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If you attend a David Sedaris reading, you’re helping him edit

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If you attend a David Sedaris reading, you’re helping him edit

“The audience is my first editor,” David Sedaris says. His new book is The Land and Its People.

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Anne Fishbein/Little Brown

Humorist David Sedaris has spent more than three decades writing about the absurdities of modern life and sharing his work in front of live audiences.

“I love attention,” he says of going on tour. “I love going on stage and I love people applauding, love people laughing.”

But reading out loud isn’t just about adoration. Sedaris says he’s always listening for reactions from the crowd and tweaking his work in response.

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“The audience is my first editor,” he says. “When they cough, they tell me that I need to cut whatever it is that I’m reading. Of course, when they laugh, that’s fantastic. But I don’t mind a groan. A collective groan is fine with me.”

Sedaris’ daily routine is oriented around getting his steps in (at least 10 miles) and learning German, Japanese, Spanish and French on Duolingo. That’s in addition to his rigorous travel and writing regimen. For Sedaris, it’s all about growing and improving.

“That’s the promise: that you can be better, that you can write better, that you understand better, that you [can] speak a language better, that you can be a better person,” he says. “But it’s not going to happen by accident. You have to work at it. And so that’s what puts me at my desk, and that’s what gets me out of bed every day.”

His latest essay collection, The Land and Its People, casts Sedaris in several roles, including devout brother, itinerant traveler, grieving friend and reluctant caretaker.

Interview highlights

The Land and Its People

Little, Brown and Company

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On whether he’d use AI for writing prompts 

A friend of mine … asked ChatGPT to write something in my voice … and she sent it to me. And it was so lame, and then I rewrote it and it was the biggest laugh in the entire book. The audience howls with laughter. I would never have thought to write about this had ChatGPT not written it first. And I thought, well, that’s fair. That’s not plagiarism or anything. If a machine comes up with it and then I rewrite it, that’s perfectly within my rights, right?
Right now I feel like it can’t be dirty in an interesting way. So much of successful comedy is just surprising people, by surprising people with a word they didn’t expect to hear, or an image they didn’t expect. And right now I feel it’s not capable of that, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be capable of it in a year or two. But me personally, if you told me that here was a short story written by ChatGPT, or a book, I do not believe I would want to read it because I want someone on the other end. I want someone who I can write to and I can say, “Wow, I loved your book. I loved your story,” and I want a human to think, “Oh, I just sold a book.”

On why he resisted getting married to his longtime boyfriend Hugh (and eventually got married in secret)

At first we were boyfriends and then people started calling him “your partner.” … Well-meaning straight people thought it was respectful to use the word “partner,” like the same way now that a lot of people think they’re supposed to use the word “queer,” and I can’t stand that word, but they’ve been told that this is the appropriate word now and the word that they should be using. Then gay marriage came along, and then everyone just assumed that Hugh and I were married. …

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We got married. I don’t even know when it was. I know it was before the pandemic. It was a shotgun wedding arranged by my banker. And I never told anybody about it. And I told Hugh he couldn’t tell anybody about it, because I don’t like when a man says the word, “my husband.” It’s like “my unicycle.” I met a woman at a book signing once, and she used the phrase, “my son-in-law’s unicycle.” And I thought, “Oh, that must pain you every time you have to say, my son-in-law’s unicycle.” I wanted gay people to get the right to marry, and then I wanted not a one of us to do it. I thought that would have been perfect. To say … “We spit on your marriage. We just want the right to do it.”

On writing up a contract for two of his sisters to not get married — Sedaris is one of six siblings

I drew up contracts all the time when I was a kid. … I made [my sisters] sign a contract swearing they’d never get married. But I didn’t want to lose them. I was just afraid because I didn’t have a word for what I was at that time, but I just knew that I wasn’t like the other boys. And I just thought, “Well, I’m gonna be alone for the rest of my life, and I want my sisters to be with me.” I couldn’t bear the thought of being alone without them, so I got them to sign contracts, swearing they’d never get married. But only Amy and Gretchen. … Neither Amy nor Gretchen got married.

