LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
Booked Solid |
a review by Rebecca James |
Me Talk Pretty One Day, by David Sedaris David Sedaris on meeting Mr. Right: "Potential boyfriends could not smoke Merit cigarettes, own or wear a pair of cowboy boots...disqualifying phrases included 'I can't find my nipple ring'...they could not consider the human scalp an appropriate palette for self-expression, could not own a rainbow flag, and could not say they had 'discovered' any shop or restaurant currently listed in the phone book. Age, race, and weight were unimportant. In terms of mutual interests, I figured we could spend the rest of our lives discussing how much we hated the aforementioned characteristics." In his latest collection of essays, David Sedaris shows the same dry, self-deprecating and pessimistic wit that earned him so many laughs with Naked. Sedaris is unabashedly politically incorrect and absolutely hilarious. Me Talk Pretty One Day allows another peek into the mind of a true artist. Granted, Sedaris will be the first to admit he is completely under qualified for this distinction and, if anything, is simply a master of disclosing the mundane absurdities in life. As Sedaris lets loose the family secrets, readers are introduced to an unusual cast of characters. From Special Agent Samson, his evil 'thate thertified thpeech therapith' to Mr. Mancini, the womanizing, midget music instructor, Sedaris describes with deadpan delivery the trials of his youth. "Mr. Mancini had a singular talent for making me feel uncomfortable. He forced me to consider things I'd rather not think aboutthe sex of my guitar for instance. If I honestly wanted to put my hands on a woman, would that automatically mean that I could play? Gretchen's teacher never told her to think of her piano as a boy. Neither did Lisa's flute teacher, though in that case the analogy was fairly obvious. On the off chance that sexual desire was all it took, I steered clear of Lisa's instrument, fearing I might be labeled a prodigy." Clearly, his talents lay elsewhere. In the essay Twelve Moments in the Life of the Artist, Sedaris describes his grand entrance into the art world. After a brief stint in college, Sedaris is convinced that although he is a failure with drawing, painting, sculpture and music, his creative edge is merely lying dormant, waiting with lessening patience to be revealed. It is then that Sedaris discovers conceptual art...and crystal methamphetamine. "Either one of these things is dangerous, but in combination they have the potential to destroy entire civilizations." After alienating most of his friends with talk of mental real estate and late night phone calls, he is turned onto a group of "hyperactive brainiacs who shared [his] taste for amphetamines and the word manifesto." Together they find a raw space to work on their pieces (translation: cheap empty warehouse to build sculptures from human hair, garbage and feces) and set about creating living art. It's only when the drugs run out that reality returns and Sedaris moves on to a life free of metaphors and symbolism. Sometimes trash is really just trash. With professional musician and performance artist crossed off the potential career list, Sedaris turns to one odd job after another. The 1990s find him in New York City hocking collections of badly written Beat poetry and moving furniture for a communist moving company with a group of comrades like no other. "Together we resembled the cast of a dopey situation comedy, something called Grin and Bear It or Hello, Dolly. The part-time helpers included Lyle, a guitar-playing folksinger from Queens, and Ivan, a Russian immigrant on medication for what had been diagnosed as residual schizophrenia. I worked full-time, most often with a convicted murderer named Richie, who, at six feet four and close to 350 pounds, was a poster boy for both the moving industry and the failure of the criminal rehabilitation system... 'I can't promise I'll never kill anyone again,' he once said, strapping a refrigerator to his back. 'It's unrealistic to live your life within such strict parameters.'" The most entertaining stories are those Sedaris relates about his childhood. Transplanted Yankees living in North Carolina with six children, multiple personalities and a healthy dislike for the phrase "y'all" earn a certain degree of lunacy. An entire essay dedicated to 'The Rooster', Sedaris' younger brother (and the only native Carolinian in the family), Paul, describes the curiosities of genetics versus environment. "The Raleigh accent is soft and beautifully cadenced, but my brother's is a more complex hybrid, informed by his professional relationships with marble-mouthed, deep-country work crews and his abiding love of hard-core rap music. He talks so fast that even his friends have a hard time understanding him. It's like listening to a foreigner and deciphering only shit, bitch and the single phrase You can't kill the Rooster." Sedaris also tackles living in a foreign country with his beau, Hugh. A good portion of the book is written about their adventures in rural France, where Sedaris, armed only with the French words for bottleneck and ashtray, attempts to acclimate himself. He fares only slightly better in Paris, due in part to the large number of movie houses available. Me Talk Pretty One Day follows Sedaris' mind as he meanders through life looking for meaning and a funny story to share. Sedaris' essays move freely throughout time and space, which can be a little disconcerting if you expect them to progress towards some climactic revelation about life or growing older. Instead, Me Talk Pretty One Day is the kind of book you can open randomly and read a few pages at a time. It is laugh-out-loud funny, intelligent and completely irreverent. Currently on the New York Times nonfiction bestsellers list and only available in hardback. Enjoy! Rebecca James lives, reads and writes in Rehoboth Beach and is currently practicing massage to support these habits. She may be reached for home visits at 226-9685 or at Spa by the Sea on Baltimore Avenue, 227-8640. |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 10, No. 11, Aug. 11, 2000. |