Ames is the guy I tell my friends to read and then I judge them based on their response to his work. I identify with his words: anxiety about hair loss, awkward sexual escapades, scatological follies. He writes like your best friend, confiding in you. But with Ames these neurotic confessions pose subtle and poignant questions about identity, self-acceptance and the human condition. All this from a guy with a story called “I Shit My Pants In The South Of France.