On why good people are often not great characters 

If you’re on the page, you’re a character. When you’re in real life, you are a person. Hugh is a good character. My sister Gretchen, I adore my sister Gretchen. She’s not a good character. She is a great person. I have friends who are great people, but not great characters. And it doesn’t have anything to do with being dynamic. Maybe it’s a degree of confidence that makes somebody a good character. …

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Confident people always have my ear, even if I don’t agree with them or even if I think their confidence is unearned or that they’re fooling themselves. It doesn’t matter. It gets me to sit up straight and it gets me to listen. … I love the combination of somebody who’s just a horrible person, but just brimming with confidence and just certain that they’re right in all situations. I mean, my dad was like that. Never, never, ever showed any doubt in regard to anything. I didn’t agree with him and I didn’t wanna be him, but it made him a good character.

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On whether writing is cathartic for him

I’ve never felt it to be cathartic. It helps me make sense of the world. And it helps me see myself. … I never really wrote about my feelings in my diary. Like, that’s really embarrassing if you look through an old diary and it’s all about your feelings. If it’s about a conversation you had at the barber shop, that’s not embarrassing, right? I could put out a whole book of haircuts, just haircuts I’ve had over the years and conversations with different barbers. Every one of them is recounted in my diary. I don’t recall ever getting a haircut and not writing about it afterwards.

On why he keeps up his rigorous book tour schedule 

I don’t know how much of it is about the money. … It’s earning it. Earning those laughs. I mean, it’s going to happen to everybody and then you wind up in a nursing home and you’re talking to a spatula, you know? And hopefully when I’m in that condition, I won’t remember how wonderful it was to have this career. I won’t even know my own name, hopefully, because to be there and to remember joy and know that you’ll never experience it again will be pretty ugly. I said that like somebody who has stage four cancer. There’s nothing wrong with me. I don’t foresee any end to this, as long as people come. Maybe toward the end, I’ll have to pay people to come, and the money will flow in the other direction.

Monique Nazareth and Nico Gonzalez Wisler produced and edited this interview for broadcast. Bridget Bentz, Molly Seavy-Nesper and Beth Novey adapted it for the web.

Lifestyle

‘The Trojan Teddy Bear’: The promise and peril of childhood in the age of AI

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‘The Trojan Teddy Bear’: The promise and peril of childhood in the age of AI

In A.I. Artificial Intelligence, Monica introduces Teddy to David. The seemingly ordinary teddy bear quickly reveals himself to be an intelligent companion capable of conversation and emotional support.

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Back in 2001, Steven Spielberg released an underrated scifi movie named A.I. Artificial Intelligence (yes, the title is a bit redundant). The movie, which loosely borrows from Pinocchio, tells the story of a family who adopts a robotic boy programmed for love, and that robot’s heartbreaking quest to become a real boy.

Much of the technology in A.I. remains elusive. We’re probably not anywhere close to building androids that can convincingly pass as Haley Joel Osment — or Jude Law, for that matter. But some of the AI products imagined in the movie are starting to look surprisingly plausible. Take Teddy, an animatronic teddy bear. Teddy can walk, talk, make decisions, and respond to the needs and emotions of people around him. He’s more than just a toy. He’s an intelligent companion and protector for children.

Today, a slew of technology companies are developing AI companions that sort of resemble Teddy. The most intelligent AI chatbots still live on digital screens, but a wave of startups is giving them bodies — creating dolls, action figures, and robots that can serve as companions for kids.

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What happens when kids grow up with AI?

AI is already a part of childhood. Recommendation algorithms curate what many kids watch and listen to. Chatbots stand ready to answer questions like, “Are monsters real?” or “Why is the sky blue?” They can help with homework, tell bedtime stories, or even feel like a friend. And companies are racing to embed AI into toys, nurseries, classrooms, and eventually robots that live alongside families.

In a new book, Human Raised: Nurturing Connection, Curiosity & Lifelong Learning in the Age of AI, author Dana Suskind grapples with what the rising tide of artificial intelligence means for raising kids. On the one hand, she acknowledges that the technology offers promise as, for example, a productivity enhancer and time saver for parents, a monitoring and research tool that can give parents and scientists valuable data on child development, and an interactive tutor that might help some kids learn.

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It’s time for the night trip to the beach — the grunion are running

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It’s time for the night trip to the beach — the grunion are running

One of the most magical and underrated natural wonders of the American West is about to unfold across California beaches.

In four-day periods every year from March to August, legions of small, silver fish called grunion ride the waves ashore for mating rituals, beginning on the nights of the full and new moons.

But this isn’t just any fish spawning.

