July 31, 2006
Every day for comedian and writer Spero is an endless stream of microthrills: intense gratification gathered from mundane pleasures like fruit-scented markers and squishy rubber keychains. Eschewing traditional ideas of fun-dangerous pursuits like roller coasters and bike riding-Spero nonetheless has exciting, zany experiences daily, whether showing her finger puppet collection to potential roommates or dealing with desperate e-mail from her jealous dentist. The drama began early for Spero, growing up with an energetic, anxious, fiercely loving mother: parting each frenzied morning involved "a tortuous good-bye ritual involving a lot of puckered-lip pecking and Eskimo nose-kissing," and her mother's late return from work each evening caused Spero to "pace in my Garfield nightgown, ranting about the dangers of the city to the balding night doorman who doesn't speak English." Spero has an impressive memory for the sensory details of her childhood; she longingly recalls her Halloween masks, "how the mouth portion got slightly sticky, and how I'd feel nearly suffocated by the fog of my candy-scented breath." Though her essays sometimes lack narrative structure, there's plenty of funny one-liners ("I have absolutely no memory of my mother against a natural backdrop, although I do recall her running in heels from furry bees in the park"), and Spero's down-to-earth, adorably compulsive voice delivers some priceless moments.