The Boy Kings of Texas: A Memoir

Sitting near my gate in Detroit on three hours sleep.  After eight flights in three weeks, I finally caught someone's cold.  Inevitable.  But I did all right at the Wisconsin Book Festival last night, though the act of the evening was clearly Ian Frazier, who brought the house down with his reading from "The Cursing Mommy's Book of Days."  But I had to say, Lysley Tenorio's reading of a short story about ambushing the Beatles as they left the Philippines after impugning Imelda Marco's "1 million energy" honor had me enthralled. Recommended.  I don't know why they had me on after these four fiction authors; it felt a bit like looking for your "magical realism" book in the LGBT section of a book store.  But I went with it, and wasn't in the least bit offended when I sat, singularly, at my table and was approached only by a very young girl who asked for advice on writing her own memoir.  (My advice? Look for the discomfort, and explain why it's uncomfortable.  That's sort of my code now.)

After 15 minutes, and realizing that the long line of hot, shaggable 70 year old blue hairs were lining up at Ian's and Jo Ann Beard's table, I quietly exited with one of the nicer organizers, Megan, and allowed her to buy me a series of drinks at a local bar.

On to New York, and a tuxedo, and the meeting of Martin Amis.