  Im walking like an old man tonight. Shopping isnt something I can do yet, but of course the promise of material goods outweigh the promise of physical discomfort. Thats what fashion is all about, no? Not only did the Earth shake (see earlier post below), but my world shook today.
DAVID SEDARIS on NPR? Granted, hes not the hero of mine that Sarah Vowell is (theyre pals), but when you await someones new book release like an aging KISS fan in a sleeping bag outside a Ticketmaster outlet. Well you get a little excited is all. And yes, I looked for him on BookTV when I was at my folks house last weekend. Its a goddamned bestseller. And considering thatd be happy, like D.P. Witchface, if 95% of the population were incinerated by tomorrows sunrise, Im personally a little surprised by this.
Hes a weird little gay man who hates most of you. Is this an episode where unknowing idiots sign onto that willing suspension from realizing their own names within the text? Just to be in on the joke if someone more cultured than you drops his name at one of your fabulous dinner parties? I laugh out loud so much when I read his shit, Im afraid I appear more sauced than I may actually be in truth. The story about him cleaning apartments for money, his # getting mixed up with another cleaning service advertised in a fag rag. The sweaty monster who peals off his shorts and masturbates openly to gay porn while David blithely turns the vacuum back on as a way to mask the sound of the mans hand smacking against the papers constituting a skyscraper of gay porn on the couch beside him.
Yes, that story. One of those that did NOT make it into the New Yorker. When youre drinking beer alone in public in the middle of a beautiful day, its a little suspect when youre laughing too hard to catch your breath, alternately sniffing and wiping tears from your face. Too many words are required to explain that its not a tangential relation to your empty mug. Or to even give these moments a proper context enough to even post excerpts here.
Emotions on the surface, I came upon one of his stories that wasnt funny at all. In fact, I had to stare at something far off in the distance to keep myself from collapsing into a full-body sob. Ive been unusually emotional since dropping off of that drug I was taking so much of (max dose) for a year now. Cold turkey syndrome. But the story. Was mysteriously named in a decidedly non-English word  never explained within its short few pages. It told of his having been kicked out of his parents house. For being gay. Hm. Just like me!
My throat swelled. Almost a year ago to date, my mom told me to get lost or listen to her demoralize me and every queer on the planet at will and to my face. The story ends with his mother sobbing in the car, there to help her son move out and finally dropping him off at his older sisters apartment. Sobbing, Im sorry, Im sorry, Im sorry while he wonders after the fact about the actual gravity of the moment that he missed as a stoned youth.
I think you have to be a freak to really appreciate this man. The humor is transparent, but the subtext is much more than that. Being a writer, Im both inspired by him and duly forewarned about his familial pitfalls regarding his place in the world as a best selling writer of fiction that largely involves them. Mom doesnt want to her of my affinity for Secretary, a film about self-inflicted violence and sadomasochism (especially as a love story, for petes sake). Tis why she does not and shall not have access to this page. 
