Today's trip to the book fair went even better than I'd expected!

After getting off to a bit of late start and finally finding a parking spot on the ninth level of an 11-story garage, we arrived at the fair in time for the one (and only) session I had confirmed myself for -- only to find out I didn't need to bring the confirmation after all. While listening to Art Spiegelman speak, one of my co-workers -- whose wife is basically in charge of the whole event -- came over with a media pass. "This will get you into anything, regardless of whether or not it's full," he told me.

It was music to my ears. I was so ecstatic that I completely forgot to have Spiegelman sign either of the books -- Maus and Open Me ... I'm a Dog -- I'd brought with me.

I am not the type to take advantage of my status as a member of the press. You see: I don't really write. And, if I did, I wouldn't be covering the book fair. But, I put the pass around my neck, nonetheless, and smiled, knowing there would be more events for me, after all.

I stayed in the room for the next session, Dave Barry and Frank McCourt. I couldn't imagine what the author of "Boogers Are My Beat" would have in common with the author of "Angela's Ashes," but it turned out that they were more similar than not. Both were very articulate and funny, and I might have to pick up any (or all) of McCourt's books, just to see if his wonderful Irish voice comes shining through.

After that session, I went over to Children's Alley, where my cousin had presented her book, and was now signing autographs. There were a few takers, but most people were looking for Jeff Kinney, who wrote "Diary of a Wimpy Kid." From the amount of kids who stopped at our table, I'd say he has a really big following. Unfortunately, he was nowhere near where we were, so I don't know if any of them actually got to see him.

Then, I headed back for another session -- stopping along the way to spend $7 on a hot dog and frozen lemonade and $20 on books -- where I got to see Francine Prose, Carl Hiaasen and others read the works of other artists who were under surveillance. This was not what I'd imagined, but it was somewhat interesting. When Esmeralda Santiago began reciting poetry in Spanish, many people got up and left. I took this as my cue to head to the restroom before we headed back to the garage and went home.

All in all -- a great success! Stay tuned for my Sunday adventures in tomorrow's post.