I was sitting in Finnegan’s Wake, one of my favorite bars in San Francisco with my friend Grover last month when my cell phone began making noise. I was getting a text message from Walter Iooss: “Where can I send you my new book for you to review?”
At this point in the evening, I must confess, I had consumed a few too many beers, so my first thought was that Walter had made a mistake and wanted to send an editor his new portfolio. I texted him back some smart ass remark about being drunk, probably accusing him of the same, and closed the phone, laughing.
A few minutes later, it went off again.
“For SportsShooter.com you wino! I’m sober and going to bed,” Walter said.