One of my treasures: a Letter from David Sedaris

I have been preparing my 2007 holiday letter, so I was digging thru the golden box where I stash all my my writing paraphernalia and torn junk mail envelopes & crumpled coffee-stained Starbucks napkins with scribblings of my utter brilliance when I ran across something I need to keep in a fireproof lock-box. I never kept it under my pillow, but I did think about it. It is a letter from my favorite writer & the person I would most love to attend a carnival freakshow with.

When he came to San Antonio back in 2004, I stood in line to have him sign all my books and then hand-delivered I guess what you would call an (obsessed) fan letter. Non-Sedaris fans won't get a lot of it. Some references I like to consider personal jokes between the two of us. Here's what it said:

November 6, 2004

Dear Mr. Sedaris:

I thought of you several months ago when Cord Roberts returned to Llanview for a brief but pivotal scene at the hospital bedside of Flash (a/k/a Sarah—as you know, the daughter he had with Tina). And it was the real Cord Roberts, not some actor just playing the part of Cord Roberts. He was as dashing and debonair as ever, and now distinguished as well, I dare say. Yes, time has been good to our friend Cord Roberts. I hope you saw it, but I imagine One Life to Live isn’t easy to find on French TV. Back in 1988, when I went to the Sorbonne and flunked out (or as they put it: “Nous regrettons… [french gibberish]…vous avez echoue…”) the only American shows I could find were reruns of Charlie’s Angels and Dallas. When I told my host countryfolk I was “de Dallas,” they would gasp in that animated French way and ask, “Connaissez-vous ZhjeeAyhr?” I would say, “Bien sur, J.R. est mon voisin!” I wanted to say he was my lover, but they’d know it was a lie, seeing as how they were privy to the obnoxious alcoholic oilman’s dramatic televised love life.
Anyway, I haven’t written a fan letter since I fell in love with Ralph Macchio in the first Karate Kid movie. When I stare into your photograph’s eyes, I feel the yearning ache, the grasping pangs of unrequited love not unlike those I suffered as a pre-teen upon gazing at my Shaun Cassidy posters or Andy Gibb (God rest his soul) albums. That’s just the kind of passion you arouse in me, but in a much more mature and civilized way.
The love -- nay, ardor, I feel for you is so much more raw, more genuine, more transcendent than anything sexual or romantic or even gastronomic. It’s a sublime sense of “Oh-if-only-he-knew-that-I’m-his-female-hetero-suburban-counterpart…” Then I shudder at the shameless audacity to elevate myself to counterpart status. Of course I have a high but largely unmerited self-opinion. And still I blush at revealing my deepest secrets to you. I like to think you might nevertheless someday deign to acknowledge me.
When I found out you were coming to San Antonio, I hastily forked over the most well-spent hundred bucks of my life for two precious golden tickets. One for me, and one for whichever of my few literate friends loses a game of rock-paper-scissors and whose duty it will be to prevent me from surrendering to what will surely be an overwhelming, nigh Tourette-ish/OCD urge (no offense) to writhe in a sweat-slinging frenzy at the mere thought of breathing air in the same room as you, my Malison.
You have brought unparalleled tear-filled joy to my life, and I will cherish your words eternally in my soul.
Contrary to my standard personality, I am NOT being sarcastic. And don’t worry, I’m far too busy to stalk you.

All my devotion,

Jill Mitchell

Here is his rather prompt and courteous answer. I was a little nervous about copyright infringement, posting his words without permission, (hey, I marked out his address) but let him sue me. He came back to town just last month, so I got to share the theatre's oxygen with him again. I didn't stand in line or give him a letter this time. Don't want to appear too interested, you know. He has a new book coming out in June, so I will be trolling Amazon to place an advance order as soon as possible just in case I can't find the time & air miles to stalk him properly for an awkward encounter in which he is compelled to fork over personally a new signed copy or suffer humiliation the likes of which he has never seen before, & has he seen some humiliation.