About the Book

This is not a self-help book.
It’s a spiritual garage sale.

PLEASE DON’T LOOK AT ME
(but also please do)
a memoir
Accidentally authored by Brandon Losacker

This is a book of wildly inappropriate, deeply uncomfortable truths, told by someone who probably should’ve known better and absolutely didn’t.

The moments in here are the ones that left me gasping, blinking, humiliated, and kind of sticky. I still haven’t figured out what they mean. I just stopped being able to carry them alone.

So I wrote them down and made them your problem too.

There’s a karaoke incident. A crockpot situation involving my groin. A church full of cicadas. A scammer who tried to swindle a fictional 87-year-old forest hermit named Betty and instead got crockpot ziti. A letter my father wrote near the end of his life that I found in a closet box thirty years later, still ending mid-thought.

It’s funny until it isn’t. Then it’s funny again.

That’s the whole trick.

A disclaimer, before we begin

This book is drawn from real events. Timelines are compressed. Dialogue is reconstructed. Certain details are heightened for comedic effect, because that is what memory does anyway, and at least I’m admitting it.

It all happened. Especially the parts I wish hadn’t.

Some names have been changed. Mine went first, two weeks after I was born, without anyone asking me. That’s Chapter 1.

Laughing at my expense is highly encouraged. Attempting to replicate any of my stunts is not.

Unless, of course, you’re in it for the story.

About the Author

Brandon Losacker is a writer, designer, filmmaker, and musician in Cincinnati, Ohio.

For more than twenty years, he has made things look better than they are: brands, videos, motion graphics, websites, and entire lives assembled on editing timelines. Twenty years of professional polish, followed by this book, which is the opposite of polish.

He plays guitar, drums, bass, and keys, sometimes all on the same song and always louder than necessary. He spent nearly thirty years playing in bands, including a small-town Ohio band that billed itself, with complete sincerity, as Mennonite glam rock. He once wrote an album alone in an attic while his life came apart one floor below.

He also makes milestone and memorial films from other people’s memories, which is a strange job for a man whose father filmed everything and mostly got eye rolls in return.

He gets it now.

He has 160 college credits and no degree.

He considers this on brand.

This is his first book.

He would like it on the record that nobody asked him to write it.