Everybody has their Sedaris

I recently saw David Sedaris at the Opera House. Anyone who's known me for about 10 minutes understands that this is kind of a big deal for me.

I actually wrote an article about my experience for my magazine class this term. Feel free to check it out below. And if anyone has any insight on what a president in a half shell means, let me know.


Everybody has their someone. Most often, people worship rock gods or sports heroes. There might even be a dozen out there who admire politicians. But I look up to a short, squeaky-voiced, middle-aged author named David Sedaris.

Having an author as an idol might not sound so strange, but it is for me. To be honest, I don’t really enjoy reading. I get bored, my eyes dry up, and I would just rather be listening to my iPod.

I was introduced to Sedaris’ work five years ago, when I was required to read “Me Talk Pretty One Day” for a nonfiction writing class. Some pages are still sprinkled with rounds of wrinkles from loose tears during fits of laughter. I now anticipate a new Sedaris release in much the same way I look forward to my mom’s egg casserole on Christmas morning. And trust me, that’s saying something.

So upon discovering that Sedaris was holding a reading as part of the Sydney Writers’ Festival, I located a pair of tickets so fast it was like my life depended on it.

The show was slated for 18 August, only one day after I returned from a trip (though I would’ve seriously considered ditching it to see the show had the timing not worked out). Another bit of luck came courtesy of a venue change. I bought tickets expecting to see the reading at the shabby Metro Theatre, but unexpected demand moved the event to the concert hall at the Sydney Opera House.

I arrived at the show 45 minutes early. I could’ve sat in the front row, but I took the modest road and sat in the second row, centre. For the next half hour, people flooded into the hall. It was amazing—a man who simply writes about his life in an off-beat way had sold out the Sydney Opera House’s concert hall.

I couldn’t help but notice the crowd. Gay couples, polished academic types, aging women with streaks of grey, white people, black people, Asians, college students with thick-rimmed eyeglasses in blazers. Maybe it’s his acute sense of humour about his childhood or the way he views his life and those roped into it, but something about Sedaris resonates with an astonishing array of people.

He read from his newest book, “When You Are Engulfed in Flames,” but also sent the crowd howling with some prized, yet unpublished, gems. Most notably, his rendition of a piece meant for radio about a former professor who had an annoying habit of selectively adopting a Latin American accent was unforgettable. I, for one, might never be able to hold a straight face upon hearing “Nicaragua” again.

After a brief conversation with Australian comedian, Judith Lucy, Sedaris began the book signing. His book signings have lasted as long as nine hours, in great part because he enjoys a bit of a chat with each person who shows up.

Fortunately, I barely had to wait an hour to meet the man who is literally living my dream. I had been tortured for weeks over what perfect line to deliver. However, to say I dazzled him with my wits couldn’t be farther from the truth.

“Now what does Kelly do?” he said, as if talking to a two-year-old.

“Journalism,” I said blankly, like a two-year-old. “I am a journalist.”

Throughout this caveman-esque conversation, he was drawing. And for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what it was. I had to ask.

“It’s Abe Lincoln’s head,” he said calmly. “On a turtle’s body.”

Brilliant. He slid me my book, smiled, and I was ushered aside. For those 30 seconds, he must’ve thought I was just another half-wit. And maybe he’s right because I’ll be wracking my brain trying to figure out what that drawing means. But that didn't matter then. I left feeling exhilarated.

With all that said, maybe my role model isn’t so strange. Idol worship is, after all, relative. And if David Sedaris proves anything, it’s that the most normal life is always worth a closer look.