Of Flying, Houston, Clinton, and the "Other Dave White"

Well for the first time in nearly eleven years, I flew last Thursday. To say I was nervous was an understatement. Jason Pinter and I were flying to Houston to speak at Murder By the Book with Marcus Sakey.

Once I got on the plane, my knees quivered and according to Pinter, I was either mumbling to myself or he though I was going to throw up. But I toughed it out. After two short flights, many delays, and apparently the rainiest day in Texas history, we made it to Houston.

It took us an hour to get to the store, with a cab driver who laughed at such things as ivy and graffiti ("Have you every see anything like that, haw haw haw?" "Yes, we're from New York and New Jersey.") We finally got to the store and had a decent turn out despite the rain. Thanks to Bill Crider, there was video:



Each of us had our own demons to overcome, Marcus and the Strand Award, Jason and the fly... and me and flying...

Afterwards, we went out for TexMex and margaritas (or as I ordered, after getting back to the table.. "Um, I'll just have what Marcus is having.")

We got back the next day, my flying fears getting better with each flight--(we had to take for Newark to Charlotte, Charlotte to Houston, Houston to Charlotte, Charlotte to Newark)... though my eyes were squeezed shut for each landing. Definitely a worthwhile trip as we sold some books and I was able to take steps towards getting over my biggest fear... (Well second maybe to being eaten by a Hammerhead Shark.)

On the plane ride, I read three books:

Chercover's Trigger City: A great PI novel and follow up to Dudgeon's debut. Recommended.

Sakey's Good People: I read this in two hours. I never do that. Read it just for the Gengis Khan scene.

and

Simon Kernick's Relentless: Kernick's everyman thriller. Fast paced, violent and exciting, with great plot twists.

Friday night, Jason and I met up with Duane Swierczynski to sign at the Clinton Book Shop. After grabbing drinks at a local Irish joint, we made our way to the store. I walked in first.

"Hey, you're neck's not that red," the store owner said.

"Um, yeah I guess not," thinking he meant my trip to Houston.

"Yeah, but you were robbed."

"What?"

"The book," he said, "it's really, really funny. Better than Sedaris."

And then he held up a copy of Exile in Guyville: How a Punk Rock Redneck Faggot Texan Moved to West Hollywood and Refused to Be Shiny and Happy.

Yeah. My face turned beat red.

"Oh my God, you just made my night," Duane said.

I think Jason may have pumped his fist.

I started laughing and said, "That's not me."

The owner smiled and said, "Well, people think you're coming, so you better pansy up."

And the night's tone was set. We sat outside, signed some books, watched some low flying bats, and an odd Peter, Paul and Mary rip off band. When we left, Duane, Jason and I took a photo and I signed EXILE IN GUYVILLE as "Dave 'Not Me' White."

A great few days.