For various reasons, cheif of which was some gross miscommunication between me and my divorced and bickering parents, I needed a mattress, so I went shopping for one at a mattress shop near my house in Allston. When I realized that I was dangerously close to being ripped off because of my abject ignorance about coils, turns per coil, and various degrees of tempur-pedicness, I did my research. Then I went back to the same mattress shop, and my salesman was one of the frontmen from Lifted (I forget his name because I forget everyone's name). It was at once cool and weird. Also his hand was all swollen because he had broken it the night before. If it was in a fight, he totally kicked the other guy's ass because the rest of his was unscathed. We are supposed to be colleagues on the Boston hip-hop scene (although they are way more established than we are), and there we were talking warranties, deliveries, and weight-to-movement ratios. Just goes to show that the mundane crosses paths with the fantastic every now and again.
Lifted is a sweet band. I should get a discount on a mattress because I think that.
And that's all I have to say about that.
Track: No track. I'm in a computer lab.