Where Do I Even Begin?

Perfection.

The man is a god. He really is. He was charming. Funny. Endearing (he does this little thing with his foot when he talks like a 12-year-old). He compared the presidential election to the choice between chicken and a reference to human excrement (HUGE applause!). He read four or five new essays and one fictional fable about what it must like to be a male ladybug and have your entire life be a giant gay joke (which was actually quite poignant in moments as any gay person who has ever been bullied has certainly heard some of what the story entailed). He chatted in between. He had a hilarious bit about an old teacher faking a Spanish accent. About his mother being unable to decide between Humphrey and Nixon and her allowing HIM (at age 11) to cast the ballot. He talked about France, touring, Hugh (his husband). He said everywhere he goes--Australia, the Netherlands, France, England, Germany--people say "Americans will never elect a black man"--and his reply is "No, but half of America can elect a man who is half-black." (Funny bit--but sad the rest of the world, frankly, knows us so pathetically well.) He told us he bought a "cinder-lock-sized box of condoms" for gifts at Costco (he gives away hotel shampoos, condoms, safety pins, you name it, at his signings)--the story was hysterical (what must the other shoppers have thought; what does airline security think?).

I laughed. I forgot the stock market meltdown and a million other woes. I thought he was fabulous. He had 3,000+ people adoring him.

And what I also loved, aside from all the laughter was his process. As a writer, I loved this guy. For example, in all his new stories (these are not in any of the books) he said he always, in every city, changed one line to see if it got a better laugh. Our line was the "smell of your eyeball . . . sizzling" (in a discussion of LASIK). This line (in context) apparently got a better laugh than one about death. He had a pencil. He made notes in the margin as he talked.

He also keeps a diary. Every day. Most days are boring. Sometimes, he writes something good, he said. He read four or five entries--all funny.

He said he didn't much like the Internet. Even his iPod has drawbacks. Because when he travels, he likes to listen to what's on the radio. He said he'll be ironing in his hotel room, listening to Christian radio, thinking (I'm paraphrasing), "This is good. Now I know. This is what these people think." By not traveling with your own tastes pre-plugged into your computer or iPod, it allows you to listen to NEW things, and things outside your comfort zone, not just what you want to listen to. So he fears technology as a writer. (Interesting take . . . )

Life is good when you look forward to something and it surpasses your expectations. So, in honor of my future husband, listen or read something new today. Something outside your comfort zone, something you'd NEVER ordinarily choose. And report back.

Thoughts?