Letter From The Editors: We Don't Even Recognize Ourselves
Sure, maybe we were a little naive to think our Hungarian overlord would innocently suggest a holiday vacation for his little editorial elves, but we certainly didn't deserve to be thrown into an unmarked van and sent off to a quaint facility West of the Hudson and East of the tolerable. It was there that Matt and I were forced to consume almost 6,000 calories a day. It was there that multivitamins were forced into our parched mouths. And it was there that we were exposed to the evils of "sunlight." By the time we wrestled out of our handcuffs and escaped from this seventh ring of the inferno, our $350 jeans looked unfashionably snug and our cheeks were a sickening shade of pink.
Anyhow, with a little darkness and substance abuse, we'll recover from the ordeal, so it's back to business. Special thanks to Andrew Krucoff for staying shackled to his Playskool desk for a week's worth of Tsunami-filled fun.