Casual Fun Idea: Read David Sedaris’ Theft By Finding, Diaries 1977-2002

As expected, the book is a delight. Imagine taking a peek at David Sedaris’s diaries and reading about stuff that happened to him in real life, from the ‘70s through to early ‘00s. Of course, these had already been edited, but they’re ‘raw’ compared to the finished and/or stylized essays in his other books.

Some observations, thoughts, feelings:

1. He’s a well-known author with a huge following, so of course his diaries would be of great interest to millions of people who’ve read him and love him. But a book filled with seemingly nondescript, humdrum entries would have to be extraordinarily entertaining to be worth buying. So thank goodness his diaries are funny. I think it’s difficult to fake funny.

2. It’s great to read a famous author’s diaries and not have it be packaged as an ’insightful peek’ into his inner life. It definitely is that, but it’s terrific that it’s just really a collection of his diaries, like, ‘here are David Sedaris’s diaries, culled from his years of diarizing, transcribed from his numerous notebooks. We think you’ll enjoy it, and some of you, we’re pretty sure, will do find it immensely readable, enjoyable. Some of you will not, and that’s okay.’

3. Some of the most interesting, life-changing events happened in the ‘90s. It’s when he moved to New York. It’s when he ‘decided’ to have a crush on his long-time partner Hugh. It’s when he found work as an Elf in Macy’s, which resulted in the hilarious ‘Santaland Diaries.’ Thank you, ‘90s.

4. If you’re thinking of keeping a diary, try to leave out most of your thoughts and feelings. Just tell your notebook what happened and see how it turns out after several days’ or weeks’ entries. Hilarity, comedy, drama, tragedy could still ensue if you diarize well.

5. You really could make something out of your diary entries, compile them and turn them into a bestselling collection of essays. The ‘trick’ is to buy small notebooks that you can carry around wherever you go.

6. It’s difficult to determine whether he knew his diaries would be read by the general public someday, and whether that line of thinking was a contributing factor in creating what is now ‘Theft by Finding 1987-2002.’ He just kept writing and look how that turned out.


Morrissey’s ‘List of the Lost’ is a comic novel we don’t deserve


I had hoped that sexy British author Morrissey’s ‘List of the Lost’ would be similar to ‘Infinite Jest’ (athlete friends getting high and saying clever things 24×7), but it wasn’t and that’s okay. What it is is a peculiar novel that manages to be everything that Morrissey the vegetarian-atheist-sexy person wanted it to be and more. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever read before (maybe).

It’s about four fabulously built athletes who play some sports things (javelin running or something) and their deadbeat coach Rims who likes to make speeches in italics. I would say he’s like a character in a Thomas Hardy novel except that I’m not sure whether or not that makes sense because really, he could be from any planet from any century, and he would still be special.

The finely musculatured foursome Ezra, Harri, Justy and Nails do, say, and feel things like most characters in many novels, until one day they run into a preachy hobo who manages to give a rousing monologue about sexual morality, police brutality, the imprecision of memory, and government greed among other things before dying in the hands of Ezra, the novel’s Hal Incandenza. And in the words of some youthful characters on Twitter, ‘sdsklskdlskdlsdksl’

The dialogue may be bad (I’m too busy to type the excellent sex bits but they’re hilarious and worth reading) but at least it doesn’t waste your time — it’s only 117 pages! There’s a special message for pork eaters, too. And if Jonathan Safran Foer can’t turn you into a vegetarian, don’t you worry because this won’t likely hypnotize you into giving up meat and dairy. Morrissey will only shame you and your pork-eating habits. You’re likely going to feel spiteful for that and continue being a carnivore. Meanwhile, some of you will be amused.

‘List of the Lost’ is clearly a comic novel that Steven Patrick took a week of his life to entertain you, Morrissey fans, and everyone else with the good sense to pick it up, and if you can’t see that I feel sorry for you. Don’t believe The Guardian who viciously urges its readers not to read this wacky book. Or believe them but read it anyway.

Tell Everyone About ‘Don’t Tell Anyone,’ literary smut by Shakira Andrea Sison and Ian Rosales Casocot

‘Don’t Tell Anyone literary smut‘ was supposed to be an erotica anthology featuring both straight and gay stories. But because the stories submitted by the straight writers weren’t bastos enough, the book project ended up being a gay collection written by gay persons, Ian Rosales Casocot and Shakira Andrea Sison. In short, the gays won because gays follow rules. If they are tasked to write erotica, they write ones with unflinching smuttiness.

‘all my broken i love yous’ begins with ‘how to melt stone,’ which I presume is an accurate depiction of lesbian courtship and climaxes. It starts out coyly, telling a certain ‘you’ how to act around a Drakkar Noir-wearing lesbian lover. It’s short and sweet, and for a moment, I thought the stories would all be this saccharine.

