April 26, 2003 - 8:16 a.m.

I met Max during my first week of college. He was skipping across the quad carrying a bowl of ice cream with a parrot dangling from his ear. He turned out to be neither a mental patient nor a pirate, but despite my initial disappointment, we formed a bond that has lasted lo these many years.

Max now lives in Guadalajara with the lovely and talented 99, where they may or may not be international spies. I really can't say any more than that, or I'd have to kill you. Although, since nobody's reading this, that wouldn't take too much time out of my day. With any luck, you live nearby, which would make it that much more convenient.

Anyway, Max is on his way to a "conference" in Las Vegas this weekend and has a three-hour layover at SFO. So I'm going to hang out at the airport for fun. It's not just for religious freaks anymore.

David Sedaris and I don't have as much of a bond, frankly. He's always been a bit standoffish with me, if you want to know the truth. But who knows? Maybe tonight will be the night to change all that. Maybe tomorrow I'll be writing in here about how Dave and I really hit it off after the reading and now he's one of my best buddies and we partied in the streets of Santa Cruz, drinking hard liquor and making snide comments about passers-by. But that probably won't happen, so don't get your hopes up.

I'll close with a brief word of advice -- if you have to get up at 8 on a Saturday morning to go hang out at the airport, it's probably best to keep vodka consumption to a minimum on Friday night. Just a little tip from me to you.

Ouch.

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