"Who's David Sedaris?" I was asked as I scrambled to procure a sitter for the kids on the night he played The Palace Theatre in Albany.

"Oh ... he's kind of a literary humorist, part social commentator, part memoirist," I replied.

It was apparent by the silence that followed the questioner wanted more information.

"But what does he write?"

"Well. ... He's this guy who tears a page out of life, puts it through a shredder and then takes each individal piece and crumbles them up. He then carefully smoothes out the pieces and weaves them back together in some elaborate order that is not apparent to you. He asks you to hold it for a second, as a favor, while he rips up another page. And as you stare at this weird thing in your hands you suddenly have two distincly separate but connected understandings: 'modern art isn't really elitist after all' ... and 'my five-year-old can't do this'."

More silence.

"Ok. So ... I'll just Google him then?"

"Probably best."