Theft by Finding: Diaries 1977-2002

by David Sedaris

Kim’s husband gets his hair cut at a place called Blood, Sweat, and Shears.

I found this excellent bit of advice in The Amy Vanderbilt Complete Book of Etiquette: “If you start to shake hands with someone who has lost an arm, shake his other hand. If he has lost both arms, shake the tip of his artificial hand (be quick and unembarrassed about it).”

It was foggy today, and dark by three. By five, delinquents were breaking into cars. They’re shameless in this neighborhood. All are white with greasy bangs brushed to the sides of their heads. They all wear Windbreakers and sneakers. Delinquent style is timeless. Real trouble doesn’t walk around with a ponytail. It doesn’t have a Mohawk or special shoelace patterns. Real trouble has a bad complexion and a Windbreaker.

A few days back, at the library, I found the new biography of Jackson Pollock, who was surprisingly naive. On the advice of a Park Avenue “healer,” he started drinking a combination of bat shit and ground beets, this to establish a “proper balance of gold and silver in his urine.” In 1951 the doctor put him on a special diet for his alcoholism. No dairy and plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables. The only meat permitted was fowl, which had to have been shot within the past two hours and had to be wild—“Eat no bird that can’t take off at fifty miles per hour.” Meanwhile, he could still drink as much alcohol as he wanted. The trick, the doctor explained, was to balance out the metals in his body.

After Bonnie and Clyde were gunned down, souvenir hunters mobbed the car, taking with them shards of windshield glass, upholstery, and even hanks of human hair. One fellow was caught attempting to saw off Clyde Barrow’s ear. I read that somewhere yesterday.