Around the world

I know it has been a while since I was a reliable blog to idle away time while you should be working. I want to start writing again. I see too much craziness in my life to let it slide into the gin soaked corners of my mind. I am going to start with a summary of my travel in 2009. It may not be super entertaining but when I looked into the details I thought it was impressive.
In 2009 I flew on 23 planes for a total mileage of 29,816. The circumference of the earth at the equator is 24,901 so good for one complete lap. While I didn’t travel all over the world I covered the US pretty well. I spent time in the following airports:
Boston (lots)
Salt Lake City
Buffalo
Seattle
Atlanta
Milwaukee
San Jose- Costa Rica
Manuel Antonio- Costa Rica
Detroit
Minneapolis
Cincinnati
Detroit has the cleanest and most attractive airport. The airport in Manuel Antonio does not have security but they do have a foosball table and they will weight you. I would also cast my vote for Atlanta as the dirtiest most crowded and least fun place to read dated issues of Cosmo. I only wish I had tracked the hours I spent floating with the clouds. A mistake I will not repeat this year!

Tarzan is a whimp

What better way to check out the rainforest than by swinging through the treetops!

Costa Rica!

Costa Rica is good for fruity drinks, monkeys and growing fungus. Spanish not required!

Fun Farmin!

What could possibly be going on here....?

Off to the races

Saturday my roomie and best mate George declared a "Guys Day". Rules are simple, no ladies and some activity to solidify our masculinity and promote silliness. Saturday was also the Kentucky derby and opening of the local horse track, Suffolk Downs. So it was off to the races! The track is like walking into a cartoon of stereo typical characters who's life story can easily be surmised from their animated faces. We commandeered some box seats and settled in for a day of placing small bets on inflated hopes. I picked my horses based on the character expressed in their walk. I don't recommend this method, net winnings 0. It was a great day regardless.

SLC Marathon

Last weekend I traveled home to Utah to run the Salt Lake City 1/2 marathon with my little sister Amy. It was her idea to run the race together which was very surprising since she has never ran before. After months of training the day finally arrived and at 7am off we went. I promised to keep pace with her for encouragement and entertainment. Harnessing my natural instinct to race at a a lung exploding pace we crossed the finish line together in 2:17. Not bad for her first half marathon. The best part was the last quarter mile when we sprinted together and passed several hundred people to the cheers of thousands of spectators!

Boston pillow fight!

I know, I know. I have developed bad blog habits. Lets try and get back on track! I attended my second city wide pillow fight last weekend! Nothing better than bashing perfect strangers to resolve buried aggression. April 4th is international pillow fighting day, who knew. Lots of cities all over the world organize pillow fights. enough said. We lost a lot of good pillows out there..






here is a video link


BAD ASS BROOKLINE PILLOW-BASHING CREW!!!!!

IN YOUR FACE!!! book

At least once a week I have a variation of this conversation-“WHY AREN”T YOU ON FACEBOOK?”
I am a fierce anti-face booker. I have many reasons for this. The main reason is I prefer personal, private interactions. Also I don’t like the self idolizing or competitive nature of “collecting” friends that face book breeds in some. There are some people I don’t feel the need to keep up with, and moving away from people is very difficult with face book. These three reasons are the debatable points for my lack of participation. It is much simpler than this still. This blog is perhaps the most savvy thing I do with the interwebs. As a reader you will agree it’s not very savvy at all. Besides checking my e-mail, shopping on Amazon, and infrequently ranting here, my Mac book is basically a $2400 ipod. Don’t get me wrong, I am not condemning others for face booking. By all means tag, nudge, post to your electrical hearts desire. There may also be something meaningful in knowing when ones mild acquaintance from elementary school goes to the store, or returns overdue library books. Thanks to NPR’s Talk of the Nation I have discovered there are others unromanced by this idea of social networking. In an effort to create solidarity among us I am proposing a forum to chat and connect. This will be a place for likeminded, or interested people to find each other and support each other. You will be able to post pictures, tell personal stories and share all aspects of life. Just a way for the rest of us to keep in touch by the week, day or minute. I am calling it IN YOUR FACE! Book. For the sole purpose of accessibility and speed, I will publish it on the internet somewhere. I will keep you posted.

Fabulous prizes!

Lucky you! The first five people to respond to this post will get something made by me! My choice. For you. This offer does have some restrictions and limitations:

1- I make no guarantees that you will like what I make!