It’s only a matter of time, though, before “bare crotches,” “proud clits,” and “shiny thighs” begin to take center stage. You’d be foolish to expect a moment of rest from really hot lovemaking because from the second story, ‘short,’ onwards, it’s all steamy sexing with only a few pillow talks in between.

By the third and fourth story, I needed a reprieve so I jumped into the Casocot side, ‘all the loves of my life.’ And I was rewarded with stories that are sexy but also have characters who communicate. In fact, I recommend switching from the lesbian side to the gay side to avoid fatigue. Whereas Sison’s stories are truly erotic, they sometimes get to be too much.

That said, it helps that:

-the writing is superb; you won’t get lost mapping the geography of Laurie, Lana, Teresa or any of the ladies’ bodies because Shaki is an expert navigator and she makes sure you don’t get lost. But I couldn’t help but giggle at the many colorful ways in which vaginas were described, which include ‘my half’ (or something), ‘mound,’ and more. I realize these are standard descriptions of the female organ but they sometimes elicit laughter instead of something else.

-lesbian sex is rarely described in any piece of art, unless you seek it out. If you’re reading this because you’re curious or because you need to know, consider your curiosity satiated (although it’s really not in my place to say whether or not this is accurate).

-the characters, when they get a chance to speak, are articulate. They’re very horny but also very smart. In “The Teachers,” professors Lena and Carla discuss the finer points of lesbian sexuality and attraction, which intelligently raises misconceptions and confusion about the way lesbians perceive attraction amongst themselves.

Reading the lesbian stories first, gay ones second also works. The women in the lesbian side are, I feel, too serious and intense, and only pause briefly to catch their breath, smoke, or negotiate with pervy campus security guards who catch them humping.

Casocot’s stories, on the other hand, are quite conservative, and the characters are easier to remember. For example, you can tell the boys from ‘the boys from Rizal Street’ apart: Samuel is the douche with the huge d, Tobias is the cold top, and Joseph is the map enthusiast who says things like, “But sometimes even a fake map is a good measure of the real borders we believe our lives to be contained in. Their (they’re ?) renderings of our imagined places—and for that, they’re beautiful.” He gives the narrator named ‘Ian’ a hard-on.

This is why I love this story: I love that the author doesn’t even care that his name is Ian and his story’s protagonist is also named Ian. Some works of fiction are very thinly veiled personal anecdotes and to me that’s okay as long as they’re good stories.

‘the thank you girl’ is a lighthearted and engaging romp about two guys who met on Grindr and found themselves in too deep talking about an acronym you may or may not have heard of, OGT, which stands for Obviously Gay Trait. Their chat inevitably leads to a necessary Miss Universe strip game. I see a movie on the horizon starring two heartthrobs, preferably ones with great comic timing.

‘Don’t Tell Anyone’ is a breath of fresh air. I had to look up ‘smut’ because I thought the gay side was not sexy enough. It turned out I’ve equated smut with porn. Smut is, per Urban Dictionary, a work of fiction that includes one or more sexually explicit scenes, with a thin plot and lots of romance. And because Ian and Shakira follow rules, they’ve created really good smut. ‘Don’t Tell Anyone’ is an exhilarating (the lez side, especially) good time that titillates, tickles, and educates.

I was asked to speak to Alan Hollinghurst in an episode of the BBC World Book Club


To Whom Do You Beautifully Belong?

Someone from the BBC World Book Club got wind of my 5-star review of ‘The Line of Beauty’ in Goodreads dot com and asked if I wanted to send in a question (and more) to an episode they’re doing with Alan Hollinghurst, who won the Booker Prize in 2014 and who wrote all those stunning novels about gays (mostly British gays) and more (he’s not just a gay writer; there’s something about British writers, I don’t know what it is, but many of them have it whatever it is! Ian McEwan, David Mitchell, Ali Smith, etc.).

And although I don’t really chase after literary prize winners, I’ve always thought the Booker Prize nominees and winners are enjoyable and excellent which are two very important book qualities, in my opinion.

I didn’t really know what to ask AH so I just told him I’m ‘disheartened by the
homophobia that’s pervasive even in supposedly progressive countries.’ I just read some tweets about Australia’s vote on gay marriage and thought, hmm, maybe I should let him know about that, and find a way to work that into a question. I thought it would make me look both ‘socially aware’ (I’m not) homosexual who, incidentally, is unlike the characters in his novel, Nick, Wani, Leo, etc, who are gays in the 80s, gays who are living in a bubble, living like princes within their posh communities.

