A Review of Something we have no business Reviewing: David Sedaris

SCK saw David Sedaris last night at the Chicago Theater. We would both be able to contribute to this post, but 5 minutes into the show M Chaz had a height-inducted panic attack. Our seats were in the second balcony (it's a reading and D Sedaris is not really much to look at, whatev) which is about 8 miles in the air off the stage level. When I looked up and realized the soaring ceiling was within touch, I got loopy and disoriented and had to be cuddled and fed salted almonds for 7 minutes. M Chaz, his blood thick with Cadbury Creme, couldn't shake off the feeling that if he leaned forward he would tumble down 1200 rows, ran out to collect himself and was not allowed back in. Therefore I must dust off my literary skillz not used since, well... not used.

Mr. Sedaris is genius and hilarious, and his speaking voice is absolutely amazing. He sounds like a old female socialite, her throat scared by years of smoking and eating gold plated foods. His excellent intro was mocking of the plagiarism scandals of late, pointing out how we are more concerned with James Frey (that fucked up alcoholic) lying to us than our President and government. He followed this with a story about a child molester in his town in France which made everyone a little uncomfortable. Then a couple more France-centered stories, with a great impression of his brother's thick southern accent thrown in, and then he read snippets of his diary entries. The diaries were great. All of it was, really. However, he was far better before he moved to France. It scares me that he may be out of good material. Sedaris is best talking about his mother, his childhood, and his family in general. But he has begun to center around his life in France, and there's only so much you can say about how different the French are. "The French are funny." That's it. And sure, the language barriers can be amusing, but one "I used the feminine not the masculine noun" story is enough. So, David darling, move into your sister Amy's insane bunny-overrun apartment in NYC for awhile, and let hilarity ensue. Please? Because M Chaz is not risking another holiday panic-attack just to hear you talk about how you lack French fluency.