There's Not Much to Say

You know, I don't specifically remember a whole lot about anything that happened yesterday, but looking back, I don't think there's really a need to specifically form any memories. I seem to remember buzzing around for what must have been hours looping my "LA Summers" playlist, which includes a good sprinkling of JT, Timbaland, Jason Mraz, Chris "Beat 'Er Down" Brown, and the one song that defined my entire summer of 2008, M.I.A.'s "Paper Planes." (See The Great Seth Rogen Adventure, August 2008.)

There's something about contemplatin' and pontificatin' in a separate mind, writing it all down somehow, and then looking back on what you and your friends discussed and realizing that most of it makes no sense to a normal person, yet there's always one or two really good points that filter down through the process and the five of you somehow managed to polish a big ol' cow dung into a finely tuned de Beers diamond worthy of a night of your girl's best lovin'. Jonas Brothers, your purity rings are killing your creativity. Let your brains breathe for a bit.

I don't know much right now. All I know is that there's a receipt for four Double-Doubles and two fries sitting on the kitchen counter and that only one Double-Double is left right now. I should go get a blood lipid panel soon to make sure my bodily fluids didn't become 30% cheeseburger overnight.