mizChartreuse || redefiningSuccess

Therefore, I must listen.

My boyfriend Sean, his friend Jenn and I went to Chicago’s Steppenwolf Theatre on Halsted to see Mister Sedaris–arguably one of the world’s best writers–stand behind a small lectern on a plain black stage and read. It’s quite a simple thing, really, watching a small 54-year-old man read from his diaries, but it was REALLY FUCKING AWESOME.

There’s something quite special about the feeling one gets when seeing a famous person live in the flesh. I used to get all excited over rock stars and such, but since many of my close friends and ex-boyfriends are musicians, that killed any sort of star struck awe/lust they may have otherwise wielded in my loins. Meeting the Hanson brothers has become more of a bi-annual norm in my life rather than a once-in-a-lifetime-OMG-moment. Something to do with the law of diminishing returns, I think.

We had some great executive seats: fourth row in the tiny upstairs theatre that holds 399 people.

After a short announcement asking us to turn off our cell phones and pagers (!!!), without much ado, Mister Sedaris walked onto the stage to a round of applause and cheering. Instantaneously, a huge smile spread across my face. It didn’t seem real that I was actually looking at The David Sedaris, the man with a cult following who had given me hours of rip-roaring entertainment over the last several years.

Back when I lived with my best friend Angelique, I once spied an interesting-looking book of hers on our coffee table. The cover was a naked Barbie doll body behind the title: Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim. Intrigued, and slightly disturbed, I picked up the book and was instantly drawn to the ridiculous stories of David Sedaris’ youth, and knew he was one of my favorite people. Shortly thereafter, I borrowed Me Talk Pretty One Day from the library and it was all over. Holidays on Ice was a special breed of insanity, showcasing just how mad the human imagination can be.

Mister Sedaris is hugely popular, but the opposite of overrated. He deserves every lick of adulation and every Euro that flows into his bank account. It certainly takes a special voice to make a reader double over in pain, laughing out loud.

And I like his speaking voice. I’ve heard him on NPR; This American Life and such, but having his gentle voice, facial expressions, and inflections altogether in front of you makes for a whole new cocktail of entertainment.

His book, which is to be released in the fall, is entitled Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk: A Modest Bestiary. It’s about animals. And it’s his first illustrated publication. Dude. He’s really taking it to the next level.

After reading drafts of his manuscript to an adoring audience, he moved on to entries from his diary. From a Newsweek interview:

You said you have more than 30 years recorded in your diary, is that why you never run out of material?

All you have to do is live.

He’s right. Beyond the fact that there is a story in everything—writing is therapeutic. In fact, I think the reason why I’ve been going so crazy over the last few months is because I haven’t been doing that sort of writing at all. It’s all been editing text for my book, transcribing interviews, and creating projects for businesses and individuals. I enjoy that, but I haven’t done much self-examination/life-observational writing in some time. Looking back, I think my Dead- and Livejournals were what kept me sane as an angsty teenager—just blathering and bitching about my day. Life was certainly more turbulent in those days, but I think I was a little less crazy then than I am now.

David’s journal entries are both long and short, but always funny in the way he observes the minutiae of human (and animal, I guess) life.

Of course, the whole time the audience was cracking up. I never felt that the laughter was forced, but at some points it seemed like people were laughing for the sake of laughing, because Mister Sedaris is just known as a funny person. Kind of like if you met Chris Rock or Jim Carrey—you’d probably laugh at whatever they said—before they said it—whether they were being funny or not, because you expect to be made to laugh because those men are absolutely out of their minds.

My heart jumped a bit when David turned the floor to the audience for questions. People had some good questions, a number of them pertaining to “inside jokes” that only a devoted reader would know. I wish I’d asked him if he were still smoke-free (his last book is called When You Are Engulfed in Flames; about his quest to quit smoking while living in Japan) or if he still cheated every now and again like many ex-smokers do in certain situations.

And then, of course, there was that one person in the audience who had to ask the “I’m-trying-too-hard-to-sound-intellectual”/“I’m-gonna-be-really-DEEP-and-talk-about-other-obscure-authors-but-you-just-do-it-in-a-far-more-superior-way-Mister-Sedaris” sucky uppy type of question. She rambled on a bit too long and I wanted to throw my shoe at her head. She probably used words like “existentialism” and “post-modernism” in her paragraph of a question. Ugh, just shut up already. Life isn’t that serious.

