My older brother, Mike, lives in upstate New York; I live three time zones west, in downtown LA. His birthday is the day before mine, and once a year we call each other at the precise time of night when it’s already my birthday where he is and still his birthday where I am. These annual phone calls have become one of the few times we talk. It’s not that we’ve had some huge falling-out. The gulf between us is more mundane: though we once shared a bunk bed, rode the same school bus, and spent every day playing together, as adults we live different lifestyles on opposite coasts. Mike is a father of two, a self-professed “NPR nerd” who works at a small college as the campus photographer. He would rather spend a Friday night at home reading National Geographic than hitting every bar in Echo Park, the way I often do. Mike likes to take his family square-dancing. I like going to the strip club.