Woke up at Rose’s, packed all my treasures into basically the “heaviest checked bag” I’ve messed around with in a long time. 80 pounds, motherfuckers. You should’ve see the little pixie at the JetBlue counter trying to haul it off the scale. Pure pain.

I’ve got a couple 25 pound metal crates, some metal trays, some signs, some bric, some brac, all wrapped up with sweaty underoos and spent socks. Quite the parcel.

Love that Green Mountain Railroad logo above. Here’s another incredible mountain logo for the Vermont Railway.

Thanks to Rose, Maja and Donald for the hospitality. Thanks to Lance P. for good chatting. Flueger, keep that shit real. Good to see ya, Kelly. Just as classy as ever, Chief.

Burton snowboards, for 1,000 years! Or until Capita takes it down. Hard. Just a little joke, Big B!

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OUR LIST FOR OUR BRIMFIELD WEEKEND:

- Thick Boston accents.
- The smaller the person, the thicker the accent, for whatever reason.
- The Nantucket/Cape Cod/Kennedy Brothers “Look.”
- The smell of blue blood.
- Possible descendants of colonial bad-assery, or not.
- Pilgrim sandwiches.
- Overpriced lobster roll disappointments.
- Decorated experts of the trade.
- My “inability to argue with science” with certitude pricing.
- High-waisted hipster dames with big sunglasses and floppy beanies.
- Self-appointed townie porters willing to lug shit back to yer car.
- New England, whichever way you looked.
- “Creemee” cones.
- Boat shoes.
- Moby Dick references.
- That “East Coast” charm.
- Shitloads of Wayfarers.
- Lots of Del Fuegos albums to flip past.
- A dizzying array of industrial artifacts, some with big. big prices.
- That incredible pilgrim hat sign for the Mass Turnpike. (See above.)
- While we’re on the subject, the Mass Turnpike’s nice wordmark.
- Gangs of plaid-shorted, pastel-torso’d, uh, country club members?
- Precisely 68% less response time to the fabled, “Get the fuck outta here” line from a miffed proprietor who could care less about making a sale.