Mister Sedaris is a great conversationalist. He has this way of answering your question, then interspersing a funny anecdote or two into the answer, making for a very warm and personal feeling between the author and the audience. He seemed like someone very easy to talk to, and I looked forward to chatting with him one-on-one.

After the reading, we headed down a flight of fifteen hundred stairs (my workout for the day) to get in line for the book signing. Jenn, Sean and I were second in line behind a hipster girl with a short haircut. She wielded a backpack, a copy of Me Talk Pretty One Day in a Walgreen’s bag and a professional camera slung over her shoulder.

“Just a reminder, please no photography,” the guy who was “moderating” the line of people or whatever told the girl.

“Yeah, I know. I can read,” she responded, gesturing to the sign that said “No Photography, Please.” Freak.

I had my Dress Your Family ready for the signing, since I can’t seem to locate my Me Talk Pretty copy—even though I could swear I had at least two of those in my possession at one point (this is why you should never loan out books).

David sat down at the table in front of us, opened a container of what looked to be a delicious, warm ravioli dish with vegetables, and started eating. I like how raw he is. I mean, it was a long afternoon/evening for him—signing books before the show, talking at us for an hour and a half, and now signing up to 300 more books. A man’s gotta eat! I’d do the same thing.

Jenn approached the signing table second, and Sean and I went up together after she was done. I handed him my book.

“Hi there!” he said with a smile. “And what’s your name?”

“My name is Charlotte, but can you sign it to ‘Chartreuse’?” I asked. “Like the color.” And he did. It was all so organic.

I remember meeting Heather B. Armstrong, aka “dooce,” at a book reading/signing at an Oak Brook Borders, and that was a cool experience, but a little too mechanical for my likings. I mean, it wasn’t like an assembly line where people shuffled through and got a standard autograph, but she made me a little nervous and I didn’t really know what to say to her. Also, a lot of the people there were irritating, as was the lady at the head of the line managing the crowd. Heather was very sweet and real, though, and you could see a genuine appreciation in the fact that so many people were there to see her, and invested in her and her family’s life.

Mister Sedaris asked what I did, and I told him I’m a writer; about my book and freelance work. “Do you have a blog?” he asked. “What’s it called?”

“Yes! It’s mizChartreuse.com: The Fierce Entrepreneur,” I told him.

“Do you write in it every day?” As we conversed, he drew a little animal character on the title page of my book. His movements were very deliberate and delicate; it was cute.

I hid my shame and said, “No, I’ve been pretty bad at that lately. As a writer, do you have a set time of day you set aside for writing?”

“Well,” he said, looking into my eyes, “I write first thing in the morning. I go until about lunch, take a break, and I’m back at it into the evening.”

And all too often, I sit here at my computer monitor staring at a blank page and not knowing what to write. What the fuck can I write that people will give a shit about reading? How do I put into words what I experienced today or last weekend or last year? And a bunch of stupid self-doubting statements run through my head, and eventually my ADD kicks in and I’m back stalking people on Facebook or reading Tweets about America’s Got Talent.

I know what the secret is to writing: you write. You sit your ass down and stare at that BLANK BLANK BLANK page for an hour until you write one sentence. You don’t just give up and peruse Perez Hilton or channel surf. Mister Sedaris is correct. You just write.  It’s all he does. All day long. Every day. And clearly, that’s what it takes to produce something substantial; continually churning out words on the page. His success is a testament to his discipline, something I struggle with because I like to play and procrastinate. And even though I knew what he was going to tell me, hearing him tell me that while making eye contact and drawing a cat-like creature with eyelashes was inspirational.

We chatted some more, and Sean asked him a couple questions as well. We couldn’t have been up at the table for more than a minute or two, but it was a very special moment—the feeling of connecting with an individual you admire; someone who is where you would like to see yourself. Someone who’s experienced the same fucked up family dynamics, battled booze and smoking habits; someone who has been broke, who’s traveled the world and done some pretty amazing things.

And at the end of the day, he is just a normal person like you and I—one who isn’t afraid to explore the mundane and the exciting; the pretty and the morbid.

It was very genuine and sweet, and I’m glad he took the time to make it a personal experience. I would much rather have a conversation with David Sedaris over a quick autograph and a forced smile snapshot.

I’m also glad we were right in front of the line, because I bet that after 200 people or so, the drawings probably got a little more harried and the conversations a bit more stilted.

But then again, probably not.