a guy with a fake name and no email address or web page says that he likes your writing better when you tell the truth more.
the irony is overwhelming.
welch and layne are masters of the fine art of writing. i am but a second stringer. a wannabe.
for example, no one is inviting my black ass to any of these conventions in order to blog all about it like they did with my boy welch.
and grizzly adams layne came back from a near-year-long haitus and is already averaging twice my hits.
and amy… shit, amy can write for the new york times at a snap of her fingers. not only dont i have that sort of clout but i wouldnt know what to write if they gave me such a opportunity.
plus my loyal readers couldnt handle the truth.
truth is ive been blogging from new york city today on assignment to review the new Bestsey Johnson line with karisa for a journal to be named later.
betsey is karisa’s favorite designer, fyi, and looks perfect in any of her designs, double fyi
every season betsey has a unique theme where she plays off some of her favorite passions over the years.
this season she gives us back the ruffles, especially in the skirts and dresses.
nothing says fun more than a big poofy skirt, karisa and i agreed. and if you think about it nothing sounds hotter than making out with a cute girl overflowing in taffeta on a leather couch in the wee hours when every sound is magnified
be it a whisper
or a giggle
or the shhhh shhhhh shhhh of a petticoat being dug through.
betsey is what 90 now and still the hippest cat in the house. totally unafraid to go down the road less traveled. completely willing to go back in time in order to move forward. lots like superman I when bro flew fast to spin the earth backwards.
karisa just kicked me for that one.
anyway our spaceship is about to take off and im going to be a total olde man and take a nap so that im ready for the Tsar show tonight at 11pm at king king.
see you there!