Palmetto Rhode

The question on everyone’s lips in South Carolina is: “Why is Rhode Island on a poster that is supposed to celebrate South Carolina culture?” (Actually that’s probably the third question, after “What’s that in the middle of our poster?” and “Where is Rhode Island?”)

Artist Maya Lin was selected to design the 2010 poster for the Spoleto Festival USA, one of the world’s top performing arts festivals, held annually in Charleston. For this year’s poster, titled “From Rhode Island to South Carolina,” she created a double panel deconstructed from a road atlas. The first presents the Ocean State in portrait format and the second shows the Palmetto State in landscape format. In the center of each, there is a crater-shaped hole (Rhode Island’s looks like an oyster), as if something has been dug away from its core.

Lin is no stranger to controversy. She is most famous for creating the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C., which was viciously criticized at first but is now iconic – one of the most celebrated public art works of our time and the standard for what has become almost cliche in war memorial building.

Since the poster appeared, speculation has run rampant in the lower Carolina. Some say it’s merely a graphic association, since maps of Rhode Island and South Carolina appear in alphabetic order on an atlas. The festival’s general director Nigel Redden said that Lin revealed “a third dimension that typically we don’t see,” referring to the ambiguous relationship between the two states. Whatever the case, many are annoyed that Lin gave Rhode Island so much play in a festival that is one of South Carolina’s cultural highlights.

Trying to decipher the riddle, The Post and Courier of Charleston, S.C., reported that:

Both states are original New World colonies; both relied heavily on boats (for whaling in one case, slavery in the other); both are on the East Coast; both have two words in their name.

In a poll on public reaction to the poster conducted by the newspaper, 88 percent voted either “Don’t understand it” or “Don’t like it,” with only 12 percent saying they loved it or liked it.

More from The Post and Courier:

Jennifer Blackman, who works at the S.C. Aquarium, saw the poster at Rising High Cafe on East Bay Street.

“I’m trying to figure it out,” she said. “It’s the Rhode Island thing that’s confusing.”

Ellen Dressler Moryl, director of the city of Charleston’s Office of Cultural Affairs and chief curator of the Piccolo Spoleto Festival, said the excavations in Lin’s image look like ears and seem to be asking, “Are you really listening?”

At first baffled by the Rhode Island-South Carolina connection, Moryl experienced a bolt of understanding. Rhode Island, she said, has the oldest synagogue building in America; Charlestown has the oldest synagogue in continuous use in America.

That must be it, she said.

On the surface it seems a strange match. Two states: One Blue, one Red. One Union, one Confederate. They have Charleston; we have Charlestown. Rhode Island Red, South Carolina Gamecock. We share a few pirates in common. The same ocean. But otherwise, what’s the connection?

My two cents: It’s all about slavery and cultural identity. South Carolina was steeped in the slave trade and plantation culture, and in modern times it endured a very public controversy over the decision to continue flying the Confederate battle flag over the state house (until finally removing it in 2000). Meanwhile, Rhode Island’s role in the culture of slavery has received extensive examination in the press, the arts and academic circles in recent years. This November residents will be voting on a controversial referenda question about whether to keep the official name as “The State of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations.” So Lin’s rendering is a slightly subversive, somewhat cryptic tale and history lesson of two states that have more in common than they know.

Whether that's true or not, most South Carolinians seem to be boycotting the Rhode Island-centric poster. But Rhode Islanders looking for something to hang next to “Dogs Playing Poker” on their walls can purchase a copy online for $25.

This week’s question: “With what state in the Other 49 does Rhode Island share the most in common, and why?”

Joe to Go

Apparently G.I. Joe has a posse. Teeming multitudes of fans and collectors go for all things Joe around the world, and at the beginning of this month thousands of them arrived at home base alpha, descending upon Rhode Island for the 17th annual G.I. Joe Collectors Convention. The fact that there already have been 16 of these conventions around the world is surprising enough. Even odder: It’s the first time Joe groupies have gathered in the birthplace of the world’s most famous fighting figure.

In the interests of accuracy – and despite most wire service reports to the contrary – it should be noted that Providence isn’t actually home to the headquarters of Hasbro, the toy company that created G.I. Joe. That’s Pawtucket. But Providence is the nation’s only true city-state, so the error is a common one. It’s the same impulse that often locates T.F. Green Airport in Providence, even though it’s really in Warwick.

