The Urban Elf

My gallivanting housemates recently returned from their latest jaunt – apparently a self designed hodgepodge of couples therapy, explosives training and irresponsible forestry techniques set in the rustic majesty of the mountainous southwest – with among other things a copy of the new David Sedaris book. The other night before turning out the light I read two of the shorter essays. OK, honest to God laugh out loud kind of stuff. Not just internet-ese LOL but drop the book to my lap, cover my face and cackle kind of funny. Sometimes I think it would be fun to be David Sedaris all whimsically maladjusted, overflowing with analyst’s couch eloquence and queer in a way so multi-faceted and complex that mere homosexuality is only its most obvious and comfortingly banal face. Then I realize, no, I have enough trouble with my own neuroses. I don't need to evolve out of my quiet little niche in the mostly functional amateur-medicated food chain and into the leviathan status of the psychosa regina majora. Then I think, after much reasoned consideration, it would be far more practical and much more fun to stalk him. Then I realize that such an endeavor would involve multiple airports, learning to speak French with a German accent to avoid raising suspicion, and a high likelihood of restraining orders being issued against me by any number of National Public Radio personalities. At this point I just shelve the whole thing and try to divert myself with considerations of configurations and construction methods for found object birdbaths or whether one can finance a cemetery plot.