KC GOES TO CAMP [BISCO] . .

I’m going to Camp. I’m going to Camp. And as a writer. A real paid writer.  Can you believe it? It’s like Keith says, the universe delivers. Give and you shall receive. Dickie should see me now. I might not be making money like him and his annoying mother, but at least I’m living my dream and I’m not a momma’s boy. I’m telling you. Those who abandon their dreams will discourage you from achieving yours. So check this out. Someone I met at Oracledang contacted me. Some dude who bought my book. He read it, liked it, passed it on, and it made its way to some editor in Chicago who’s sending me to Camp as a music journalist ! ! Woot!! Woot!! Twenty-one, and a music journalist. Have you seen the lineup?? This is like the biggest of the baddest of the non-sell out bands. This ain’t no commercial festival like Bonnaroo or Coachella. This is it. Forget Michael Jackson, this is it. This is a dream come true. And speaking of dreamy, Keith is coming up too. I’m already here, but he’s going to fly up tomorrow and meet me. He had an audition so he couldn’t drive up from the shitty, but I’ll see him tomorrow. I’ll have the tent set up. I already went to Walmart in Amsterdam, near Mariaville, to pick up some things: bug spray, sunscreen, Gold Bond powder (it’s for Keith–I know he’ll forget),  and a new fold-up chair, and of course ice, and fresh produce and stuff. I can’t wait. The line-up is sick. The magazine only wants a review of the festival, but I want to write about as many bands as I can. The line-up is just so sick.
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