Here are two of the very good reasons why, even when the internet decided to work (thanks dude whose spotty but entirely unsecured wireless allowed a few quick interludes with the internets) I didn't manage to communicate with the outside world from the beach.
Tobin ponders life's imponderables.
Like is it really gross to pee in the ocean? I mean, the fish do it...
Jack... providing a very clear example of why I find myself frequently replying
"No, he's not of mixed race. Unless you count German and Scots as mixed..."
I did manage to participate in 2 rousing games of scrabulous online. I was tired and needed a distraction besides the 5 awesomely trashy romance novels someone kindly left behind at the beach house. Yes, 5. My brain is so full of a jumble of slutty lifeguards and sexily earnest cowboys it's a wonder I haven't made Big Daddy do some dress-up role play with me. I call dibs on the role of jaded-but-secretly-romantic executive with the hots for his secretary. Honey, prepare to take some dictation -- if you know what I mean. And you know you do.