David Sedaris

David Sedaris spoke at our local Joseph-Beth bookstore a week or so ago. He signed books and read a couple of short pieces, Cat Got Your Tongue and Turbulence, a story recently published in the New Yorker.

I have yet to actually read one of his books. Both titles that I know him for, Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim and Me Talk Pretty One Day, I've listened to as audio books, read by David Sedaris himself. His books lend themselves to the audio book format as well as any I can think of, as they are mostly auto-biographical stories, and hearing them told in the author's voice, with the occasional impersonation thrown in, is awfully entertaining. Plus, the sarcasm and wit are spot on.

When I read Turbulence the first time, it was the first story of his that I had read, rather than listened to. While I was reading it, I couldn't help but try to read it in his voice, or the voice that I imagined him using. When I heard him read the story in person, I think I got it pretty close, but it was still better hearing him read it.

When I arrived at the bookstore, David Sedaris was already signing for the early arrivers who had gathered around the fireplace area where he was to read. Shortly he began wandering around the store, signing for small sections at random. I noticed that he was trailed by two young women who carried a small basket filled with bills, but I was unable to make out what it was for when he announced it with his un-amplified voice. He would explain later that he was simply asking people to give him money, and many, it seemed, were doing so.

He only spoke for about an hour, which suited me just fine, as there wasn't anywhere to sit for most of us outside the intimate circle that gathered around him, and the woman in front of me spent the entire hour slowly working her way back into the small pocket of space I had claimed for myself.

After reading his two pieces, he shared several anecdotes, discussing, among other things, people who defecate in dressing rooms. When he spoke of Hugh, he didn't feel the need to explain who Hugh might be, knowing that his audience would already know. He also plugged his newest book, Children Playing Before a Statue of Hercules, a collection of short stories by other authors that he put together to benefit 826NYC, a nonprofit organization that tutors young students in creative writing.

Afterwards I decided not to wait in line for the autograph. I would have had to purchase a book for him to sign, and the line snaking through the shelving and up the staircase promised to hold at least two hours of shuffling and waiting, shuffling and waiting. I'm not too fond of autographs, anyway - nor lines - and every time I'm in a position to meet someone I admire, I can only think of the most inane things to say.