Holy shit, guys. Holy shit. And I don't say holy shit often (?), but it's officially been more than a week since I've rattled off some meaningless garbage on the good old internets. We haven't even talked about how much I'm totally obsessed with the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills (or more specifically Richard Lawson's recaps of their finer moments--seriously, check it.)
I have been so much more of a legitimate adult than I've ever intended in these past few... 8 days?... 8 weeks?... whatever, but I've also gone on some honest-to-god journeys which were totally reminiscent of my high-school-going-on-college days (and Irena was here, and there was New Year's and such). The great irony is that in light of all the story-making, the storytelling mechanism gets cut from the schedule. And so there is so much life experience sludge, left to fossilize, and only emerge one day when memories get skewed.
Let's cut to the clam jam chase here. I came to talk about Icypoles by Alpine, and how it's so good and how I left my iPod in New Jersey, and how much that sucks. Fortunately, I found Icypoles on a playlist, and by the time I got to this moment the next song had begun to play. It's pretty fun. And thus it takes over. (Still check out Icypoles. It knows how to fucking rock a morning commute.)
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