The lousy ISP this morning wouldn't let me dial into the server, so I had no way of retrieving the lovin' in my inbox or tending to my online resumes and signing up with a few other job search sites.

So I did what anyone at the Jersey Shore would do in that situation at 9 a.m. � I went to the beach.

My sister and I headed out to Sandy Hook and, it being early enough on a Wednesday, found parking readily available in the most popular lot, the one with the bar and restaurant in the pavilion. The lot by the Sea Gull's Nest (I'm not sure if it's the nest of one gull or more, but it's a good bet that they place the apostrophe in the wrong place regardless, so I just arbitrarily picked one) is always the first to reach capacity. Not that it matters, as I will explain later.

As we walked across the sand to Out Spot, I looked at the sunbathers already there and wondered what our luck would be regarding our neighbors. Dave Barry's column this week discusses beachgoers and their use of cell phones and home entertainment systems blaring loud music, and it all came to mind as we trudged across the sand. We found a relatively quiet spot that became anything but when the Jets and the Sharks apparently decided to spend the day down the Shore (or more like the Cobras and Panthers from that Saturday Night Live sketch I saw again the other day). Hip-hop mixed with salsa music and the voices of mothers and children and the waves on the beach around me as I worked hard on my tan � not that I put much into it, this being just the second day ALL FREAKIN' SUMMER I've Gone To The Beach in that sense. But despite the cacophony surrounding me, I still fell fast asleep in the morning sun.

After reading a little and resting some, I walked down to the water and rolled along with the waves, then went back to my towel and the hot sun. By the time we left, the sun had baked the sand and the open beach real estate around Our Spot had begun filling up.

As we stood by the car brushing the sand from our legs and feet, a few cars cruised the lanes looking for parking. A passenger in one made eye contact with me, so I nodded and pointed to our spot, and they came around and waited patiently for us to leave � but didn't give so much as a thank you nod in appreciation. Such gratitude. I mean, look: If we had decided to stay longer, they might still be driving around.

As we left, we saw that the lot had indeed filled up and the park rangers had blocked off the turn lane and one-way entrance with cones. As I drove down the one-way exit lane toward the stop sign by the main road, some 17-year-old brat who probably just got her license pulled in and appeared to be cursing me out for being in her way. Four other cars followed suit, turning into the exit lane as I sat there � having moved to the right for no reason and giving them room, which I wish I hadn't done. As we left though, I looked in my rearview mirror and saw the ranger who had been circling the parking lot take off down one aisle after the last car that came in through the exit and felt a slight sense of justice being served.

When I'm on the road, it's the little things that get me. Sure, the guy doing 90 flying by on my right down the Parkway is annoying, but I see that once a month. But it's everyday I see people not using their turn signals; or driving 30 in a 45 mph zone because they're trying to dial their cell phones; or parking in handicapped spaces; or going straight from left-turn-only lanes because it allows them to get ahead of half a dozen cars in traffic.

But the morning ended and the afternoon began on a good note, with ice cream near the beach.

Now to do something productive with my day.