David Sedaris might be the funniest man alive. Anyone who’s ever heard him read aloud one of his stories would definitely not argue with me on this point.
I’m fairly certain that the first experience I ever had with David Sedaris’s writing came when, before embarking on a study-abroad-type of activity, my fellow students and I sat down and listened to one of his This American Life pieces about foreign travel. (I can’t for the life of me remember which piece this was or find it now on the great wide interwebs, but this one is similar in tone and eight kinds of awesome, so you should listen to it.) I then worked my way through his entire catalogue, at the time, and haven’t stopped since.
He’s coming to a book signing in Baton Rouge next week, and this will be the first time that I’ve ever been able to actually go and see him live. In the 10 years since I began loving his work, there has always been something that prevented me from being able to see his readings, whether it be distance, money, or work restrictions. However, now that I’m going to see him soon, I’m having real trouble keeping myself from having inappropriate giddy spaz-out moments of fan girldom.
It’s a strange moment when you let other people in on how excited something makes you. When you trust your friends to understand that a fifty-something essayist can bring out feelings in you that make you want to knit an owl, it’s an important moment in your grown-up life.
David Sedaris’s new book is called Let’s Explore Diabetes with Owls, and in one of the new essays, “Understanding Understanding Owls,” he details his experiences in attempting to purchase a taxidermied owl as the greatest Valentine’s Day present ever.
What do you give a man like that in order to show him how much he has touched your life with his humor and weirdness? A tiny, fat, stuffed owl, obviously.
The pattern is the completely adorable Little Black Owl from Kat Lewinski. This turns out a delightfully chubby owllette who is just begging to be handed to a New York Times bestselling author. One who will hopefully not conclude that you are a crazy person for knitting and giving him an owl.
The only think left to do is to give this little round ball of cute a name, I think. I’m attempting to think of something abstract and in French (and those of you who are in the know are giggling a bit, I’m sure). Right now, Dan and I are debating between Monsieur Bricolage (translating to DIY or home improvement) or Monsieur Débroussaillage (a clearing of the undergrowth).
I’m leaning towards Bricolage.