A Phunney Book: Me Talk Pretty One Day

Some foolish person recommended me this book. To sav him or her (it was a her) from embarrassment, I won't name her name. But she knows who she is, and she will pay.

I'm just joshing*. Much to my surprise, she picked a good one. "Me Talk Pretty One Day" is a solid read, but I don't need to convince you of that, now do I?

I didn't know how to go into this one. At first I thought it was a novel, because that's what the title sounded like. Some kind of potentially lame coming-of-age story, perhaps taking place in rural Nebraska. Well, not rural. Suburban. Like in those commercials. Fuck it, maybe Illinois. It doesn't matter. I pictured a story of an awkward teen (a girl, natch) growing through adversity to become her own woman or some bullshit. The kind of chick lit that's turned into multimillion dollar pictures starring Rene Russo Barbra Streisand the one from that movie where she's the guy's best friend, I think it was Dermot Mulrooney, and she was like, "No, don't marry Cameron Diaz, marry me! I'm Julia Roberts and I'm more fun and vivacious and we know each other better!" And in the end she totally doesn't. It's actually somewhat underrated if a bit stupid and plodding. You know the one. Yeah, yeah, I think it was Meg Ryan! What? No, person's name was Meg Ryan, not the movie.

Wait, what the fuck was I talking about? Oh yeah. So much to my surprise, this was by a collection of essays, and not by some dumb chick lit author, but by David Sedaris. Actually I don't know if he ever wrote chick lit, but a chick did recommend him so I have my suspicions.

I know of the Sedarises thanks to his apparent sister, Amy, who was in Strangers with Candy and some other things. But mainly Strangers. So now I knew what to expect: exasperated comedian writes essays about stuff.

These kinds of books can be hit or miss. If they're from a guy who does standup, dollars to donuts they're reprints of their routines. Not good if you've seen their routines live. Even worse if you've seen their routines live and they weren't good. Maximum worse if they're Dane Cook.

I dunno if Sedaris has ever done standup. I suspect he hasn't, because he can actually write. Sentences, I mean. He can spin yarns. Not that standup comedians can't, but they generally refrain from doing that because their schtick is in talking. No, Sedaris can write.

The best thing about the book is that it's unconventional. The stories often don't make sense. David's life is apparently purposeless, his frustrations usually amounting to no more than a low level of ennui, like a loud fart in bed. They're realistic enough that I can take him as his word that they happened, which makes things even better.

Best of all, there wasn't an essay I didn't really dislike. Well, the final one I didn't finish because it was rather gross and I was eating pizza. Excuse the fuck out of me I like to read during lunch. Don't you judge me.

Sedaris also has a favorite essay-writing style of mine: conversational. You can probably figure out why I like that style so much, you berk.

I dunno what Sedaris' actual occupation is these days, but I do know he wrote other stuff. He should try writing sitcoms. I bet he'd be a natural with Curb. But I don't want to be too pushy.

I don't read too many of these kinds of books, but in the list of top comedic autobiographical essays, Me Talk Pretty One Day is No. 1.





Of 2.






Stop being so sensitive.
































* I'm not joshing at all. I'm gonna show up at work and confront you. But by then I will have forgotten about what so it will just be a lot of awkward glancing around and eye contact avoidance. Followed by what I hope is some messy sex or at least you feeding me something. Something that tastes good, please, like veal. Wait, no not veal. Ummmmmm fuck it let's play it safe. Give me a steak and fries. Did you know that in France they're called steak-frites? I knew that. I took French in high school. One day we should tour France, it's not as boring as it is in Sedaris' book. At least I hope not. Anyway bye.

Scary Stories to Yawn in the Dark

We just cleared Halloween, which means we have Veterans Day, Thanksgiving, Hannukah, Black Friday, Festivus, and Thanksgiving again until Christmas. But enough of that. Let's dwell on all the Deathly All Hallows Eve for a second.

You know the deal: Halloween is the "spooky" holiday, aside from St. Patrick's Day, that is. This is the time of year when all the horror movies come out, all the scary TV specials come out, all the scary costumes come out, and election season. Truly the most terrifying season of them all, by design.

Except, I never really bought that. There are a big number of reasons why Halloween/early fall is not the scariest time of the year, nor could it really ever possibly be. For one thing, Halloween itself is pretty much a joke. Even the adults can't be arsed to treat it all spookylike, and really, there's not a whole lot popular culture can do to be (intentionally) scary. Kids in Power Rangers costumes doesn't really strike fear in one's heart, unless one is a Putty.

