Here comes a long string of self-flagellation (promotion) for my new novel The Love Seekers, which pretty much captures the sweet sensitive times (like a renaissance) of the 1980s. Big hair, eyeliner, neon socks. And guys who feather their bangs and stare into young girl's bedrooms? Ew . . . not sure that was ever okay, but you gotta love the way he tries. He even has his own carpet. Just a word for the ladies out there, if a guy's got his own mat, steer clear. It ain't gonna lead to nuthin' but trouble.
This guy can sing the phonebook, and Google. He makes it look so passionate and like, golly, we really want him to get his youngin'. Not really. I like his striped shirt though.
You know, if this song wasn't about what it's about, I'd really like it. He really can sing his tight jeans off. What do you think? Is there anything you loved so much, but couldn't have, that made you drop quarters in a greasy flying payphone all day?