2- What I create will be just for you.

3- It'll be done this year. (might be a little while)

4- You have no clue what it's going to be. It may be a story. It may be poetry or an article on properly cleaning your face before a masque. I may draw or paint something. I may bake you something and mail it to you. Who knows? Not you, that's for sure!

5- I reserve the right to do something extremely strange.The catch? Oh, the catch is that you must repost this on your blog and offer the same to the first 5 people who do the same on your blog.

The first 5 people to do so and leave a comment telling me they did win a FAB-U-LOUS homemade gift by me! Oh, and be sure to post a picture of what you win when you get it! (I found this on my cousin-in-law blog.)

USA paragliding team

My older brother Brad is quite the daredevil. When we were kids he was always doing crazy stunts. Highlights include superman dives off the trampoline, jumping from the top of our cherry tree, or my favorite, pretending to crash into cars on his bike with me riding on handle bars. The latter actually ending in crashing into a car and me being flung over the hood onto the concrete. (don’t tell my mom) It makes sense that his passion in life is paragliding. Currently he is representing the USA in the world paragliding championships. After four days of “tasks” he is in 16th place. Team USA is in third place behind Slovenia and Czech Republic. Since I don’t think Slovenia is a real country, lets go ahead and say we are in second place. If you want to follow the progress, or see some gorgeous pictures you can find it here. Good luck Bradley, and go USA!

one liners

I have been revived from the stagnant and unmotivated blogless capsule in which I spent the last 6 weeks. It was not for lack of muse or adventures. You see I tragically inured my fingers back in November and as such my ability to type. I was just leaving church one Sunday afternoon, having completed my usual 2nd Mass for the day, when I noticed an old lady in a wheel chair with a sack of puppies and orphans on her lap charging ferociously out of control down a hill. As I sprinted to catch the innocent passengers I also noticed a shoplifter burst from a Mom+Pop store carrying their entire inventory. I keenly plucked the thief up over my head and tossed him in front of the careening Grandma. His soft body stopped the chariot of death and provided a comfortable landing. Later that day I broke all ten fingers stuffing Shaq in a game of one on one. I implore you to accept this unembellished account as just excuse for my absence. In an effort to catch up in the briefest manner possible I offer these one liners.
I traveled home to Utah for Thanksgiving where I broke two promises I had made myself. First I shopped at Wal-Mart, twice. Second I participated in the madness of Black Friday, where I was offered a management position at the aforementioned big box evil.
Returning to Boston I finally shaved my beard after 34 days of unhedged growth earning $35 for charity for the beard, and $10 each for my arms. The arm mane has yet to return to its fury splendor.
Through either generosity or smite I was gifted NBA tickets to the Celtics vs. Jazz game where George, Aaron and I were nearly lynched.
Fulfilling diplomatic duties I attend 4 (four) work holiday parties where thanks to open bars I both survive and salsa dance with my boss, which is documented and likely on U-tube.
Back to Utah for Christmas and decent snow I spend much missed time on the slopes catching up with an old friend and teaching my nephew to board. Annual chaos is greatly appreciated with all my family under one roof.
The last few moments of 2008 I spend in a black tie with a smorgasbord of new friends as my main mates choose to spend theirs in the cliché that is NY.
Last weekend I made a mad dash to Buffalo NY to say goodbye to Frank who will be working on a top secret mission in Arizona for the next year. Psst... it's the Moon...
Today I wore slippers at work all day; it is a sleep lab after all.

One hundred year old egg...

