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I came around to Camp Akrotiri about every six weeks on the regular Athens run. But this one was different. Some hatred or jealousy in the back rooms of Minitrek Expeditions had landed me with a special tour, through Greece and Turkey in the footsteps of Saint Paul, for a school party from Saint Saviour's. This seedy establishment was a boys' public (a.k.a. private) school of the third rank, in south London. My party consisted of twelve boys, aged thirteen to fifteen, and two masters. One of the masters was an Anglican priest. Both were ravingly gay (or, as we used to say then, as queer as two clockwork oranges).

"Have some Brand Xos," I said. And so our love story was launched. When the sun went down I abandoned my twelve boys and two masters and took Ann on a personal tour of Athens. Back at the camp, very late, a nightmare frustration threatened. All our tents were shared, and all had their quota of snoring bodies. With the energy of desire, I dragged out a spare tent and put it up in a far corner of the camp in about two minutes.

Greece, of course, is the home of nemesis. In the murky dawn hour, our half-collapsed, vibrating tent was as conspicuous as a nude sunbather in Saudi Arabia. Twelve adolescent and forcibly celibate public school boys can smell sex ten kilometers away. They didn't have to smell it, they could hear it. An air mattress makes the most amazingly pornographic sounds. When we crawled out into the morning sun, they were all waiting and watching. A lesser woman would have fled, but Ann faced them down, and even began learning their names. She was planning to join the tour.

A lead curtain should be drawn over the details of that tour. The masters were scandalized, and sent telegrams to an indifferent head office in London. The boys were so excited and titillated that the group suffered an explosion of homosexual behavior, even beyond the norm for British public school boys. They were driven to distraction by the sight of her black underwear drying on the tent lines. This is a piece of imaginative invention.

The tour where all this happened did not end in the ordinary way. When we were back in Athens after the swing through Turkey, and ready to start the long drag back home to London, I was reassigned to a tour starting from Heraklion in Crete. Somebody else drove the tumescent schoolboys and their shocked masters back to Victoria Station. Ann abandoned her tour and her job, and came with me to Heraklion.

Sedaris is the master of spin, turning the quotidian into the stuff of laugh-out-loud humor. His wry and insightful observations about daily life, tales of growing up and the alienated angst of feeling different have won radio audiences and book readers alike. He talks of his foul-mouthed younger brother, of family foibles and foils, and of his own misguided attempts to adapt to his adopted home in Paris, France. As Bob Hoover noted in an article in the Post-Gazette, Sedaris is an "elfin figure" with a "faintly nasal deadpan delivery." Hoover also noted that Sedaris is "one of life's true outsiders, a Northerner transplanted to the South, a gay man in a society of male role models, a sensitive soul in a dumb culture." Sedaris uses painful bits from his family history as well as the flotsam he finds all around him. "I'm just the friendly junk man," Sedaris told Hoover. "I take pieces of junk and make my stories out of them."

In June of 2004, Sedaris' book, Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, was published. "You'd think that the best-selling storyteller would have run out of dish by now, but Sedaris has a few juicy ones left, and each is told with stand-up precision," declared Daly in People. Sedaris remains a master in turning personal and overheard tragedy and pathos into the material of comedy. He told Knight Ridder/Tribune News Service correspondent Robert K. Elder that he is not interested if he merely hears laughter in a hotel where he is staying. "I don't want to see what someone in a hotel finds funny," Sedaris commented. "But if they are screaming in pain or terror, I'm interested. I want to see what is so horrible. I want to see if I think it's horrible too." Elder commented that Sedaris is an "unapologetic voyeur of human behavior" with a talent for "finding laughter in the macabre, beauty in oddity." Writing in Time, Walter Kirn noted that Sedaris' target with his humor is most often himself, "vulnerable, vain, afflicted with bad habits and perpetually defending his right to self-destruct in peace." Kirn concluded that the "humor in Sedaris is transgressive, but it never feels contrived to be so. It's his legitimate, warped view of his legitimate, warped life."

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