Anyway, they came from as far away as Belgium, Japan and Singapore to buy, trade, talk some Joe and meet “Joelebrities” – such as the original patent holder, a box artist and a marketing manager. Some of the Joe-heads dressed as characters from the ever-expanding Joeniverse, like the Baroness, Roadblock and Tunnel Rat.

“Joe Con,” as it’s known to collectors, was a plastic love-fest for “America’s moveable fighting man,” born in Pawtucket in 1964 as a 12-inch action figure, the anti-doll to Ken and Barbie. While the ravages of age have taken a physical toll (Joe has suffered from chronic shrinkage, and now measures around 3 inches), the years have been kind in a commercial sense. Star of big and small screen, with a mushrooming line of toy products and tie-ins, Joe is the little plastic piece of Americana that just won’t go away. So long as there are accessories and sealed boxes to make childhood memories tangible, there will be Joe.

All of this G.I. Joe talk reminds me that it has been a while since I’ve seen one of those tourism campaign Mr. Potato Heads anywhere in Rhode Island. A decade ago, Hasbro’s other star was the subject of a Cows on Parade-style tourism initiative in which artists made 6-foot Potato Heads and plopped them in communities around the state, much to the delight of local vandals. Rhode Island tourism officials apparently never considered that Mr. Potato Head is a toy that actually encourages vandalism. Anyway, these things eventually wore out their welcome. Pawtucket was smart enough to re-gift its spud statue to its sister-town of Belper, England a few years ago. The good folks of Belper hated it and tried to send it back. I never heard what eventually happened, but I can only assume that Pawtucket instituted the time-honored “no take-backs” rule among siblings.

This week’s question: Where have all the giant Mr. Potato Heads gone?

Slick for size
Friend, fellow Rhody-phile and reader Tom Viall passed along a recent size-of-Rhode-Islandism back when the Louisiana oil spill was roughly a spewing Rhode Island. Although weather will play a role in determining how big the slick actually gets, they’re no longer measuring it in Ocean States. Sadly, we may be talking about a goopy Montana before all is said and done.

The Rhode Islander

Comedian Jeff Foxworthy built a career out of one gag: “You Might Be a Redneck If…” Readers of my Independent column, “Flotsam & Jetsam,” occasionally endure an Ocean State spin on that idea called “You Know You’re a Rhode Islander When…” In honor of tomorrow’s anniversary of Rhode Island Independence Day, I thought it might be a good time to revive the feature, borrowing liberally from my old columns, with a few new one-liners in the mix. So…