This weekend was the second annual “Jump the Gun Turkey Run”. In its simplest form it is an excuse to have an additional Thanksgiving dinner. More importantly it is a large group of friends celebrating the holiday together. Each person contributes a traditional or nontraditional dish and pot-luck style we feast and revel in each others company. The dinner went very well, the turkey was superb, the wine flowed, and the company was refreshing. There was however one moment that I would like excised from my memory. Kristen decided she would share some of her Asian culture by contributing a traditional culinary treat. I speak of the one-hundred-year-old-egg. If the name does not elicit an immediate gag reflex let me expand further. The egg is made by burying it in the ground for several months with salt and rice and whatever else they think makes eggs rot in a stylish fashion. The egg spoils in this closed environment, the yolk turns green and the white turns black and jelly like. Immediately upon arrival I was presented with half of one of these little demons and prompted to consume. I have eaten some gross things. I once fought off a pack of New York pigeons to finish a slice of pizza on Wall Street. When I was a kid I would chew worms with delight for the sole purpose of grossing out my sisters. With this track record I did not hesitate to accept the mastication challenge for the entertainment of others. Moments after the slimy morsel passed my lips I regretted my decision. The consistency of the egg-black was similar to gummy bears that have been left out for a few days. The yolk was creamy and sticky like peanut butter. As I chewed small pockets of gas escaped the egg and filled my nostrils with the sting of ammonia and sulfur. Imagine a bag of gym socks soaked in urine and rancid milk and you might have an inkling of what I had a mouthful of. In protest my body refused to swallow. Despite my feverish chewing the egg would not reach a safe consistency to swallow. Each moment the toxic waste stayed in my mouth the closer I came to loosing my mind. Finally I gulped the mass down only to be left with the pasty remnants coating every tooth and surface in my mouth. I chugged the closest glass of wine and ate three pickles to cleanse any lingering sensation of the absolute worst thing to enter my mouth. Luckily there was heaping plates of delicious Thanksgiving dinner to chase and bury the vile mess. The experience does not deter any future endeavors of eating strange and disgusting things. I am almost certain nothing can ever be worse than the death egg.

Last words..

sitting across from him on the train I first noticed his disheveled hair
I avoided gazing in his direction should he try and seize eye contact
peripherals baited my focus as I noticed the book he was holding was nearly four inches thick
four inches thick
at 200 pages per inch this literary treat must be worth at least 800 pages
I felt sheepish flipping through my advertisement sodden magazine
I noticed my greasy friend was a few pages from finishing this dictionary tantamount
I feigned interest in my inept text keeping an eye on the progress of my cross isle companion
what would happen as he read the last words
elephants would trot down the corridor while ballerinas danced on their backs
fire breathers following closely behind carried by albino gorillas
relishing the monumental accomplishment the reader would jump on his seat and yodel with satisfaction

he turned his last page
there must not be more than a few paragraphs now

I read a few lines of my own frivolous text trying to determine his pace
if he read slightly slower than me he would finish in no more than three minutes
sitting at a right angle mouth agape in anticipation of the final moments of a long and tiresome effort
then he reached into his coat
A TEXT MESSAGE
how can you stop in the final words to check a message
low be the day the marathoner stop ten yards from the finish line to check his stocks
thumbs twirl in response
the marathoner, stocks evaluated, ambles to the sidelines to sign autographs and kiss a baby
I nearly leap from my seat and slap the reader back to focus
nary missing my assault he pockets his phone
eyes continue lateral scans consuming letter by letter
letter by letter
letter by letter
how many letters are on this last page
at his pace I guessed this book was gifted to him on his birthday
three years ago
finally his eyes no longer moved horizontally
it was done
here come the elephants
he tossed the book on the seat by his side
and pulled out his cell phone

In a nutshell

In an attempt at keeping my stalkers and hangers-on interested here is an honest update.
My living situation is vastly improved since the move. I still reside in Brookline which is clean, aesthetically pleasing and a little pretentious, so quite fitting. My roommates are Aaron, George, and Frank (the person). Frank the person has been squatting at our place whilst he figures out his next big move. He will be moving on shortly. The apartment is kept in good order for the most part. I am happy when visitors state it is hard to believe three dudes live there. It is comfortable and nice to come home. I don’t feel the need to hide out in my office nearly as much as last year.
We have had a lot of guests the last few months. My parents came and stayed for a week. It was really fun showing them all my favorite parts of Boston. We also went on some adventures to Maine and New Hampshire. I enjoyed their visit greatly as I think they did as well. We have also had some new friends and old friends stay for a weekend here and there. As a result I gave the same super-amazing-fantastic walking tour of Boston three weekends in a row. I promise the same experience to anyone who shows up on my doorstep.
Every Sunday we have been hosting what we call “Sauce Night”. This is a large Italian style dinner for 15-20 friends. We take turns cooking, the only rule being the entrée must have some type of sauce involved. It’s always a nice end to the weekend. It also keeps everyone close and up to date.
I will admit that the last few months have been a little rough. I have been fighting a general melancholy which gets worse with stressful times. Part of it stems from the realization that my life in New England comes at the detriment to relationships back home. The distance both emotionally and physically is very taxing. There have also been some incidents at the lab which have drawn attention all the way up to the CEO. Luckily I was not hung in the ensuing witch hunt. I am under the magnifying glass however which is tremendously stressful. While I no longer seek solace in my office, I spend long hours there anyway. This has solidified my decision that I must get back in school and move forward with my life goals.
My search for a Masonic lodge in Boston continues. I have been to several social events and met some good people. It is taken much more seriously here than in SLC. As a result it is much more active. I have been invited to a few special events in the near future.
This weekend we will brew beer which is a hobby I have severely neglected. On Sunday I will be at the Patriots vs. Bills football game so watch for me in the stands. Finally, for all concerned parties, the beard is growing back nicely. Thank you for all the sympathetic and degrading comments.

