It’s been quite a ride to get here, to this point in cyber-reality. I’ll spare you the soppy Grateful Dead-quoting high-school-yearbook blather, but I will say that one of the most rewarding parts of stumbling into this whole blog business has been the people I’ve met along the way. Two of whom happen to have begun, written, and actually finished (a trick I have yet to master) books, which are now coming out.

First, there’s Nadine. Ebullient, fearless, she’s the only person I know who can give a big fat Internet “Fuck you” to an entire industry and still make them feel like they’ve been flattered afterwards. Lost a job? Another door slammed shut? No problem — there are beauty books to write, lotions and powders to try, polo matches to attend and Italian villas to tour. She’s one of the few people I know who actually personifies the much-maligned notion that life can be whatever you want it to be. Not to mention that she holds the singular title of “Personal Makeup Svengali” — if she tells me to buy something, I buy it. There’s really no one else on earth I can say that about (except maybe my gynecologist). Her book is informative, honest, and reads like a long, cocktail-addled evening with her — which is high praise indeed.

Then there’s Rob. Rob is unique. Rob is unprecedented. Rob might think I’m an asshole, but I honestly don’t mind (plus I can rest assured that he’d inform me of his feelings quickly, in person, likely incorporating all seven of the George Carlin “can’t say” words). Two years ago, we were cocky, moronic, fresh-faced bloggers together, and now we’re … cocky moronic bloggers with a few more gray hairs and leaner bank accounts. But all blogger nostalgia aside, Rob can write. I mean, really write. He can make you feel something with words. And not many people, be they Myspace ingenues or pipe-smoking literati glued to Olympia typewriters, can really say that. So buy his goddam book already.

There — I’ve officially stockpiled my karma for the year. Carry on.