Tin fish at Club Snug
Diary entry for January 1, 2025
I aim to write daily entries for the first month of January and see where it takes me. After today, I may try grouping my entries into weekly posts. But for now, here is today’s entry. Happy New Year!
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January 1, 2025
New Year's Eve. D+E were throwing a party in Bernal Heights. Club Snug, we called it. One house. Three iconic DJs. A table full of tin fish. An assortment of cheeses. The best darn potato chips, dusted with paprika. Elevated snacks, we called them. With the good champagne. Breathers or smoke breaks on the back porch. If 2024 was the beginning of the end, we were going out strong.
“The music sounded great, even outside. We could hear everything. These are 100-year-old windows, after all.”
“In San Francisco, windows are more of a suggestion.”
The cats were lounging in the living room. I had never noticed until tonight, with the tree up, the stockings still on the mantel, the fireplace going, that D+E had midcentury modern furniture resting low to the ground, making the room deliciously cozy for conversation.
The dining room was cleared into a dance floor. Speakers lined the front of the room near the DJ setup. So many knobs. I was astonished. They’ve hacked into the mainframe—something I always think when I see so much technology lined up.
One of us would randomly take photos with a heavy Polaroid camera. Were we all models? Tonight, yes.
Everyone was here to have a good time. More than 10 people, less than 15: an intimate setting where we could all really let loose and keep it casual.
Why don’t we write about fun like we write about romance? It needs more of our attention.
Conversation flowed, and people filtered through the different rooms. With the colorful lights transitioning from pink to lavender to blue, you could appreciate the entirety of the art on the wall.
The canvas was a massive strip of butcher paper with about six strokes of dark green paint, an excellent circle in one corner, and a few depictions of spring grass. A friend made it, and it’s been up since D+E moved in last fall. At the top corner, you could see someone’s name written in Japanese in gray paint. For a moment, I thought about spring. It wasn’t too far away.
On New Year’s Eve, we were moments away from January. The night was cold enough to make the sky clear. We talked in a small circle on the porch and saw so many stars. We pointed to planets.
“That one and that one and that one.” Planets don’t sparkle like stars.
In the kitchen, before the dancing picked up, E told me what the swim from Alcatraz was really like. She is the one who got me into The Dolphin Club. E is one of my most athletic friends and inspires me. Sure, I love swimming in The Bay, but the New Year's Swim? That’s now off my list. I don’t see this on my year’s trajectory. Maybe I’m not all that brave.
“So, you get to Alcatraz by 6 AM, and you and hundreds of people just dive into the black waters. I mean, you’re completely swimming in the pitch dark. The sun doesn’t even come up until you’re halfway to shore. Well, you get to see the sunrise from the water, which is really cool. I’m glad I did it, but I will likely never do it again.”
“Wow, that is terrifying. I’ve completely changed my mind. I don’t want that goal anymore.”
Maybe one day? There are a lot of things I’m glad I did but will never do again.
When D+E hit the booth, I thought—they made marriage iconic.
DT wore a SWEAT concert shirt and a necklace made of big plastic lollipops: a new look for him, and we loved every detail.
S and N were friends-of-friends I had heard about but didn’t meet until tonight. They happen to be two founders of a startup, and astonishingly, very normal, just working on a very specific problem in supply chain logistics: creating software to replace a niche legal process in customs for freight.
T had the friendliest face and gold-rimmed glasses, bangs, and hair in a ponytail. I heard D say she was one of the best coders he’s ever met.
E’s sister told me she finally read the book I had told her months ago: Small Things Like These. When I was in Dublin, I happened to meet the author’s brother-in-law, a retired Catholic priest who struck up a conversation with us at The Bald Barista. The book is lovely. It’ll be remembered as a Great book. And the story of how I learned about the book was strange, too, so I told E’s sister about it when we were all at Green Apple Books in April.
Everyone liked everyone here. There were no bad moods. Was it the spirit of the evening, or was it the rapport we had right off the bat? There’s just something about meeting your friends’ friends where you lock in, and quick.
Around the table of tin fish, I asked S to try every fish and then tell me which was the best. Eventually, I tried the fish pâté with him, and I was right: it tasted like cat food. But the tuna and the smoked sardines were incredible. There were two cans of mussels bathed in squid ink.
We continued to dance in circles. At one point, we were stretching on the floor like we were in a jazz/tap combo. Dancing turned to talking, which turned to dancing again.
It’s hard to write about fun, or what a party actually feels like. But I think it’s in the details. When you write about fun, what you’re trying to express is the feeling that everyone is on the same wave of the moment. Saying yes, yes, yes!
I want to make it a point to remember the joy I have on a regular basis. At one point, when E was at the booth, I turned to her sister and said, “Is this the best night of our lives?”
2025 feels as cataclysmic as it feels like a diva year. Doesn’t it?
It’s good to feel glee when it’s so tempting to think about doom.
It’s always hard to hold both.
And I think that’s part of fun—being so present you may be forgetting. Or figuring out how to set it all down: the worry you carry, the concerns, the grief. You have to find a way to set it down.
That was a fun night.
Now, I’m writing on the first day of 2025.
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This is a writing project when I share diary entries. I write, do one edit, and publish. I run an entry through a large language model like ChatGPT to see what lessons or insights or mantras it spits back at me. These insights are often feel obvious, bu’s a fun way to see your writing reflected back at you.
Insights from ChatGPT:
Fun deserves the same attention as romance; it’s the joy of being fully present.
Sometimes, being with the right people is what makes a night unforgettable.
Let your surroundings inspire reflection—stars, art, and music hold meaning when you notice them.
Write about the details—they’re where joy and meaning often live.
Fun isn’t just an escape; it’s a way of recharging your spirit for what’s ahead.
Dancing is as much about letting go as it is about moving your body.
Reflecting on the past with gratitude paves the way for joy in the future.
Surround yourself with people who inspire you—they’re the ones who make life feel full.
The start of a new year is a chance to embrace joy, even when life feels uncertain.