Stalking Sedaris

I have a man crush. I've had it for quite some time and I'm not embarrassed to admit it. Even though my man crush happens to be with a gay man, I am certain I'm not his type. I pose no threat to his boyfriend or to my wife. Having a man crush doesn't mean I want to have sex with my man, I just admire him in ways that require me to be a groupie of sorts.


I'm going to see my man crush tonight. It's the second time I've seen him in the last year, and the third time I've paid to see him. I've been accused of stalking my man crush. Not by him. He doesn't have a restraining order out against me or anything. But within my circle of friends, I'm known as the David Sedaris Stalker.


You see, the first time I saw David Sedaris was in Madison, WI. About ten minutes before the show began, I was fortunate enough to run into him at his book signing table. He was standing next to the table, watching people shuffle in the lobby when I approached him. I guessed that if I was bothering him, he'd tell me to go away. Instead, he was very cordial. We talked for a few minutes about writing, and I mentioned that I was going to Northwestern. I had also asked him if he remembered one of my teachers who had once told me she knew David Sedaris. In fact, she admitted to me that before he got famous, she told him that going to New York was a bad idea. This was just before he became an NPR overnight success with his Santaland Diaries essay.

As our conversation was ending, Sedaris mentioned to me that he was staying in the same hotel that Cyndi and I were booked at. He was complaining that they gave him a handicap room. True to his sense of humor, he signed my book with the following: "To Cory, We'll always have the Lakeside Hilton. David Sedaris."

When I saw his inscription, I read it as, "Cory, since we are staying at the same hotel, you should wait for me in the hotel bar and we'll have drinks together as I impart my wisdom on you on how to become a successful writer."

At least that's what I began to believe as the night continued and Cyndi and I enjoyed several adult beverages.

Before it was last call, and there were no signs of Sedaris, I decided to invite him to breakfast in the morning. Why would he want to eat alone, I concluded. I wrote him a letter. I actually wrote several letters because I was seriously unable to get out a complete sentence at that point. I gave the finished prodcut to the front desk clerk, asking him to deliver it to Sedaris' room.

In the morning, there was no call. I had sobered up and realized how silly I'd been. Why the hell would he want to eat with us?

Several months later, Sedaris was doing a free reading at a Barnes and Noble in Skokie. I went there with my cousin Greg and my friend, Karen. When I went up to Sedaris to get another autographed book, I apologized to him. Apologized for making an ass out of myself, really.

"I am so sorry," I said. "I left you a note at your hotel in Madison last year."

"Oh," he said, "the breakfast guy?"

"That's me," I said, somewhat proud and embarrassed that he remembered.

Sedaris laughed a bit and weakly smiled at me. He signed my book and pushed me through the line with his eyes. He wanted no part of me anymore.

When I looked at the newest inscription, again, it was pure Sedaris: "To Cory: I don't eat breakfast. David Sedaris."

I wonder what he'll write tonight?