I lost a author-name-tossing contest the other day and when I couldn't return David Sedaris.  Even name dropping Laura Fraser my New York Times bestselling former roomate didn't pull me out of the hole.  I had previously earned a big lead too, by countering her proclaimed distaste for books that make use food based metaphors for sex by  reciting a few lines from the opening of Jitterbug Perfume, a story 'that begins and ends with a beet'.    Nevermind that I never finished that 'Chick Book'.     Yeah, I called it a chick book while sitting at a San Francisco  bar with four female Criminology majors who just finished discussing racial injustice.    This is becoming a trend I fear. Last week  I feigned surprise that Town Hall (great place, try the trout)  had woman Chefs.   Duly chastised by Christa, their bartender of some acclaim,  I appologized, proclaiming that  "I don't know what came over me, women belong in the kitchen".   

Well today 3Quarks linked to this great recap of a fight he (David Sedaris. I'm back on message) got into with the woman sitting next to him on a plane.

So now I can say I have read him.

I've got my own air-fight story but I can't remember the details well enough to not end up being the smug asshole that my rowmate pegged me as.   The crew and passengers did applaud my restraint, I remember that, but I can be remarkably restrained if I know it is getting under your skin.  There's nothing to it really.