I knows me some ugly...

I'm debating joining the ranks of teh unreadable. The missus, both kids, some members of my family, and more than a couple actual human friends (also Lore Sjoberg, apparently) all have MySpace pages, complete with obnoxious insta-music, black ten-point text on a moire pattern as a background, and random independently scrolling whatsits. They apparently use this apparatus as an actual communication device, inasmuch as MySpace comments can be considered communication.

And so, a question. Who among you, my intellectually-stimulating elitist LiveJournalers, with your complete sentences, courteous LiveJournal cuts, clever witticisms, and spellcheck, also has a MySpace page?

It's like standup, only with more narrative.

Last night we went to see David Sedaris at the Cannon Center. He read an Animal Story, a piece about Germs and Parasites, a piece about hanging out at the LA County morgue that he's recording for This American Life for its Halloween episode airing in a week or two, and a piece about homosexuality and drugs, a plug for an older book about schizophrenia, and the usual Q&A session, where he revealed that he's planning to move to Tokyo and quit smoking.

Afterward, the line to have a book signed and tell him that Tokyo is the wrong city to attempt to stop smoking was probably two hours long--this after he'd already spent the pre-performance time signing for at least an hour.

It's strange when an author attains a certain level of celebrity. An number of former Presidents, Vice Presidents, and other political figures come to town and have fairly extensive booksignings, and John Grisham has a lottery system when he comes to town, but having nearly 2,000 folks pay $35 a head to watch a guy read aloud is some serious pre-television shit. And yet it's still wildly entertaining.