So who said fall was the best time for scaryness? It's completely misplaced. Misplaced and miscast. It doesn't belong here. Where (or when) does it belong, then, Mr. Smartysexypants, you're saying to yourself. And then everyone looks at you and, and they're like, "What did you just say?"

And you're like, "N-nothing."

"No, you said 'Mr. Smartsexypants'?"

"Smartsexypants."

"Oh. Well who's that?"

"Ummm... A guy I know? He's the coolest."

"What's his name?"

"...Mr. Smartsexypants?"

At that point, everyone goes over to your laptop to see what you're doing. So by now you've left the flat and you're hiding under a bridge, ready to hear my answer. And my answer is this: The summertime.

Think about it. Or don't. The answer is obvious, so you shouldn't have to, but the fact of the matter is, everything that's scary happens in the summer. Everything. Except that one time you thought you shat your own bed. But that was springtime so it was close enough.

Do a cursory glance at every horror movie you know (except Black Christmas. Don't look at that. Figuratively or literally). When do they all take place? The summer. Or if not the summer outright, then a summer-ish setting, where it's warm and sunny. Not threatening. The perfect time... for terror.

(Okay fine, there's also Jingle All the Way, Christmas with the Cranks... FINE. But those aren't movies that are trying to be scary. Can we move on now? Asshole.)

Let's get past the whole movie things, because horror movies really aren't all that scary at all. Instead, I think, deep down inside, we're all more fearful during the summer. How come? Let's take a look:

At first glance, summer's the season of warmth, fun times outdoors, roasting marshmallows by the fire, baseball, basketball, trips to the beach, seagulls, lightning bugs, and forest fires. All wonderful things, to be sure, but there are also downsides that we don't notice at first glance.

First of all, except in Greenland and parts of Pennsylvania, summer is not merely warm. It's hot. Sometimes, it gets really hot. Oppressive hot. Hot enough to roast people alive. You don't hear about kids getting burned to a crisp while locked in cars during the winter, do you? Even though I prefer heat to cold, I'm well aware that a nice, baking summer day can be far more stressful than a cold one, all things equal.

Think about it. The cold you can escape from. You can put on more clothes, you can light your buddy on fire, you can vibrate at a faster rate, etc. Heat, though, is much trickier. Once you stop shedding clothes and/or hair, you're shit outta luck if you don't have air conditioning or a reasonably large body of water or the ability to flap your hands 130 times per second. It's like that episode of The Twilight Zone where the sun's getting closer, and there's really no place for anyone to run, so things just... kinda... slooooowwwww... dooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

I don't think it's a coincidence that when it comes to the truly, maddingly, deeply frightening movies they all take place in summer or thereabouts. Summer's the time of heightened activity, and that's both good and bad. More crime takes place in the summer. Stress rises in the summer. There's thunder storms and floods and hurricanes, which are all conspicuously absent in the fall. And lord help you if there's an extended blackout brought on by a heat wave.

Perhaps the most unsettling thing about summer is that it ironically seems to be quieter. Certainly when you get out of the suburbs and away from the constant bruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu of lawnmowers, into the countryside perhaps, there's not much going on out there. There may be a couple of animals and shit, but generally the weather is not that active, so there's not as much wind. I'm not doing a stupendous job of explaining it because it's something you have to experience for yourself, but to me, not a lot of things are creepier than waking up to a quiet, sweltering morning where the birds can't be arsed to chirp and the moose are too tuckered to moo or whatever it is they do (hence the name "moose").

As such, my imagination is a lot more active in summer. Even when I was little, I was more afraid of robbers breaking into my house (that's one of the fun things about having a home alarm system in the middle of one of the whitest neighborhoods on the east coast) during the summer than the winter. What dumbass criminal is going to haul himself out to our street when it's 20 degrees? ...Oh.

And when else do you really hear about all the strange events in one's life? Let's face it: During the fall and winter, everyone's inside, not noticing all the strange shit around them because they're too busy watching frostbite slowly overtake their toes or something. You won't hear about how a kid growing up in India, sitting outside in the shade on an especially hot summer day, saw a man with backwards feet stumble down the road, alone. Shit like that just doesn't happen in the fall. Except in Tarrytown, NJ, where it happens every day.

Well anyway, if it were up to me, Halloween and the 4th of July would switch places. Now you can tell proper ghost stories, you can have an excuse for slutting it up, and you can have a genuinely creepy atmosphere so you can properly experience the everyday terrors of moving coffins, bottomless pits, ships without crews, voices randomly babbling over the airwaves, and all the normal, happy things that we only become aware of when we have the free time during a sweltering summer night. Plus I think what the fall really needs is more mattress sales and Roman candles lit up in the middle of busy roads.

I hope you never look at a quiet morning the same way again!