You Might Be a Littleneck If…

The world is your quahog.
Joe Mollicone still owes you money.
Celebrity means a float in the Bristol Fourth of July Parade.
You were there when Dylan went electric.
You order a cup of clam chowder and the waitress asks if you want red, white or clear.
You think of your inferiority complex as a superiority complex.
You’ve never met an adjective that couldn’t be improved by placing the word “wicked” in front of it.
Not even Martha Stewart can come up with more ways to use pizza dough.
You still call Twin River “Lincoln Downs” and remember betting on the horses before it went to the dogs.
You take the interstate just to find out how high the Powerball jackpot is today.
You can pronounce words in Italian, Portuguese, Narragansett and Wampanoag better than words in English.
You elected a Whitehouse to Congress.
You consider coffee one of the humors.
More people you know follow sailing than NASCAR.
You’ve eaten a Wimpy Skippy and a Murder Burger.
You’ve never eat at Long John Silver’s or Red Lobster.
You see your first snowflake of the year and wonder if there will be school in Foster-Glocester.
You know someone who claims a family heritage that dates back to both the Mayflower and the mob.
You have a Buddy story.
You think a whole season of “The Amazing Race” could be built around trying to get from Watch Hill to Woonsocket.
You once dangled a souvenir in a bucket behind home plate at McCoy Stadium to get a PawSox player’s autograph.
Your first experience going “all the way” was at a New York System Weiner joint.
You once bought a date to a horror movie at the Rustic Drive-In.
You accidentally click on your directional signal while driving and worry that the blinking green arrow is a sign of engine trouble.
You think all Ping-Pong balls come with numbers on them.
Sometimes you like to go to package stores just to browse.
You’ve given lottery tickets as stocking stuffers.
You have a boat in the yard that has never been in the water.
You believe that breakfast should have no curfew.
Your second home is about a 15-minute drive away from your first.
NBC stands for Narragansett Brewing Company, not National Broadcasting Company.
You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you just might find you get what you need at Ocean State Job Lot.
You bought tickets for the Broadway show “Wicked” thinking it was about Rhode Island.
It doesn’t feel like Christmas until you see the colored lights gleaming on the giant New England Pest Control termite overlooking I-95.
You never have to worry, because you know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy.
You have a Blizzard of ’78 story.
You choose your news channel based upon how much you trust the meteorologist.
Hiking the highest point in the state is the equivalent of five minutes on the Stairmaster.
It’s 20-below zero outside and the clerk at Dunkin’ Donuts asks whether you want your coffee hot or iced.
You order it iced.
You know somebody who knows Kevin Bacon.
You once took the Awful Awful challenge (“drink three, get one free”) and lost.
You know the menu at Gregg’s by heart, but always ask to see it anyway.
You’ve been to Pawtucket, Pawtuxet and Pawcatuck (Conn.) in the same day, but missed the whimsy.
You like your termites at least 58 feet long.
You’re suspicious of white eggs.
You can identify every condiment in the relish tray at Newport Creamery.
You call a night watchman a “security god” and the metal boundary that sometimes replaces a Jersey barrier a “god rail.”
You call a national sports radio show to mention how you were reading about “the PawSox in the ProJo while waiting in line at Benny’s” and expect the rest of the country to understand you.
You have friends on the East Bay who will never meet your friends on the West Bay.
You believe that a community can never have enough pharmacies or convenience stores.
You’d rather listen to a foghorn than the radio.
You’ve eaten a spinach pie at the beach.
You’ve got one headlight out but prefer to think of the glass as half full.
After you retire, you check the obituaries, your Powerball numbers and the weather, in that order.
You’ve eaten one clam cake too many.
You kind of miss the old Jamestown Bridge.
You think this could be the year that Miss Rhode Island makes the final cut.
You’d like to see how the Big Blue Bug would do against Mothra in a cage match.
Going out for coffee is always Plan B.
You don’t think of brown, green and red as colors but as a university, an airport and a chicken.
You prefer the counter to the booth.
You’ve used a quahog shell as an ashtray.
Hearing the phrase “Baywatch” makes you think of Trudy Coxe, not Pamela Anderson.
When it comes to corruption, you think that Rhode Island is like a Spinal Tap amplifier: It can go to 11.
You still have nightmares about driving endlessly around a Ring Road.
You have six degrees of separation from a Cardi brother.
In your neighborhood, lawn animals outnumber live ones.
You think people who aren’t willing to haggle shouldn’t hold yard sales.
Your epitaph reads: “YOU KILLED ME.”
The world gets a little fuzzy north of the Blackstone and south of the Pawcatuck.
Some of your favorite musical memories occurred at a barn in Matunuck and a tent in Warwick.
You once ran a red light because you were distracted by the Dancing Cop.
Someone invites you to a night of bowling and you ask, “Big ball or small ball?”
You grew up thinking everybody ate fish sticks on Friday.
When you hear the phrase “nectar of the gods,” you think: “coffee cabinet.”
As your last meal before being executed, you’d go for the buffet.
Somebody on your block owns a retired greyhound.
You divide the world into Autocrat people and Eclipse people.
Your GPS unit comes with a setting that gives directions by landmarks that no longer exist.
You throw out your car’s alignment by hitting a pothole and figure the next pothole will take care of it.
You judge people based on their condiment choices.
You see the monster in “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea” and think, “all-you-can-eat calamari.”
Every time you scratch, you hope to see dollar signs.
What happens in Hope Valley stays in Hope Valley.

Your turn: You know you’re a Rhode Islander when…?

Token redemption

It sounds like an oxymoron, or maybe we’re giving too much credit to the “oxy” part of the word, but last Friday the R.I. Turnpike and Bridge Authority restored our faith in PR jargon. The agency has this message for all Rhode Islanders or anyone passing through who hasn’t cleaned out his car in awhile:

For questions about token redemption, call 401-423-0800 or visit www.ritba.org.

Turns out RITBA isn’t actually trivializing the release of sin. It is merely informing us that the day is coming when we will no longer be able to trade in a brass coin with the Newport Pell Bridge imprint on it for an 83-cent check from the state. Token holders have until May 15 to get reimbursed for dropping off their bridge coins to the RIBTA customer service center. After that date, all collected tokens will be sold for their scrap metal value. The coins were replaced by the awkwardly-named E-ZPass transponder system last spring. The new transaction eliminates humans and token-catching baskets and the human error of missing the basket while tossing your token on the move. It involves a little white box that you put on your windshield, which sends a signal to the automated tollbooth to lift an orange-colored arm that lets you cross the bridge. (The arms used to be green, until Rhode Islanders kept smashing through them, prompting the color change.) The little white box also counts how many times you pass through a toll and calculates how much to charge your credit card. I’m told certain models of the little white box will even do your taxes.

