So I dunno; I got this book (somewhere) because I heard (somewhere) that it was really funny and witty and all. I guess I might have laughed once or twice, or at least smiled, while reading these twenty-seven little pieces (not stories, really, since they're all nominally true; little essays, I guess), but the people who wrote the blurbs saying "wildly entertaining" and "irresistably funny" and "funniest writer alive" must have very different tastes than I do.
So David Sedaris is this guy. And he has a father who's mildly strange. And he took guitar lessons from a short eccentric person as a child, and had other slightly odd experiences. And as an adult he moved to Paris to be with his boyfriend (or something like that), and learned (or didn't learn) some French, and appreciates French culture mostly for including lots of classic English-language films. And he writes about it all competently.
But I was definitely not rolling in the aisles.

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