David Sedaris Reduced Me to a Five-Year-Old

I was at the Border’s, in Chicago, in ’00 or ’01 — just when “literary readings” were getting big, again, like going to a concert, or a movie — and there he was.

Little bow tie, button-down vest, full-tilt “nerd” apparatus.  Obviously, it was to get him “focused”: to stare down at the page, center on it, bring it up to life, out through the microphone, and . . .

BLAM!  Bomb after bomb fell, like a rock star, out of this eye of the hurricane — the place was packed, I tell you!  And the roars just rippled and rippled through the crowd.  It was awesome.

LATER:  I tried to read a bunch of ’em — Naked, Barrel Fever, and one other, I can’t remember — but it wasn’t as good!  It wasn’t the same!

I’m like: “Mommy … will you read to me?”


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