NOVEMBEARD 2008!

as of 12:01am on the day of the first of November in the year of our lord two thousand and eight i henceforth declare all manly men under the eye of a God and finding themselves worthy shall with sharp implement or tool divest themselves of all facial hair which has been or may be residence upon their earthy faces the removal of which being verified by a likewise worthy and participating brother. Further it to be the practice of all manly men to abstain from the hedonistic practice of trimming ones facial hair growth with a sole exception be granted for the neckular region limited at its uppermost extremity by the hyoid bone and laterally defined by the mandible. Should a pledged adherent deviate from said practices of said manly manhood, said individual shall provide to all continued adherents, with admittedly superior male prowess, with a hereunto unspecified quantity of delicious and sudsy brew. It is with great pomp and circumstance and self importance with which i proclaim this proclamation of the commencement of the festivities of the revered and reckless revelry that is NOVEMBEARD!!

Follow link to see the hilarity that is me with NO facial hair!
Beardless Mike

Apple Picking?

People in New England do all sorts of things that people in other geographical areas may not be aware of. They draw out the vowels when they speak. They label adjacent and often intersecting streets with the same name. The most baffling I have encountered yet is “Apple Picking”. Full disclosure, I have never been apple picking, or even invited. What the hell is this “Apple Picking”? I can tell you apparently it is quite the activity which will take up most of the weekend and requires months of planning. The name suggests apples and picking. I have gathered from descriptions that you roam the marvelous apple orchards and select your fruit, namely apples. You must pay for the apples you have labored for. From the apple farmers perspective this is genius. Bamboozling city folk to drive into the boondocks, clamor around harvesting the crop, and then PAYING you for it, this deserves a Tom Sawyer award!
Now some of you liberal fat cats would argue the aesthetic and organic beauty of the scenery and process. Fine. But call it a drive in the country, or escaping the city. Picking some fruit alone does not justify a full day, or day’s time. And what do you do with the trunk load of apples some guy tricked you into picking? You make pies, and bread, and cookies, and cider. Then you force it onto your friends and neighbors and poor homeless people. I know one guy that gets some apple product every day! Poor fella has developed such a complex that the sight of a bowl of applesauce makes him hop like a kangaroo. Other parts of the country have apple picking too. And there is a certain group of people that revel in the activity. We call them immigrants. You know how I pick my apples? Out of a bin at Stop and Shop.

