The day I was mistaken for David Sedaris
"Your style reminds me of David Sedaris", ChatGPT's entitled opinion.
The other day, there I am, teaching a writing course, and my stream of consciousness takes over, as it usually does, and I start disclosing things I should not be sharing in public. I was trained by Britney Spears. The more I disclose, the more I realize how idiotic I sound. Well, and also the Backstreet Boys. I feel the urge to add, to build more credibility. In Barcelona I would pretend I was on the phone to practice English. You could almost think I am proud of what I’m saying. I read my sentences out loud to see where I stumble. And on and on. Imagine my BBC Maestro course on writing. Hi, I am your BBC Maestro, and I have Britney Spears Credentials. Pathetic. Sometimes I feel someone should mute me, like they do on Presidential Debates, when my stream of consciousness gradually morphs into the broken sprinkler in my garden two days ago, spitting water as if there was a whale on my yard. There’s just no way to stop me.
So where am I going today with this stream of consciousness, you may be smart to question. Well, I am going to disclose something else I should not be sharing in public. Here it is. I do have a few friends, 3 in particular, that are blissfully unaware of such friendship. They are not imaginary friends. I am not 5 years old. They simply just don’t know we are friends. You have already met Lisa. Another of such friends is David Sedaris.
David Sedaris is my friend because he compares the feet of Queen Elizabeth, who are probably the size of mine, as hotdog buns. He is also allergic to chit-chat, despite how much I like the sound of chit-chat. He recycles questions meant for 3rd graders and aims them at unsuspecting adults lining up their potatoes on the conveyor. Beep. Beep. Beep. When was the last time you touched a monkey?, my friend David asks.
We don’t always get along. Despite his training, my supermarket chit-chats are less imaginative. These are lovely asparagus, someone asks me at Whole Foods last Sunday, Let’s see how well they cook, I dare say and I can see David running away from me, pretending he forgot to pick up the eggs. If you find a suspiciously curly hair in your asparagus soup at a restaurant, what do you do. How many asparagus do you have in your fridge. Would you buy asparagus icecream? Do you suppose they sell asparagus on Amazon?, that’s what you should have replied!, my friend David would coach me, back with the pack of eggs.
I met him the other day, David Sedaris. He was on the iPad. He tells me about how he edits his pieces 14 times. I don’t like to hear this very much so I advance him forward. Dear David, I barely have 3 hours straight on a Saturday morning (at 5 AM!) to finish a piece before I leap downstairs, disheveled in my morning hair and my morning pajama and my morning breath, throwing away all my family points at each leap, to resume my marital and mommy duties. You must know I don’t have enough tacos to invest in this Great Nonsense. In the likely event I turn into a super hero, forget flying, I want no editing, I insist. You are being unreasonable, David says, crushing my heart.
He insists I must kill my darlings. You can’t keep a joke at the expense of the story. And I wave my hands, dramatic as I am. There’s no story, David, there’s just a sting of anecdotes. Diarrhea of anecdotes, rather. The whale sprinkling water uncontrollably. But he is wise to reply, This is no way to get commissioned by The New Yorker, and I have to agree with him there.
I take David on my Wellness Car Retreats. Don’t you think he is hilarious? Hotdog buns!, and I keep reciting the 4-page essay about visiting the Pope in Rome to Mr Pickwick, whilst rudely interrupting Miss Margot, who is trying to listen to and educationally learn from Numberblocks. I actually think you are funnier, Mr Pickwick the enabler tells me, convinced that one day he will come to my book signing. You would think someone is paying him to say so; after all, we are under a contractual agreement that he has to be nice to me. But hang on because the surprise comes when a second party tells me that, despite David’s style is more polished (14 edits!), mine is whimsical (0 edits!) and shows potential. Thanks for the encouragement, chatGPT.
I am coming to Balboa Park this May, you should join me and we could do a reading together, I think David was trying to tell me on the iPad when I was too busy advancing the segments that made me uncomfortable. You could read this masterclass piece that you have crafted in 2 hours. And then I would stump my hotdog buns loudly on the floor, David I think you are being ironic.