Not for nothin’: UK edition
Rhode Islanders aren’t the only folks who understand the rhetorical eloquence and sway of a good “not for nothin’” barb. In the “Talking points” section of the March 27 edition of the British magazine The Week, editors made good use of the phrase. The report concerned the suspected corruption of the International Commission for the Conservation of Atlantic Tunas, which was complicit in allowing the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species to reject a worldwide ban on fishing for Atlantic bluefin tuna, even though stocks have declined to 15 percent of their historic levels. The decision likely served as a death warrant to the entire species, prompting The Week’s editors to write: “Not for nothing has this body been dubbed the ‘International Conspiracy to Catch All Tuna.’” Brilliant, despite the too-proper spelling of “nothing,” which no doubt takes a bit of the oomph out of the gibe for purists of Rhode Islandese.

Eyjafjallajokull
Oops. Had my fingers on the wrong keys and ended up typing an Icelandic volcano.

But come to think of it, the volcanic ash cloud from Iceland has dominated the headlines for a couple of weeks now without a single size of Rhode Island reference. The closest I could find was buried in the comments section of a Huffington Post story. In a thread about natural disasters and global warming, poster Rob the Plumber (no relation to Joe, apparently), had this to say:

Global warming has resulted in acceleration of glacial calving in the northern hemisphere and increased seasonal breakouts of polar bergs. In the south, ice sheets in Antarctica are breaking off, resulting in icebergs the size of Rhode Island.

But of course we already knew that. (See “Floating Rhody,” posted April 5.) Still, the thought of doomsday arriving in the shape of Rhode Island-sized clouds made from volcanic ash traveling the globe on prevailing winds may inspire a little token redemption after all.

At any rate, the volcanic plume has created travel nightmares for millions, which, as we like to say, got us to thinkin’: What is your best worst travel story?

Tarzan Brown Day

This being Marathon Monday in Boston, we thought it might be a good time to reminisce about one of New England’s best long-distance runners, the late Ellison Myers Brown. Widely known as Tarzan Brown, the Charlestown resident and member of the Narragansett tribe was born and raised in poverty on a reservation, worked as a stonemason and a shellfisherman, and became one of the world’s great marathoners in his 20s. Among his accomplishments: Brown was a two-time winner of the Boston Marathon (1936 and 1939), a participant in the 1936 Summer Olympics in Berlin and in 1939 won 16 consecutive New England road races. (He only lost going for his 17th straight because the winner received a 2-minute, 30-second time handicap advantage. Brown ran faster, but couldn’t make up the time he had to give away. Later that year he won several other races, including the 15-mile New York World’s Fair invitational that mapped a course through the global curiosities decorating Queens. The very next day he raced in Boston at “the Beehive,” the home of the National League Bees – previously known as the Braves – and won a 10-mile celebrity runners Field Day race, giving him 20 outright victories in 22 races to that point that year.)

Fellow runner and Boston Marathon champ (1957) John J. Kelley wrote about Brown in the introduction to Michael Ward’s book, “Ellison ‘Tarzan’ Brown: The Narragansett Indian Who Twice Won the Boston Marathon:”

The legend of Tarzan Brown, like all legends, loomed larger than life. Yet the man who took his nickname from Edgar Rice Burrough’s famous jungle hero would never settle for static stone. He reveled in the pleasures and the pitfalls of the flesh.

A week after he won his first Boston Marathon the R.I. legislature passed a bill designating an annual holiday in his honor. The now defunct Boston Traveler noted it this way in its sports section:

“‘Tarzan Brown Day’ is New R.I. Holiday”

There are those who thought Arlington’s Johnny Kelley was overidolized after his victory in the B.A.A. marathon last year, but the state of Rhode Island has gone completely daffy over its new tercentenary B.A.A. champion, Ellison “Tarzan” Brown, the Narragansett Indian.
They’re treating him to a round of banquets and festivities which has him dizzy and only yesterday the Rhode Island Legislature went to the extreme with a tasty bit of tercentenary publicity. The boys passed a bill which forever establishes a Rhode Island holiday to be known as “Tarzan” Brown Day. They haven’t decided the date yet. They’re leaving that to the fathers of the Narragansett tribe.

