I am finally getting to see David Sedaris live tonight. It’s been a long time coming (I had a chance to see him in a small independent book store when he was signing his last book, but the plans got thwarted at the last minute which made me sadfaced)
I have not yet read his latest book, Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk: A Modest Bestiary, but I am pretty desperate to do so. I kind of want to buy his book for him to sign in hopes of witnessing an equally bizarre experience as noted in this article:
“I was in Fargo and this woman left after the reading and came later to get a book signed and she had a little plastic container, and she had gone home, and it was a plastic container of breast milk, and she wanted me to sign the container. And I said, ‘Can I smell it?’ And she said sure and lifted up the lid and she looked at me and said, ‘We both know where this is going.’ And I said, ‘We do.’ I didn’t drink all of it. I just had to taste it, you know?”
—David Sedaris is still pretty punk in his own way.
But let’s be honest, I can’t think of Sedaris without envisioning him having to restrain himself from patting my head while walking down the aisles on airplanes so I secretly just want him to pat my head. I suspect I’m not the only one.