Nachoes are delicious.

A few Marches ago, I went to Mexico with a bunch of junior traders from Enron. They were fun and loud and rich, and I was friends with them, so they took me along. I am not loud or rich, but I am fun. I snorkeled. I learned that I am allergic to lobster. I saw a pod of gray whales. I stayed in a condo that said (yes, it spoke to me), "Recepción a Cabo San Lucas, Srta. Cavu" when I walked in the door.

Two of the fellows were twins (one with flaming red hair and one with no hair). Sipping pina coladas by the pool, Red Hair told me he and his brother been raised on a commune in rural Oregon, and had both run away from home at 17 to join corporate America. I kid you not.

Then, the shit hit the fan. I got a call at work from Red Hair at 2 in the afternoon on a Tuesday, totally drunk. They'd all been laid off. All good friends. All of them swore they'd never known anything about the mischief going on, although an acquaintance (Who we called Mr. Slapass. He was creepy.) is on trial.

They scattered. Some to New Zealand (suspicious), some to LA, one to Texas, one to Connecticut. I still have my collection of tiny drink umbrellas. And an allergy to lobster.