I do not know Fay Jacobs, I have never met Fay Jacobs, I do not understand why anyone, including Fay Jacobs, would want a pet that cannot purr, and, in the words of Bill Clinton (surprisingly concise, given that it’s taken me a week to get through his childhood in My Life), I have not had relations with that woman.

Impartiality firmly established? Good. BUY FAY’S BOOK! As I Lay Frying comprises her wonderful 1995-2003 columns for Letters, recounting the adventures of Fay, her partner Bonnie, their dogs, and their friends. I haven’t met a more compelling cast of characters since reading the "Little House" books when I was eight—that’s counting all five Harry Potters, The Brothers Karamazov, and, you guessed it, My Life.

I’ve caught Fay’s columns on and off over the years. They’re perfect as discrete pieces, as Fay has the good stand-up comic’s flare for coming full circle—wrapping everything up neatly and getting one last joke in before saying "Good night." They become a thing of power, though, when arranged back-to-back in book form. You get a sense of the passage of seasons, illnesses (and home improvement projects) suffered and moved on from, growth happening…whether it be the growth of a person coming further and further "out," the growth of a family expanding to include new members (schnauzers, mainly), the growth of a country passing through Y2K, Election Heist 2000, 9/11, and war in Iraq, then bumping up against gay marriage…or the growth on Fay’s middle finger (don’t ask; just read).

Years ago, my partner placed a fateful ad in the Blade saying "Funny Girl Seeks Smarty Pants." I’m reminded of this whenever I read Fay’s stuff. Fay’s a funny girl and a smarty pants, and something else: a generous writer. I love a lot of humor columnists, but there’s something different about Fay—you never get the sense that she sat down to write with the sole purpose of being funny. She’s also different from most memoirists, in that her tone never suggests self-importance or "Look at Me!"-ness. When’s the last time you read a memoir and thought of the writer as "generous" for letting you in on his or her life?

(Note to fellow Clinton readers: Fay’s not too generous. Sentences such as "I enjoyed going to the basement to type new names and addresses on plates and put them in file drawers" [My Life, pg. 93] are absent from As I Lay Frying.)

With its 3-4 page segments, As I Lay Frying is great for beach, bed, or bathroom readers, who tend to fall asleep—or flush—after only a few minutes of reading. Of course, it’s also good for people who like to plow right through a book (I’m one of ’em), but my point is: even if you’re not a "big" reader, you’ll dig this book. You’ll re-read passages because you want to, not because you have to, having forgotten what happened since you last sat down to, um, read. This format and the local relevance also make it the perfect book to keep on your guest room’s bedside table or leave in the living room for trustworthy renters to discover.

Suckers for a great turn of phrase (again, I’m one of ’em) will get giddy just flipping through As I Lay Frying. Fay’s worth reading for her similes alone: a computer freezes up like "a lesbian in a roomful of Promise Keepers"; an animal rescue lady’s small car is "packed, like a Rubik’s Cube, with a dozen cages." And though her essays will inevitably be referred to in Friends-episode format (The One About the Scrapple Bust; The One About the Pair of Dykes), Fay writes great titles, including "My Life as Ballast," "Counting Blessings Instead of Sheep," and, for the column covering her and Bonnie’s wedding, the jubilant and moving "We Did, We Did."

All this Book Review Hoo-ha, though, is less important than what I really want to say about Fay’s book.

It made me happy.
I think it will you, too.