Skip to main content

David Sedaris

 David Sedaris doesn't care whether we like him -- and this sense of indifference is his superpower.


Sedaris is repelled by certain pandemic-era behaviors. If you use the word "heroes," "hunker-down," "new normal," then you're disinvited from a Sedaris dinner party. Also, Sedaris thinks it's absurd that people are angry that Ellen DeGeneres lives in a mansion. Do you know who bought that mansion? You did, when you supported "Finding Nemo."

Bluntly, Sedaris recalls visiting a white movie star many years ago. A Black woman was dishing out the meal. "You make her work so late?" asked Sedaris. And the movie star said, "She's not my employee. She's my wife."

This level of honesty is impressive to me. It's more impressive than Anna Kendrick appearing on "Colbert," announcing that she spent the weekend watching the documentary "13th," so she could educate herself.

Finally, and boldly, Sedaris expresses some impatience with the orthodoxies of 2022. "Five years ago, I could begin a story by noting that I woke up and washed my face. Today, if I wrote that, people would post on the Times site: How lucky for you that you can *wash* your *face* ... That must be nice. I can't even remember what it's like to have a face. I have only a neck and one cheek. If I tried to wash, the water would dribble down to my toes, or it would just collect in a pond, in the crater where my nose once was. But do go on. Do tell me about your washing process. And enjoy your privilege...."

I admire Sedaris's ballsiness, and his commitment to his art. He says he is a poor teacher, but I think he *does* teach; he teaches people effectively, through his fearless writing.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...
3 comments
Read more

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...
1 comment
Read more

My Favorite Pop Song

  One thing I admire about Prince is his weirdly pretentious verses: Dream, if you can, a courtyard-- An ocean of violets in bloom. Also: Touch, if you will, my stomach. Feel how it trembles inside. No one else writes like this. Did people try to shoot down these choices? Did a producer say, "We'd like to rethink this one... Touch, if you will, my stomach...."  I can't help but wonder. But it's the chorus that makes this a classic. It's direct and universal--and it ends with that bizarre flourish, the allusion to "the crying doves." (Prince's song was number one in America for quite a while; it defeated Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark.") How can you just leave me standing-- Alone in a world that's so cold? Maybe I'm just too demanding. Maybe I'm just like my father--too bold. Maybe you're just like my mother; She's never satisfied. Why do we scream at each other? This is what it sounds like when doves cr...
Post a Comment
Read more