Two e-mails from John in my inbox, one about the Star Wars re-release, the other about Lucas as a Stormtrooper action figure. The CC: list could have been the same one from a decade ago: Jason, Pedro, Lora, Chris, Adam and me. The college friends. Five computer nerds and an English major, all sporting serious Coca-Cola addictions.

Except now we're scattered and I'm drinking Diet Coke.

John's somewhere in the wilds of Maryland and we assume Jason's somewhere nearby, because they were roommates at one point, what with their assorted dealings and careers in different branches of the federal government. The last I heard, Chris was in San Diego with his new wife, and we haven't seen or heard from Lora and Pedro since the first Christmas John was in town, which was right after we bought the house, so three and a half years now, and as far as I know they could be living on the other side of town or the other side of the planet and we'd never know. And Jason got married to some girl we've never met, and I only know this because I heard about it from John who is just as sporadic with his e-mailings as I am with mine, but I know he reads here religiously, and when I think of it like that, for a moment, he's only across the quad from me, a five-digit-dial away.

Those were my best friends in the days when I was trying to figure out who I was. They were the first friends I made because they enjoyed my company and not because, y'know, we'd been in Mrs. Clarke's kindergarten class. They were my first exposure to high-functioning nerdom.

Oh, c'mon, I started this post referencing two Star Wars geektastic announcements. We're so nerds, dude.

And wow, inseperable doesn't begin to describe it. I sometimes think that for about 18 months, where there was one of us, you'd find another. Adam, Jason and Pedro shared the house on Pitt Street that Alex would later buy, John and I were the dorm rats, and there were couples. Now, if we had our own little reunion, I'm sure we'd laugh about the minor weed burning incident, lunches on campus and late nights at the Frontier and the standing Friday night dinner-and-a-movie routine.

But you know, time moves on, people grow up. Lora and Pedro tied the knot in '99. Jason hightailed it out of Albuquerque in 2000. John followed in 2001. Chris drifted. We drifted.

Now our friends (our friends, not my friends, because hellooooooooooo, marriage) are Tom and Mikey and Sam and Ben and Gwyneth and Alex and Tracy. Car guys and the women who humor them. And when we see them, it's not for Star Wars followed by Garduños, where we tell the waitress to just bring us a pitcher, we all want Coke, don't worry, we'll tip ya good. Now it's hot days in the garage and Guinness and Mountain Dew and slabs of meat out on the grill and the HBO Sunday night line up and discussions about ferrets and Ferraris. "Our grown up friends," I like to say to Adam, which makes him snort and shake his head.

I know in another ten years, there will be another, different list of names for you to read and be like "boooooooooooring!" and while I'd like to kid myself into thinking there'll be a bunch of overlap from the college friends and the current couch crashers, well, that's up to time and fate.

And oh, god. I just pictured a bunch of the current crowd reproducing and, in ten years, the garage overrun with the next generation of high-functioning nerdom, and I think on that note, I'm going to sign off, because scary, y'know?

Good way to shake off this maudlin mood. Damn you, John. This is all your fault.

Tomorrow, I'll come back and tell you all about installing the new suspension on the car, and we'll all just forget this little sentimental journey, what say, eh?

I thought so.