First, the females bury themselves halfway in the sand with only their heads sticking out and lay their eggs. Then, the males wriggle up and twist and wrap around them. It’s a rare and mysterious orgy unfolding in the dead of night. And it’s all out in the open for public viewing.

For some SoCal families, watching the grunion run is an annual summer tradition. There have been several runs already this year, with sightings reported from La Jolla to Ventura. Another is expected to start Tuesday night.

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When the grunions will be running

Grunion mate on Cabrillo Beach in San Pedro on June 5, 2023.

(Luis Sinco / Los Angeles Times)

This week’s run is predicted go from Tuesday to Friday.

The fish come up on the sand for about two hours at night, as the high tide starts to ebb, usually between 10 p.m. and 2 a.m. The second hour is when the spawning picks up.

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The second and third night of the four-night runs tend to be best to see grunion, according to the California Department of Fish and Wildlife. The first night, Tuesday night, is the least predictable.

The agency publishes a schedule of what days and times to expect the ritual, based on moon cycles and the timing at San Pedro’s Cabrillo Beach, a known grunion hotspot.

But it all varies.

“The further south that you go, the grunion tend to show up a little bit earlier, and if you go further to the north, they tend to show up a little bit later,” said CDFW environmental scientist Malcolm Tunnell. “We don’t fully understand this. They are a cryptic species.”

Where to see them

Grunion are a native species and only live off the coast of southern California and northern Mexico. Their usual range is from Santa Barbara to Baja California, although it has been shifting north as climate change heats the oceans.

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While you can expect to see grunion in SoCal, the exact beaches where they decide to spawn is something of a mystery, depending on the tides, the sands and the conditions encountered by the scout fish grunion send out before they decide where to mate.

“We usually say, if it’s a beach where there’s surfing, they like the same surfing waves that people like,” said Karen Martin, a professor of biology at Pepperdine University and leading grunion expert. “But really, any beach that has a nice, wide area where they can come ashore is a potential beach.”

Martin runs a group where citizen scientists can report observations. She said this year the runs have not been as abundant as in the past, but “there have been some nice ones, even earlier this month.”

The CDFW recommends checking social media and calling local lifeguards to ask if grunions have been spotted. Bait and tackle shops may also be able to point you in the right direction.

What are the rules for catching grunion

Grunion face threats from development on the coast, sea level rise, changes in storm dynamics and hunting, said Martin.

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Since the 1920s, populations have shown signs of decline on-and-off. To protect grunion during their peak spawning period, CDFW prohibits fishing from April through June.

The season is open now with a limit of 30 per person; they can only be caught by hand, and anyone over 16 needs to have a fishing license.

Flashlights should be used sparingly, so as not to disrupt them.

“The ideal thing would be to just watch, but if you feel compelled to catch, maybe consider catch and release,” said Martin.

A fish that lives in such a limited geography, she said, needs our care.

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“It’s a really remarkable fish.”

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Why your favorite international artist might be reconsidering their next U.S. tour

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Why your favorite international artist might be reconsidering their next U.S. tour

Here’s something American concertgoers might not know: before a musician from another country can take the stage in the U.S., someone has to file paperwork with the federal government on their behalf. And not just any paperwork — a petition, hundreds of pages long, stacked with press clippings, award documentation, testimonial letters from other artists, venue contracts, a detailed tour itinerary, and evidence that the artist is legitimately accomplished at what they do.

And that’s just to start the clock in a process that may take over a year to complete.

This is the reality for international artists — from musicians to painters, dancers to comedians — who want to come to the U.S. to share their work. It’s a complicated, expensive process that arts advocates say has long made the country a difficult place for foreign artists to access. But now, they say it’s gotten much worse.

The time it takes to process a visa has dramatically increased. The number of available interview slots at U.S. embassies is backlogged. Application costs have surged. And there’s an added layer of uncertainty: paperwork can be perfect, fees can be paid, and yet artists still can be turned away at the border.

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For U.S. audiences, all of this means a quiet loss of global cultural exchange.

What does the artist visa process look like?

To illustrate the nonimmigrant visa process for artists, let’s take Kongero, a small, Swedish folk a cappella group that completed its second U.S. tour last fall.

First step: File a petition.

The group’s booking agent planned the tour and gathered all the necessary documentation to file a petition with U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS) to demonstrate that the group qualified for a P-3 visa, the category for culturally unique artists.

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