Nobody's Perfect

Last night I went with a few friends to hear David Sedaris read at Town Hall. I’ve heard him read too many times to count, since he was in independent bookstores decades ago, and then at places like the magnificent high-Victorian Sanders Theater at Harvard, described by Laura Nero, I believe, as “like being inside a roll-top desk.”

The last few readings were underwhelming, honestly—probably they were near-to-last stops on an endless book tour, the material no longer fun for him. Though he read, his meanness and boredom were taking front and center, and for that reason I almost didn’t buy tickets for this show.

Last night, however, was the best I’ve ever seen him, one hundred percent enjoyable and pure Sedaris genius. He was loose, having fun reading only new, as-yet unpublished material, and he was playful. He also had an “opening act,” a Sedaris mini-me named Frederick Buford who read a piece of his own. Like Sedaris, his work was unexpected, a widening gyre of story arc, poignant, and funny.

It was a great night filled with smart and sometimes scatological humor—not something I normally enjoy— so ridiculous and out of nowhere that the nearly two hours flew by.

There is a Doodle dog in town named Penny. She’s only seven, but is suffering from cancer. Her human walks her several times a day on the beach and on the streets, and in the morning she stops by my place to quench her thirst.

“This is the only water bowl she’ll drink out of,” her human says, shaking his head each time.

I’ve told him it’s Evian water, and he almost believes me.

A few days ago I forgot to change the water and Penny stopped by, checked the bowl, and stared at my door. I’m not sure how long they were standing there when I noticed her through the window and rushed out to correct my error.

“I’m so sorry, Penny!” I said, taking the bowl, washing it out with the hose, and filling it with fresh, cool water.

“I tried putting some of her water bottle in it but she wasn’t fooled,” said her human.

I’ve made sure to change that bowl as early as possible ever since, so this morning I was out there a little after 7:00 am, just after getting back from the beach with Alice. As I was stepping back inside, David Sedaris walked by.

“Thank you for last night,” I said to him quietly. “I’ve seen you for decades, and last night seemed special.”

“Oh, thanks,” he said lightly. Before he could walk away I said, “Could I ask you a question?”

Just a tiiiiny pause before, “Sure.”

“What was the name of that kid who read before you? He was incredible.”

And he told me about the kid, Frederick, how he’d eventually learned that his father is Bill Buford, and when I complained that I wished I could read his work, Sedaris said, “You will.” Small smile.

Then he said to me, “May I ask you a question?”

Hell yeah!

“I’ve been asked to work for 60 Minutes as a humorist. When I was a kid and saw Andy Rooney on TV I thought, “That’s my job!” But now I’m not sure I should do it. People are so angry.”

“Well yeah,” I said, “I mean, it’s got Bari Weiss cooties all over it now.”

“But you know, if you met her, she’s the nicest person,” he said.

“That’s what they said about Eva Braun,” I replied.

And that was the moment in time where I surprised David Sedaris. And made him laugh.

“True,” he said, “Plus it’s every week. At some point it would just be, “Oh look, it’s a mailbox, and you put mail in it, but also you can put your hand in it,” he said, pointing to my mailbox.

“Well, it’s Provincetown, so that’s not the also thing they’d put in it, but point taken,” I said.

And that was the second time I surprised David Sedaris, though this time he only smiled.

In case you’re wondering, yes, this was the best morning of my life, made possible by my inability to not say things.

We chatted a few more minutes, then said goodbye, and he walked away without seeming to notice the Nellie statue on my wall. Without even a glance.

I’m sorry, what? And you call yourself an art collector? If only I’d gone in more quickly, I might not have noticed his philistinic flaw.

I guess it’s true what they say about never meeting your heroes.