Just a few weeks ago (it seems a lot longer) we—the quintet of my sister Rebecca, her soon-to-be husband Jorge, their college friend Katie, Yuhang and I—found ourselves driving along the coast of Santa Cruz, California in search of nothing, which is to say without serious responsibilities apart from eventually getting to the beach and enjoying the time in between to do nothing but whatever we felt like doing, one of those rare and lovely pockets of time without ambition. Tasks, many tasks would return the following week in the pre-wedding rush (not to mention torrents of historically heavy rains), but for the sunny now we had time to burn. Driving along aimless and spaced pleasantly out, we were listening to the records we’d just acquired from Rasputin Music in Berkeley. This one came on and I think Jorge was the first, but soon we were all car-dancing, bobbing our heads, waving our arms around, grooving, a rave in a rental. I’m sure it looked hilarious to passers-by, which only made it better. Nothing like spontaneous group ridiculousness.Stumble it!