T party

The subway in Boston is called the “T”. It was nicknamed this for Mr. T who once saved an entire subway carload of Bostonians by swallowing a grenade. Those of you that spend your commuting hours comfortably in private climate controlled spheres are deprived the joy of communal transportation. The first thing greenhorns notice is the smell. It is not unusual to be forced intimately close to an un-showered sewage worker who is dinning on squid with garlic sauce. This leads to another point of interest. People eat, talk on the phone to their mistress, clip their toenails, pick their nose and various other personal activities without hesitance. Advanced T riders can feign interest in other activities while covertly observing these spectacles. An open book, Metro, or earphones playing no music are sufficient props to create a biosphere of personal space. “What is a Metro?” I am glad you asked. A Metro is the free daily newspaper handy at all T stops or often lying someplace on the train. It is roughly 10-15 pages of the most topical and useless news available. It is easy to spot the folks that get all their news from the Metro as they will know nothing about the turmoil in Rwanda but can give you every detail of Lindsay Lohan’s last visit to a McDonalds in Ohio. Rookies should also hold on while riding the T to avoid falling into a veteran rider with every start and stop, bump or curve. The veteran, on the other hand, can text message while holding 15 grocery bags and a 200oz iced coffee from Dunkin Doughnuts.
While a book or Ipod is a good prop, it is not necessary as entertainment is infinite on the T. Here are some fun games to play.
The Runner- This guy starts chasing the T four blocks before the stop in hopes of catching it. If he passes any other riders approaching the station, they too will start running for the train. The urge to rush and catch the T is contagious. I have seen 80 year old ladies with purses the size of saddle bags match pace with some punk on a skate board in chase of a train. The best part of this game comes when Pete Punk and Grandma get to the train just as the driver closes the door. The train stays stationary for 4 more minutes until the stop light changes but the driver refuses to open the door, or acknowledge the presence of desperate commuters. The expression of disbelief and disappointment on the ostracized riders’ faces is priceless. This game is of course much less fun when you are the runner and grandma beats you to the train.
Eye Miscontact- This game can be played one of two ways. The easiest is to look at people until they notice you and then look away quickly. Once they look away, look back, continue until they squirm with discomfort or threaten to poke your eyes out with a corkscrew. The second way to play is pick someone at random and look them right in the eye. When they notice you and lock eye contact, don’t look away. They will glance away and look back. Continue looking them straight in the eye until they get off the train or start crying. For added fun do this with a scowl or silly grin.
T Guess who- This game requires a partner to play. It is just like the guess who board game but instead of picking a random card, you pick someone on the train to describe to your partner.
“Does your person have a porn star mustache?”
“Yes”
For added challenge instead of naming specific visible characteristics try making personality judgments.
“Does your guy like secretly playing with teddy bears and china teas sets?”
“No, but he once used a teddy bear to dry his dishes because he was out of towels”


For those of you sitting lethargically in your fancy cars, press another preset stereo dial.

DOG TOWN

This last weekend a large troupe of adventure seekers and myself escaped the city in hopes of finding some ruins, artifacts, or in the least ghosts. Our destination was a place called Dog Town which is a very old forgotten city. Back in the 1600’s a few hundred people moved inland in hopes of escaping the barrage of pirates and buccaneers on the coast. They set up a village and made fruitless attempts at agriculture. It soon became clear that the soil was much too heavily laden with rock to make farming a successful endeavor. Most people deserted the village. Those that stayed were mostly widows, their husbands meeting the treacherous fate of the fisherman life. The widows kept a large number of dogs for protection and this is how the town got its name. As is often the case with places on the fringe of society a large number of shady characters collected here as well. Namely witches. Some accounts name up to 100 different witches all living in the quickly dissolving remains of a village. The most notorious witch was named Tammy. She would often be found entertaining pirates with week long rum binges. And any that passed her house without paying homage would be forever cursed. When she died the surrounding towns were so relieved that they funded an elaborate funeral for her complete with a silver lined coffin in hope of blocking her evil hexes from the grave. All the structures have long since crumbled and been hauled away. The only evidence remaining is scattered foundations and cellars surrounded by thick forest and glacier boulders the size of houses.
After setting up camp we trudged into the woods eager for a spooky encounter or amazing archeological find. I was feeling a little overwhelmed with our large group of 13 people so almost immediately wandered off. Aaron, Theresa and Jesse came with me. No sooner had the voices of the rest of the group faded away then a small hunched woman appeared from behind a dark boulder. The thing to do when one encounters strange people in the wilderness is to avoid eye contact and move away slowly. This technique works well for door to door meat salesman too. Instead Aaron looks right at her and then turns to me and says “look at the beak on that hag!” as soon as he says this we all become paralyzed. The old woman approaches. As she nears the smell of sulfur and mothballs turns my stomach but I am unable to move away. She explains that we have crossed her land without paying the proper toll. Thanks to Aarons never stopping mouth, we are now held under her spell and will forever walk the woods never to see home or rest again! We have only one chance to save ourselves from this ominous future; we must find all the ingredients for her witches brew before the sunsets. Then like a vat of cookie dough at a weight watchers convention, she disappears. We all become reanimated and when we finish pummeling Aaron set to work searching. After hours of what seems to be walking in circles we manage to find the following items:

