Who's Your Daddy?

Quoth my Blogger profile:

"I aspire (usually in vain) to write like the unlikely literary love child of Carrie Bradshaw, Erma Bombeck, and David Sedaris."

Since two thirds of these role models are either dead or imaginary, meeting David Sedaris was a big deal for me, and my only chance for a literary Jerry Springer-type "Meet Your Daddy" moment.




Tickets in nearby Washington D.C. were sold out and going for $350 each on Ebay, so we headed to Baltimore. After safely stashing the kids at our benevolent Baltimore in-laws' house, we headed to the Meyerhoff Symphony Hall.

Our seats were horrible -- the usher practically guffawed when I asked if our seats were in her orchestra section -- but the show was great. Sedaris read several long essays, including one work in progress, and then took questions.

After the show, we waited in line to have my books autographed. As we waited, SJ and I talked about how much we had liked the show. I was pleasantly surprised how much SJ had enjoyed it, since he hadn't read many of Sedaris's essays beforehand.

Suddenly, out of the blue, SJ paid me a wonderful compliment: he told me that I could perform like David Sedaris. "Really?" I asked, incredibly flattered and touched.

"Yep, Sweetie. I could totally see you doing this. You write really well."

"He's just funnier, that's all."

Easy come, easy go.

It's that tricky middle part that gets me every time. SJ could have just as easily told me that I could be a professional swimmer like Michael Phelps, if I just swam faster. Or be a an artist like Michaelangelo, if I just painted better. Missed it by that much!

"Thanks, dear."

Besides the whole "not as funny" thing, I have a few other strikes against me, relative to David Sedaris:

• I'm not gay. I'm not sure if gay people are funnier, but they seem to have an inherently cosmopolitan world view that I'm missing. I can write about my minivan and swimming lessons, but it's not as cool as stories about the cottage I share with my lover in France.
  
• My family isn't as crazy as his is. My mom hardly ever gave us cartons of cigarettes for Christmas, my parents never left me with an indigent for a week, and not one of my sisters has a show on Comedy Central.
• My language and subject matter are constrained because I'm petrified that my mother will discover my writing and simultaneously wash out my mouth and die of shame. You're probably never going to get any good anal sex stories out of me, and I apologize.
  

Anyway, meeting David Sedaris was a thrill. He was friendly and generous with his time. We chatted for a moment as he autographed and drew small pictures in my books.

I'm not sure what the significance is of my Lincoln-headed turtle, but I'm sure that if I were funnier -- as I intend to be someday -- I would figure it out.