Funny aside: Karen from the BBC had to ask me what I meant by ‘woke,’ a word which I used in my message and which she had to change to ‘socially aware’ because that’s not a word that adults in the real world use. From now on, no more saying things like ‘woke’ and ‘shook’ and using abbreviations like AF and WTH and WTF and NVM.

I have now gathered my wits about me and await with bated breath the airing of the episode in November. If I had had more time to think about what I really wanted to ask Alan Hollinghurst, I would have asked any of the following questions instead of what I ended up asking:

1. If Nick, Leo, or Wani were living in 2017, what kind of gays would they be? Grindr gays, drag race gays, Britney gays, Gaga gays, or Kylie Minogue gays (the 5 kinds of gays)?

2. Would a gay like Leo have lived longer had he been alive in 2017?

But anyway, I never thought I’d ever speak to a Booker Prize winner.

I’ve been reviewing books for years as a hobby and this is one of those times when I imagined having a conversation with an author I admire (or whose 1 or 2 books I love) and what he/she thinks of what I think of his/her book. AH and I didn’t really have a conversation but what a nice feeling that was to have asked him a question.

It just goes to show that when you write a 5-star review of a novelist’s work, you get invited to a book club radio program to ask a thoughtful, insightful question about homophobia in 2017 or something equally thrilling.

Singlehood Things That Christopher Isherwood’s ‘A Single Man’ Gets Exactly Right

George is a middle-aged gay whose mornings are made difficult by the daily realization that he is a single man. His lover Jim has just died and it is the most difficult thing, ever. If you can get past the first sentence of this very good, very exquisite novel, ‘Waking up begins with saying am and now,’ which is not what many people say when they wake up, you’ll find plenty to adore maybe especially if you are a single homosexual man.

1. Single men don’t always like to hang out with their girl friends, the Charleys of the world, the females with the boundless supply of energy and loads of food and booze in their fabulous apartments. It takes so much energy and sleeping early is so important.

2. About going to and being at the gym: ‘How delightful it is, to be here! If only one could spend one’s entire life in this state of easy-going physical democracy! Nobody is a bitch here, or ill-tempered or inquisitive. Vanity, including the most outrageous posings in front of the mirrors is taken for granted.’

The belief that a gym is a place where people are showing a kinder version of themselves, and that it’s a place where casual greetings are genuine because everyone’s freshly filled with hormones, which make them happy. The inexplicable desire to entertain the ego’s need to match or exceed what the person on the next bench is benching.

3. It asks the perfect question about loneliness and eating alone. ‘Should we ever feel truly lonely if we never eat alone?

4. The lack of fondness for children and the rackets they make, the hells they create for adults who appreciate nothing more than a peaceful extended morning’s sleep and some quiet time at the shitter.

5. Worrying over your neighbor noticing something queer about you. And being devastated when said neighbor extends a kind gesture, an invitation to have drinks with you that you have to turn down because you’re heading over to Charley’s, the fabulous girlfriend where the drinks are better and the decor is chicer.

6. The desire to return every item in your grocery cart back to their respective shelves because you can’t decide whether grocery shopping is the right thing for you to do at this moment. What you end up doing: commit to the grocery shopping and pay for the items because the staff who would have to deal with your grocery mess is cute and you don’t want to cause attractive persons any trouble.

7. The suspicion that you’re trying to dress young because you have no sense of age anymore. Even though a lot of time passed, it did so without you having to act mature, so your wardrobe is filled with maroon garments and green pants.

8. The daily dread that comes with having a recently deceased lover. Very few life events can match that because relationships are so hard and when our lovers die, it results to a deep, deep gash that burns like a motherfucker. I’ve seen it happen to countless formerly single-turned-coupled-turned-widowed single gays and it’s awful.

9. The goodness of drunkenness and there being two kinds: the good kind – the one you seldom achieve – and the bad kind, which we always regret the morning after the binge because it affects our health goals that seem hollow without a lover by our side.

10. The distinct possibility that we will die alone in our sleep, and become ‘cousin to the garbage in the container on the back porch.’ We are very responsible so we’d most likely have everything taken care of when the time comes. Our designated Charley would have nothing to worry about.

An Asian Appreciation of Paul Beatty’s The Sellout


Paul Beatty’s The Sellout is a funny, clever, topical novel, and it’s easy to see why it won the Man Booker Prize (I say that as if I’m fully aware of the criteria when I’m not) and the hearts of critics. It’s so clever that I don’t think my tiny brain, the same one that enjoyed it, might not be able to explain what it’s about, although my brain knows very well that it is satirizing a reality that is completely worthy of a superb novelist’s satirizing. In this case, it’s racism in America by way of a black man bringing segregation back in the fictional, erased-off-the-map town of Dickens.

