with audible, this was more like hearing a humorist on NPR. Which Rakoff was on, often. It was funny, several great lines in every one.

Though also a bit sad reading this knowing he passed away from cancer very young. One of the stories in this book was how he beat it the first time. ::grimace::

notes: kinda guessing on the end date. Found in Hollywood, CA....donated in Edmonds, WA

While I secretly like to pride myself on a well-endowed disinclination toward celebrity reverence and any urge to wed, I realized at some point along these (or maybe it was that other book's) delightfully self-deprecating, melodramatic pages that, nope, I only misunderstood. Actually, I simply want to be—or, failing that, marry—a very specific, gay, deceased man.

He runs around a makeshift Colosseum (it looks a lot like a bathroom because it's his bathroom) shouting to himself, "ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!", which begs the observation: what a generous gent. He then apologizes for shouting.

The writing is not terribly insightful, but the author manages to put himself in some pretty interesting situations and that carries the essays most of the time. Good subway read.

Hilarious! Rakoff’s neurotic observations on everything from wellness retreats to sperm banks is weird, deeply insightful, and at times lacerating. I read this (nearly) in one sitting. Just plain funny!

I picked this book by chance at a sale and forgot all about it. I came across it sometimes and wondered at its title. It's fortuitous that I ended up reading this book only after I started working as a journalist.

"For starters, I am only playing at reporter": Rakoff writes in the first essay itself. That sentence lured me in and made me care for him. His humour is often innocuous, sometimes awry, and his narration keeps you interested. That is all that matters in the long meanderings of such essays.

This is a good one, and I will revisit some of these pieces.

So glad I was finally able to track down a copy of this book after having it on my "to-read" list for years. I'm a big fan of David Sedaris and I can see why he and Rakoff were friends. They have a similar sensibility and even a slightly similar style. If you're a fan of Sedaris you should give Rakoff a look.

There are some very funny essays in here. I especially enjoyed "Before and After Science," about his brush with Greek royalty at a Canadian ice cream shop. His complicated feelings about Steven Seagall in "Including One Called Hell" were hilarious. Same with his wilderness training in "Back to the Garden." "Tokyo Story" was probably my favorite because I am an absolute sucker for Tokyo stories of all kinds. Rakoff, we lost you too soon.

One thing needs to happen before I can say I like David Rakof without wincing:

Some kind hearted thief needs to steal the man's thesaurus. I'm all for the three dollar words, but this man's vocabulary earns the adjective "audacious." To hear him read his work, when he trips over one of these little jewels, his voice slows to purr over it like a deer on a salt lick, and the effect is sickening. It's a shame, considering he is really funny and a true wit, when not mining his own prose with the literary equivalent of rotten easter eggs.

Ok, let me start off by saying that I made a somewhat valiant effort not to compare Rakoff to another NPR essay writing David. But it was quite difficult to make a conscious effort not to make a subconscious comparison (how's that for clear writing!) It was the same when I read Sloane Crosley's stuff. It just seemed . . . lacking. In Fraud, there was a little too much snark for me. And when the self-effacing light bulb did turn on, I thought, "too little, too late."

This is not to say that Rakoff is not a thoughtful writer, it just felt a bit forced to me. A little too much raconteur pressure, I think.

My advice: Re-read Sedaris or pick up Jenny Lawson.

It was ok. I expected this to be better. Very similar to David Sedaris, but not as funny.

I cannot recall the last time I was confronted with this many words and references I did not understand. Rakoff’s essays in Fraud proved less funny and far less gay than I had hoped for, but still ultimately interesting and worthy of a read.

Rakoff’s first essay collection, published in 2001, is a mix of journalistic fieldwork-type endeavors and personal stories. I love his wit and dark humor. The last essay was strongest, still funny, yet profoundly heartbreaking, as he touched on his radiation treatments. Cancer ultimately took him from the world in 2012 at age 47.

As a huge fan of David Sedaris, this book delivered a similar unique and dryly funny perspective. It was enjoyably self reflective, and really resonated with me as a person with a fair share of imposter syndrome :)