Theft by Finding: Diaries 1977-2002

by David Sedaris

I read a funny article by Patricia Marx called “Getting Along with the Russians.” She says, “Education, not force, is the effective way to change the Russians. If we want a three-year-old not to put his hand on a hot stove, we do not beat him unmercifully. Rather, we teach him that a stove is hot, by pressing his hand to the burner for a minute or two.” She goes on with soft approaches and offers harder ones if plan A fails. “Continue to send the Russians wheat, but package it in cartons filled with so many Styrofoam pellets that Russia becomes a big mess.” “Give them broken headsets at the UN.”

It’s so sad to see human shit out of context.

This spring I am, if I’m not mistaken, in love.

Other people’s pain is uninteresting. My own, though, is spellbinding.

Lately I’m trying to be a better listener. This involves asking questions such as “Tell me, Louis, do you have a lot of candles in your house?”

Continuing our tradition of seeing movies about black people on Christmas Day, after opening presents, Dad, Lisa, Paul, Amy, and I went to see Jackie Brown.

I listened to a lot of talk radio today. The president is caught up in a sex scandal that could ruin him if it’s proven he encouraged the young woman to lie to the grand jury or whoever it was who needed to be lied to. One station offered a prize to whoever could give the scandal the best name. I’m sick of attaching the suffix -gate to everything, though it’s hard to sneeze at either Fornigate or Tailgate, the top two contenders. Who knows what will come of it.

I’d hate it if the person selling me pot in the middle of the day was super-articulate. That would make me feel like even more of a loser.

Q. Did you hear about the Polish lottery? A. You win $1 a year for a million years.

“The good thing about French drinking water is you know nobody’s taken a bath in it.”

Today the teacher called me a sadist. I tried to say that was like the pot calling the kettle black but came out with something closer to “That is like a pan saying to a dark pan, ‘You are a pan.’”

Yesterday, there were more student demonstrations. Because the high schoolers want more teachers, they sometimes need to overturn cars and destroy phone booths.

I’m all for any book that uses the words pulchritudinous and hungry pooh hole on the same page.

Alcohol and telephones do not mix.

“No,” I corrected her, “I’m not a misogynist, I’m a misanthrope. I hate everyone equally.”

Today I saw a one-armed dwarf carrying a skateboard. It’s been ninety days since I’ve had a drink.

I’d never noticed that candles give off heat, perhaps because I’m not a Catholic.

The way I see it, there are at least four separate Key Wests. One consists of people with gum disease who carry parrots on their shoulders. The second is gay; the third is young people with tattoos; and the fourth is made up of tourists.

You can’t just march into someone else’s country and start telling everyone what to do—even the Marines have to practice a little diplomacy.

I’ve been dieting for two weeks now, and while my stomach feels a bit smaller, I seem to have lost the most amount of weight in my forehead.

When people speak Italian, I always imagine that they’re either gossiping or relating the details of a close race.

It’s hard to say the word lunches with the missing e: lunchs.

The thing about “God Bless America” is that, after a certain point, nobody really knows the words.

She meant the new, anti-globalization hippies, who are even more self-righteous than the old ones.

You don’t just suddenly become an award-winning asshole.

The dumbest words ever spoken in New York are “I think I’ll wear my new shoes.”

Had I woken to find him fondling me I could have lived with it, but you don’t touch another man’s puzzle.