Throat of frog


















Eye of newt















Brain of mole















Wart of toad















Red mushroom


















Purple mushroom




















Poison berries



















Leg of grasshopper

We return to the place we saw the wench and set them all down on a flat rock. She reappears like a vat of cookie dough at a bulimic convention. She is pleased that we have managed to find all the rare ingredients. She releases us from the curse but warns us never to return. Aaron offers to sleep with her. Being unflattered by his offer she tells him that for the rest of his days his forehead will be as greasy as a basket of fries. We make our way out to the car to find the rest of the group is still stomping around on hollowed ground.
We decide to wait for them while drinking a celebratory bottle of wine.
After returning to camp we feast on hotdogs of all shapes, sizes and textures. There is an improve comedy hour with music accompaniment and then we burrow into sleeping bags hoping that we wake up in the same biological condition we go to bed as.

A-Bridged

Last night we were hanging out in the kitchen discussing the finer points of Governor Palin’s stellar debate performance. Frank (the cat) came running in from the deck looking very upset. He stopped in the middle of the room and turn taking an aggressive stance looking at the door. I was not immediately alarmed; he tends to act crazy and often runs around like he is being chased by an imaginary pit bull. I looked towards the door and saw the glowing green eyes of nighttime creatures and goblins. I thought that Frank had no doubt been out talking trash to other cats and one had crossed his bridge to try and teach him a lesson. Then a small hand reached out and grabbed the screen. Frank (the person) shouted “it’s a raccoon!” Aaron, being slightly braver than a 12 year old girl in a haunted house, slammed the wooden door. I pushed him out of the way, excited to see the wild invader. When we got onto the deck I saw the distinct fluffy stripped tail end cross the bridge and scamper up the closest tree. When we spotlighted the bandit we saw TWO raccoons. It appears it was a nice couple out for an evening stroll, one large guy and one smaller female. The big guy was twice the size of Frank (the cat) which is really saying something. They were not in the least afraid of us. We sat starring at them, and they sat starring right back at us. The big guy actually hissed and growled. Frank (the cat), now backed up by all of us, was acting very brave standing on the edge of the bridge posturing at the coon’s. Now we have to figure out a way to keep the local wildlife and homeless from infiltrating onto our deck and very possibly our house. My first idea was some sort of pulley system so we can raise and lower the bridge. I consulted our in house engineer who informed me the upgrade would cost 2 million dollars and 18 months to build.

Pets

If you have never met my cat Frankenstein much of what I am about to say will sound crazy. At the risk of portraying myself as one of those “cat people” I am going to share the new developments. Frank is a very unique cat. His distinct and fickle personality is the only reason I have him. He never likes to be held or cuddled. At the same time he always wants to be in the same vicinity as the action. Any physical contact is strictly on his terms only. And every so often he is simply a jerk chasing and biting people randomly. His favorite person to harass is Aaron, who considers himself a pants prisoner as a result of trying to protect his girlish legs from the Frank onslaught. His bad behavior has been getting worse since our last move. I am sure it is a side effect of the new training routine involving blasts of water for any unwanted behavior. We also had the idea that he was bored and needed to go outside. As our apartment is on the 2nd floor of a secure building letting him in and out at his leisure would be a difficult task. We decided as a solution to build him a bridge or cat walk if you will from our deck to the hillside behind our place. I enlisted the help of our houseguest Frank (the person) for the project. Frank (the person) being an engineer told me it would take 8 months and a million dollars. While he was busy trying to organize an environmental survey to assess the impact, Aaron and I built and installed the bridge. I was sure that Frank (the cat) would instantly run across the bridge to freedom. He refuses to use the bridge however. He stands at the end and meows but will not advance forward. The term “scardy cat” is very fitting here. We are going to add some railings, which Frank (the person) tells me will cost a million dollars and 8 months to build. Until then Aaron will continue to wear his pants and my coworkers will continue to think I cut myself from all the scars on my forearms.
In related news George and I set up the fish tank we found on moving day. It’s a small five gallon tank which we put two cichlids in. Mine is named Harpo Jr. Jr. Jr. Jr, in honor of all the Harpos that came before. George also is fostering a Costal California King snake which is really neat. We feed him mice on Sundays. We keep a bag of frozen mice in the freezer, so be careful if you are every rummaging in there for ice. I also learned from our new friends at the pet store that you can legally buy and keep alligators in Rhode Island. I am thinking of taking a road trip this weekend and picking me up a few. We can dig a moat for that cat-bridge and keep the riff-raft out!