And so, dear Internet, it begins again. Looks like this is my return to "blogging" (but since I find that such a grating neologism, I prefer to consider this the glossiest & cheapest magazine
ever). See, once upon a time I was a big-shot famous "blogger" - or at least I was occasionally read by people who are occasionally read by people who are marginally well-known. In certain circles. So here I am, writing pseudonymously (alas! Rusty Schwartz is
people fictional!) not so much because I don't want you, dear Internet, to know who I am, but simply because
my name must never be spoke. Please accept my apologies.
So thanks to Mrs. Violet Beekeeper for curating this -
ahem - magazine and I look forward to fully engaging my obsessive-compulsive tendencies (do you know how long i agonized over the capitalization in the post title?
Do you?). I'm
tanned pale, I'm
fit malnourished, I'm
ready starved for attention.
But don't worry;
it's Jazz!
1 comment:
Uh, Beatdown magazine editorial style advisory - hereinteoforeafter, Brunch is always capitalizd, even in the middle of a sentence. Even in your mind.
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