There are complaints about the supposedly obscure references in the novel, and there are indeed a handful of esoteric pop culture artifacts tossed about, but there are also a lot of highly recognizable ones. Making these references, though, lets the author drive his point across more effectively than if he were just telling the story of a poor black man who suffers slurs and discrimination in his place, in the bus on his way to work or wherever. And if a reference is obscure, it’s funny anyway mostly because of the way it’s such brilliant, funny writing.

Reading the novel is like being told jokes you’ve heard a very funny person tell that you don’t really get but laugh at anyway. There are bits about blacks-inspired software with a word processor that has font called Tumbuktu and Harlem Renaissance. Distressed black women complain about unequal treatment of angry women: “When a white bitch got problems, she’s a damsel in distress! When a black bitch got problems, she’s a welfare cheat and a burden on society… Rapunzel! Rapunzel! Let down your weave!” It throws jabs at Mexicans, Indians, the Chinese. You don’t have to be there to get the joke is what I’m saying, I guess.

Also, no one is safe. Not Dave Eggers, not Hootie and the Blowfish, not the TV show Friends, not Madonna, not ESPN, not the authors of literary classics and the white men who chose them. It’s so clever that at certain points, I thought the author might make a meta-comment about the Caucasian book critics who are fascinated by the author’s undeniable genius, the same ones that appear on the book’s blurb pages. But nope, the author mercifully held back.

Perhaps it’s the Americans who would find this very, very funny because satire about the social reality that is racism will always be great material for comedy and they’re right in the middle of where the action is. But to Asians who might get only some of the more obvious pop culture references, the novel still comes off as hilarious because this is not the first time we find out about discrimination. It’s quite familiar to us, in fact. It also pokes fun at people who frequently use the word “plethora”.

The Sellout is a sharp and funny (it bears repeating) reminder that modern America can’t help but practice its old habits, and our minority-belonging couldn’t help but chuckle even if it’s in a satirical novel about racism in the USA, and more importantly because of this The Great Gatsby that you have to read the novel to understand the context of because I won’t explain it:

“Real talk. When I was young, dumb, and full of cum, my omnipresent, good to my mother, non-stereotypical African-American daddy dropped some knowledge on me that I been trippin’ off ever since.” 

It features funny racism satire things featuring Latinos and Asians, too. The hilariousness in that is universal, and laughing with a novel is a reading experience I will always cherish.

Books, Book-Buying, Reading, Reading Plans 2017

It is unsurprising to find out that as you grow older and less prone to delusions of youthfulness, the number of books you read gradually decreases. I used to average 35 a year, but when I moved to Bangkok, this number shrank to 19 in 2015 and 23 last year. The reason for this is obvious: it’s because I moved to Bangkok where book-buying is not that fun (anything you could think of having, you can have, which is not a thrilling way to obtain books). Here’s a fun fact: Metro Manila is where you want to be if you want to meet reading goals. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Metro Manila is ruled by forces that make commuting such a hellacious daily experience that you’re often left with no choice but to find solace in reading. Bangkok is not ruled by those forces.

The decreased number of books read could mean any of the following: other forms of entertainment enjoyed and a life well-lived outside of a book. It could mean your museums-visited or movies-seen lists have increased. In my case, though, TV took the place of reading time. After a day’s work, I usually find that the only sensible thing to do at home is watch drag queens outsmart fellow drag queens in a race to win $100,000 and a sickening supply of cosmetics.

Because of this, I’ve decided to start reading anything I lay my hands on, in my room, as long as it’s a reading material; enough with sniffing the pages and on to actually reading them. I’ll stop doing what I do which is pick up any of the David Mitchells off the shelf, softly whisper to myself, ‘I’ll read you next’ and then pick up Ciara, my phone, to check Twitter and not tweet, or tweet and decide 10 minutes later that the tweet is stupid and should be deleted.

In a way, I blame Hanya Yanagihara for last year’s short list. ‘A Little Life’ was a two-month read and it demanded all the attention I could give a novel, which made reading another novel seem impractical. I blame Jude. But if you can find the time to read it, I highly recommend it.

I’ve only read 21 books in 2016 despite having many off periods – periods when big novels could have reasonably been accommodated. During one of these periods, I dived into Anne Rice’s ‘Prince Lestat’ and expected it to be a quickish read, but its character-dumping prevented me from finishing fast. I heard the sequel is even more insane and more infuriating, if the GoodReads reviewers are to be trusted (they are not to be trusted). I can’t wait.

I might read even fewer books this year and that would be alright. Maybe that won’t be alright. To read as much as I can used to be such a powerful goal of mine. It’s not anymore. Life feels shorter and shorter each reading year. For me, in my life, that means no more Guillermo Del Toro vampire novels.