain a mystery about how much our tastes overlapped. Even more so, I’m curious how many of them I ultimately found my way to on my own. I’ve made it to every state and nearly 60 countries, so there have got to be a few! I do wonder which was the most unlikely.
I don’t take the opportunity to travel with my kids for granted. It’s something my dad wished for and never got. And in an alternate timeline where we got more time together, I bet it’s a fondness we would have shared.
It’s not just about the trips, though.
I mean, whenever I have the chance to go big, I love going big. In Finland, we made our way into the Arctic Circle to watch the Northern Lights. But I also realize that the thing that’s even bigger than the destination is the time we get together.
While my hope is to do a bigger one-on-one trip each year, with the kids in rotation, I also try to make sure that once a month we also get a special field trip, whether it’s a museum or a hike or a market. It’s a lot of coordinating on top of all the coordinating that already happens, but I’ve been reassured by my friends with grown children that it’s a move that won’t be regretted.
The house I grew up in, where I was living when I was five years old.
We found it in the Northeast Suburbs.
It actually wasn’t the easiest house to track down. I lived there at a time before I had a sense of Philadelphia’s geography. I could barely remember the street name. But with a little sleuthing, I found the street, then the house number.
It appears that the house last sold in 2010, and the photos from that listing show an interior a little bit different than the one I remember. When I lived there it was a total 70’s house (in the 90’s). I’m talking about bright yellow sunflower print wallpaper, avocado green shag carpeting, and elaborate gold trim on everything. I can’t say I’m surprised the more recent occupants decided it wasn’t their taste.
But the layout was still there. I saw the lowered den that served as my playroom, the one that opened into the backyard where I had some of my earliest birthday parties.
The house probably has an odd spot in my family’s story. It was never owned by my parents, but instead by my aunts, who offered it to assist with caretaking. It was where my dad passed away. Shortly afterwards, my mom didn’t want to stay there much longer, which makes total sense. But in that window of time it became home to me.
When I did a neighborhood walk through with my five year old, it seemed like it remained a pretty nice house, and only twenty minutes outside of the city.
As it turns out, the neighborhood I grew up in has become pretty cool. Or maybe it was always cool and I just wouldn’t have known. But there are plenty of neat coffee shops in the area, and some international flavors you don’t see everywhere. There were a number of Georgian restaurants and a lot of spots to get khachapuri. We even got dinner afterwards at an Uzbek restaurant.
Her calculation was Biblical. Sort of. Psalm 90 poetically says that the days of our years are threescore years and ten, which tally up to 70, but English was her second language. Also, she had absurdly good genetics, eventually reaching the age of 98. So maybe she was adjusting for inflation.
But what struck me was that concept of living in bonus time.
My oldest kid is the same age I was when my dad passed away. In two years, my twins will also cross that threshold. Thinking of that makes me realize that every moment I get with him from here on out will be an opportunity that my dad didn’t quite get with me.
Parenthood is a busy ordeal, but I want it to be less of a series of things I must do, and more of a gift I get to wake up to each day.
Lately, the membrane between life and death has felt thinner than normal, perhaps thanks to Easter and several dramatic health episodes among people in my orbit. But I don’t ever want to lose sight of the fact that I’m living in the years of fatherhood that my dad didn’t get. In the years of adulthood a dearly missed friend didn’t get. In a decade that my grandma didn’t get.
It’s a gift to be here. A really big gift.
Hands down the easiest and most enjoyable time I’ve had going from one country to another: the ferry between Finland and Estonia.
