At first I was alternating this book with short stories from Philip K. Dick. I couldn't handle PKD's total absence of characters, and Sedaris's stories that were ultimately about nothing but character were a great substitute. Then, of course, I would tire of the blaring ego and introspection in Sedaris's stories and go back to something that wasn't just navel-gazing.

By the end of this book, though, I'd finally started to warm to what Sedaris was doing, and some of the later shorts did that magic trick with me that when I was done with them I actually had to stop and sit and think for a while. I went through the last two fiction and all the non-fiction without flipping back to PKD.

I'm torn between three stars and four. For now it's three, but it's so close to four ... maybe if he's still in my head in a week I'll come back and revisit my rating.