After talking so much shit about Deb for slacking on her blog, we'd be hypocrites not to make this a regular thing. But we haven't taken any pictures since the last entry, and what's this blog without pictures? Just a bunch of witty, fascinating words?
It's the end of a lovely weekend of drinking in the ocean, studying, and sweaty eating - all sadly undocumented. We got home from Shipwreck last night around dinnertime, hungover from day beers, and Laura made a pasta masterpiece with capers, hot sauce, breadcrumbs, garlic, onions, and sardines: as gloriously Claus Ravenish* as it sounds, and twice as delicious. (Is there any appropriate way to talk about how I ruined sex this morning by sneak-eating the cold leftovers after breakfast? No? Okay.) Then we tried to watch some newly-legal-in-the-Caribbean Netflix, but discovered that everything our $8 can buy down here streams either dubbed into Spanish or subtitled in Portuguese. ¡No hay problema! Laura's just getting into the WTF podcast, so we listened to the one where Sarah Vowell talks about her Hawaii book.
We were Skyping my parents tonight when I suddenly realized how to snatch a blog post from the fishy jaws of defeat:
"What an age we live in!"
* My grandfather, Claus Raven, was once busted at customs coming back to New York from Austria with his ski boots filled with Landjägers.
If you make the photo larger, we can see the smaller photo of the two of you. So cute! BAE
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