Me Talk Crazy One Day

2006-08-01

When it was announced that David Sedaris will be in the third world moshpit I had to machinate events to fall on my favor. I wanted no more than hi-David-please-sign-my-books-I'm-such-a-huge-fan kind of meeting. That's for plebeians. Since I'm a certified megalomaniac with a bloated self-esteem approaching the density of a Goodyear blimp I had to do various horrific acts involving bullying, conspiring, bribing, multiple cart-wheeling, issuing foul threats, and when above mentioned acrobatics failed, reduced to begging. I'm pathetic but I got what I wanted: A chance to interview the insanely funny guy who made my writings look like eulogies for dead salamanders.

We were set to an intimate interview with David Sedaris at Global Cafe in Greenbelt and had VIP passes to all his scheduled readings and the final talk in Powerbooks Greenbelt. I went to the Shangri-La and Powerbooks Greenbelt gigs but skipped the Alabang engagement. I fear perfecting attendance to ALL his scheduled public appearances is nothing short of obsessive act that might require legal restraining order. Besides he already signed all my copies of his books during the first day interview.

The interview rambled on for two hours instead of the scheduled forty minutes, much to the pain of Powerbooks staff and their PR firm, who were so attentive and made the riotous banter glitch-free as possible. Among editors and senior writers I stuck out as an anomaly as my official media designation usually defines that I make vacuous models strip naked and contort their bodies like homopretzels. That didn't bother me one bit. I maybe unmasked as a hack, a fraudulent ersatz-writer and I figured if that happens they'd have to drag me out kicking and yelling obscenities.

I wasn't exactly evicted as an impostor and thank God I had a blast. David Sedaris, much to our relief isn't a diva. He was earnest, candid, quick, charming and, yep, it's confirmed, wickedly hilarious (in person as he is on print) you'd wish you didn't pee in your shorts laughing and pretend nothing is dribbling down your leg.

When I finish cranking up my articles I'd have them publish in a paper and two magazines. Meanwhile I am clubbing myself with blunt objects, banging my head on the wall repeatedly, and practically tearing my hair out in an attempt to write a fitting story to honor such an awesome, mind-melding, belly-ache verbal tussle.

“David,” I ask, “What is the greatest sin of humor-writing?”

“Oh,” he says without missing a beat, “it's an act I can also accuse myself of: trying to be funny!”

I stare back dumbfounded.

He just effortlessly summed up everyone's embarrassment.