Sarah Hepola

18th July 2002

Go read her July 13 post about her dad at Then read the rest of her site. Sarah is extra keen. Here’s an excerpt:

So when I get to Michigan, I said, tearing some bread, I thought I might spend some time in Detroit. Sometimes, when I am talking in a restaurant, I like to tear things. A paper napkin. The sweaty label of a beer bottle. I tear these things into pieces and put them in a pile of little white wads on the table. When there is nothing left to tear and wad, I arrange the pile in different shapes. A circle. A square. An S, for Sarah. Tonight, I am breaking up pieces of crust in front of me. If you listen closely, you can hear the tiny clicks of my fingernail on the plate. So anyway, I thought we might talk a little bit about Detroit

You should talk to your aunt. My Dad tears off some bread.

Okay, I say (click click), but I thought maybe you and I could talk.

Talk to your aunt.

The clicks become louder and more frequent. Did you not grow up in Detroit? I ask.

He waves his hand. Eh. And then he laughs. It’s such a mystery to me, my father’s laugh. I mean, she’s the one who lives there and

I’ll call my aunt. Later, I will wonder why I cant stop crying about this, but for now, I brush my hands off and put them in my lap.

The waiter appears. Would you like something to drink? he asks.

We answer at once: Yes.


Went to a They Might Be Giants concert last night at the Fillmore. Everyone bounced madly and sang along. THESUNISAMASSOFINCANDESCENTGAS.

My life is officially a Passat commercial.