When Armistead released "Michael Tolliver Lives", he began blogging on his website. Those blogs are no longer listed, so I thought I would add them over the next couple of days. Unfortunately, I do not have the original dates of these articles, but will post them chronologically. (2 of 3).
Spent last four days in steamy Miami, since I neglected to pack my passport at the start of the American tour. Fed-ex two days late in getting it to me. Mandarin Oriental not a bad place to be stranded, but I have to hit the ground running in London . Taping of “Desert Island Discs” two hours after I arrive. Songs I picked for my desert island: “Mockingbird Hill,” “Moon River,” “Maybe This Time,” “Desperado,” “Wicked Little Town,” and “The Heart of Life.” Gooey as hell but all held significance for me at one point or another. Am told security will be a nightmare after that flaming SUV invaded Glasgow Airport (not to mention those foiled car bombs in London.)
Missed London Pride at Trafalgar Square (and being on stage with the great Graham Norton) thanks to passport screw-up. C has been so patient about this. Me, I’m kicking my ass around the block. We’ve had a good time pigging out at Porcao, the Brazilian place across the water from the Mandarin. Great slabs of beef on skewers, sliced at the table. Octopus salad and Caipirinha, the Brazilian national cocktail. Will start making those at home, we decided.
I’ve had hiccups intermittently for two days — probably all that beef. C went online, then told me to arch my neck back, hold my breath for ten seconds, then drink a glass of water. Actually works. Also cured them by eating a pack of sugar.
My big gig here was at The Congregational Church in Coral Gables. Laurie, the pastor, is a fan from way back. Felt odd reading the “winking sphincter” passage from the pulpit (and signing books at the altar) but no one seemed ruffled. Last year I spoke at an MCC church in Ft. Lauderdale. Seems like the movement is run by churches down here– much the way the civil rights movement was run in the south all those years ago. Totally refreshing, considering all the damage churches doing these days.
Catching up: crowd of 400 at Outwrite Books in Atlanta, fanning themselves like folks at a revival. Esther Levine, the world’s best media escort (proudly Southern and Jewish) took me lunch at the Barbecue Kitchen, where we had chicken livers and fried green tomatoes. Told me about the Golden Dart Award — given annually at the Book Expo to least favorite client of media escorts. Faye Dunaway won one year, Lewis Grizzard another. (It’s not literally presented to them, of course, just a private joke.)