socializing after the show

We had bought the tickets for David Sedaris so long ago that I nearly couldn’t believe the show was finally on us.

devcubber arrived around six PM with her friend Patty, originally from St. Louis, but now lives in Denver. The trim, very cosmo young woman was a perfect substitute for Andy who wasn’t able to get back into town to join us.

Elise’s day was nuts prior to the concert and our original plans for a wild and crazy time on the town with exotic dinner turned into Luna Bars, cookies and conversation at the dining room table before we left.

Sedaris’ gig was at Powell Symphony Hall – a huge red-velvet encrusted venue and home to the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra. The venue was about 3/4 full – I couldn’t believe it…

I couldn’t help but feel a little pioneering at the fact that I had picked up Barrel Fever years ago upon recommendation from my friend Jay who had nothing but good things to say about his casual acquaintance from New York who was just in town at the tiny “Left Bank Books” doing a signing.

My pride vanished into sheep-shame as we got to the question and answer part of the show and the complete idiots started raising their hands.

Starry doe eyed women standing up, proclaiming her love and kinship with the author because “they-too was a department store elf in their youth”.

In fact, most of the people who asked questions had a sort of presumption between their words like they’ve known this guy all their lives. What was more annoying was their mildly pretentious tone – the kind that armchair intellectuals get from a too many lattes at Borders and friday nights with their book club.

The only question I could think of was “What does Hugh do for a living?” – so I kept my hand on Elise shoulder.

I checked out for a little while in the performance and contemplated how this might be a problem for Sedaris. He actually touched on it briefly but in a very nice, yet awkward way… “People seem to think they know me from these stories – but they’re just stories and experiences – they don’t really expose ME.”

I get a little irrationally creeped out sometimes when a LJ’er who I’ve never chatted with before catches me online and says something like… “I like the color of your bedroom”.

It’s irrational because – duh – I’m posting these things online where anyone can read them.

To read my blog is to get a snappy summary of what’s been going on in my life… but the subtext (to which only I own the decoder ring for) – is only available to me and quite possibly only my closest of friends.

Despite the running analysis – the readings were enjoyable… The excerpts from his diary tickling – and his account of the boil on his tailbone hysterical.

We headed for a late-night Vietnamese dinner on Grand afterward.

I was half tempted to stay after the show and buy an autographed copy of his new book, but the lines were intimidating. My recent thoughts confirmed that I didn’t need that level of intimacy with the man who supplies me with brain candy while I’m soaking in the tub or taking a shit.

I don’t need to be your friend David. Just keep writing entertaining books.

Elise suggested I should publish my blog – to which I pointed out that the act of hitting “Update” on the livejournal page “is” a form of publishing.

Of course, I followed that observation up with:

“What blog?”