Cause Celebre

I would never describe myself as the star-struck type. Celebrities fail to arouse in me the pulse-quickening excitement and stupefying awe that they do in other people. Only once in my life have I ever requested an autograph, from Alan Ginsberg shortly before his death, and I don’t even have it anymore: when I asked him to sign something for me, he asked if he could sign my stomach. The ink has since faded.

Having said that, though, I have to confess that I nearly choked upon hearing that David Sedaris had spent three months in Japan while working on his book, When You Are Engulfed in Flames.

“Why didn’t he call me?” I wondered. Lost for a moment in delusion, I was genuinely puzzled.

Of course, I have no reason to assume that David Sedaris would know who the hell I am, much less get in touch with me, but I couldn’t help feeling hurt. For some inexplicable reason, I have a strong attachment to this particular author. After all, haven’t people been comparing my writing style to his for years? So what if those people were just my friends from Berkeley. When I learned that someone had been calling himself the David Sedaris of wine writing, I was livid; that was a role I’d tacitly claimed as my own long ago.

I’d probably been sulking over the Sedaris snub for days by the time I caught up with my friend Sophie for a drink at Kuri. When we met in front of the Sony Plaza, she turned to me and said, “Did you know that David Sedaris was here working on his book?”

“Yeah, I’d heard that,” I answered, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Don’t tell anyone, but when I found out, I thought, ‘Oh, what a shame, we could have gone for a drink!’” Her eyes grew wide, and she made an exaggerated gesture, like someone taking a stab at a trivia question. “Can you believe it? I actually thought that!”

“Oh girl, I thought the same thing,” I said, putting my hand on her arm. I was relieved. Not only had we both been affected by the Sedaris fantasy, Sophie had gone one step further and imagined him calling her for a drink. This opened up new possibilities to obsess over. On our way to the bar, all I could think of was where to take him.

“Well, surely, he’d like to try sake,” I thought, “So I could bring him here, too, and set up a tasting for him.”

As soon as the thought occurred to me, a shadow of doubt crossed my mind. If we were at a sake bar, I’d probably geek out and bore him stiff. No, no, better to stick with wine.

“Okay, New York Bar might be good,” I deliberated, considering the Lost in Translation reference. Would he find that clichéd? “If he’s a real connoisseur, perhaps I should take him to Elevage.”

But Elevage is so quiet, and I wasn’t even sure if he drank wine. I knew he liked champagne, but…

“Ah! He likes Scotch!” I remembered. “We can go to Helmsdale!”

Not entirely satisfied with my new choice, I decided that someplace kitschy might appeal to his quirky sense of aesthetics.

“Piano Bar in Nonbei Yokocho? How about Tomorrow in Golden Gai?”

Once we sat down, though, I came back to reality. Sophie and I immediately ordered two tasting flights and launched into a juicy gossip session. By the time we’d clinked glasses for the sixth time, I’d come to terms with the fact that I’d probably never sit in this bar with David Sedaris, and that was fine. It would likely end up being an hour of painful small talk, or turn into an interview about his career.

“Who needs David Sedaris,” I slurred.

“What?” Sophie giggled.

“Oh, nothing,” I mumbled, “Cheers, honey.”