Author: David Sedaris
Last week David Sedaris was in Salt Lake City, and I was at Disneyland. So I decided to read one of his collections of essays to get myself over the pain of not taking the opportunity to see him in person (I know my crush on him will forever be unrequited, but still, being in his presence would have been nice). If you've known me since early childhood, or at least since college, you know that I've never been shy about being naked, so the topic and the author had me convinced that this would be a great read.
There were essays that I loved. I laughed so hard in "True Detective" that I almost hyperventilated. And maybe it was because I tried to read the book in basically a single sitting (doing as much vegetating as possible before spring term starts tomorrow) and I think it would have been better in small doses. I have had such a straightforward, from A to B, normal, boring kind of life that reading about Sedaris's adventures in housepainting and migrant farm working, and hitchhiking with a paraplegic roommate always leave me feeling pale and unadventurous by comparison. Until we got to the nudist colony essay. I would have felt right at home there.