Interview: David Sedaris

Recently, I had the opportunity to talk to David Sedaris. Our chat was brief. He wasn't rude or an asshole or anything—far from it. Mostly, he seemed kind of shy and reticent and perhaps slightly bemused that anyone would be interested in interviewing him. Anyhow, our conversation, and my experience reading his new book, produced this review. About a week after we talked, I got a thank you note from him. (This is only the second time an author has sent me a thank you note for an interview—the other was Lynne Rossetto Kasper. I'll say this about those public radio people: they're awfully polite.)

This was not my first encounter with Mr. Sedaris. I first met him at a party a couple of years ago. Everybody wanted to talk to him, so my friend Griffin and I lurked in his vicinity until he had a free moment; then we swooped. I had known Sedaris would be at the party, so I had an introductory anecdote (mostly true, if I remember correctly) all prepared. I don't know if he actually enjoyed my little story or if he was just being nice, but he invited us to sit down. We had a lovely chat. Sedaris asked if we had eaten yet. Griffin and I replied that negotiating the buffet table seemed like a trial. The tweed-clad humorist stood up and said, "Come on. It's not that hard." He was just so sweet and gracious.

If David Sedaris is the very picture of civility—friendly, cordial, impeccably tidy—his younger brother, Paul, seems to be the complete opposite. In fact, I have occasionally suspected that Paul Sedaris was not a real person at all, but the humorist's redneck alter ego, a projection of his shadow-side.

If you have never encountered Paul Sedaris, please allow me to recommend "You Can't Kill the Rooster," a loving fraternal portrait that first appeared in Esquire. (You can also find it in Me Talk Pretty One Day, and Sedaris performs it on the CD of Barrel Fever and on his CD boxed set.) To call this column "profanity-laden" fails to capture its absolutely filthy insouciance.

Those of you already familiar with The Rooster may be happy to know that he tied the knot a couple of years ago, and his brother's record of the joyous event can be found in Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim. A chronicle of the birth of The Rooster's first child can also be found in Sedaris's latest collection of essays.

By the way, if you happen to live in the Raleigh, North Carolina, area and find yourself in need of hardwood floor repair, you may wish to secure the services of Sedaris Hardwood Floors.

Comments

Interview: David Sedaris

Recently, I had the opportunity to talk to David Sedaris. Our chat was brief. He wasn't rude or an asshole or anything—far from it. Mostly, he seemed kind of shy and reticent and perhaps slightly bemused that anyone would be interested in interviewing him. Anyhow, our conversation, and my experience reading his new book, produced this review. About a week after we talked, I got a thank you note from him. (This is only the second time an author has sent me a thank you note for an interview—the other was Lynne Rossetto Kasper. I'll say this about those public radio people: they're awfully polite.)

This was not my first encounter with Mr. Sedaris. I first met him at a party a couple of years ago. Everybody wanted to talk to him, so my friend Griffin and I lurked in his vicinity until he had a free moment; then we swooped. I had known Sedaris would be at the party, so I had an introductory anecdote (mostly true, if I remember correctly) all prepared. I don't know if he actually enjoyed my little story or if he was just being nice, but he invited us to sit down. We had a lovely chat. Sedaris asked if we had eaten yet. Griffin and I replied that negotiating the buffet table seemed like a trial. The tweed-clad humorist stood up and said, "Come on. It's not that hard." He was just so sweet and gracious.