Turns out the tribe changed the name of the day, at Tarzan Brown’s request, to “Indian Day in Rhode Island.” A year later Indian Day was signed into law to be held on June 14, with no mention of Tarzan Brown and no reason why it was moved from April. Records are unclear as to when Rhode Islanders stopped celebrating Indian Day, although there is a statute on the books that states:

25-2-4. Narragansett Indian Day.

The last Saturday before the second Sunday in August shall annually be set apart as a day to be known as the “Rhode Island Indian Day of the Narragansett tribe of Indians.” The day is to be observed by the people of this state with appropriate exercises in public places and otherwise commemorative of the Narragansett tribe of Indians.

In 1939, Olympic swimmer Johnny Weissmuller wrote a letter to Tarzan Brown complaining about his nickname. The emerging Hollywood star had recently agreed to play Tarzan in the movies (his first film was “Tarzan the Ape Man”) and threatened legal action against Brown – even though the runner had claimed the nickname since childhood, long before the swimmer discovered the movies.

Brown’s story has a sad end. He was killed in 1975 when a van struck him in a parking lot outside of a Misquamicut bar called The Wreck.

Tarzan Brown’s legacy includes having one of the more descriptive nicknames in Rhode Island history, although his Narragansett tribal name, “Deerfoot,” was perhaps even more apt. Sports figures in Rhody have a long tradition of terrific names – Nap Lajoie, Gabby Hartnett and Rocco Baldelli in baseball; Lyle Wildgoose, the former Providence College hockey player; and boxer Vinnie Pazienza, who also goes by Vinnie Paz and boxed under the nickname, “The Pazmanian Devil.” Even better are some of our mobsters, known colloquially as “The Blind Pig,” “The Moron,” “Fat Bastard” and “Baby Shacks.”

What is your favorite nickname associated with Rhode Island?

Reality check

There must be something in the water. Despite its diminutive size, the Ocean State is crawling with reality TV show contestants. If I had the resources or the inclination, I could probably prove that Rhody ranks first in the category of most reality TV show contestants per capita in the nation. Since I don't, I will instead take the lazy blogger's way out and declare it to be true anyway, citing anonymous sources and anecdotal and circumstantial evidence. (I get it now, Drudge. This is how you roll.) But here's a fact: Sixteen Rhode Islanders competed on reality TV shows this season – 18 if you count two Rhode Island School of Design graduates. And it’s not just that they show up. They last. And they leave an impression.

It all began with the first reality TV mega-hit, “Survivor: Borneo.” The First Survivor, Richard Hatch of Middletown, not only won – he established the blueprint for how every succeeding Survivor would be victorious after him. Hatch parlayed nude, crude, rude and cunning into a winning hand. Since then, he’s pieced together a reality TV resume that has not been as impressive, including an appearance on the Australian version of “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?” in which he became the first person in Oz “Millionaire” history to go home with nothing. As in $0.00.

Hatch deserves some credit for attaining the highest achievement in the state, which we like to call the Rhody Triple Crown (mostly recently won by former Providence Mayor Buddy Cianci):

Minor celebrity. Federal prisoner. Radio talk show host. (In no particular order.)

Since Hatch, more than 50 Rhode Islanders have appeared on reality TV. The most famous nationally is probably Elisabeth Hasselbeck (formerly Filarski) of Cranston. In her Filarski days, she became one of the most popular contestants on “Survivor,” appearing during the “Australian Outback” season, before marrying a professional football player and starring as the flashpoint conservative on “The View.”

This year, two teams of Rhode Islanders are still in the running in “The Amazing Race.” The Barrington brothers Dan and Jordan Pious and narcotics officers Louis D. Stravato of Bristol and Michael Naylor of Warwick, working as detectives for the police departments in Providence and Newport, respectively, are two of the 4 teams remaining in the competition. The detectives, who gave a shout out to “Rhode Island” on a recent episode, have been a standout hit with audiences but of course this wouldn’t be Rhody without a juicy scandal. Last month TMZ reported that Stravato was linked to a cop-operated cocaine ring and has been restricted to desk duty pending an internal investigation.

On Thursday, University of Rhode Island professor Robert Ballard, the Titanic discoverer, will appear on the National Geographic Channel program “Known Universe.” On the show, he says:

By far the most important discovery I’ve ever made was not the Titanic. It was when we discovered this whole new life system on this planet.

Yes, it’s called Rhode Island.

Actually, Ballard is referring to the discovery of life near hydrothermal vents 2.5 miles below the ocean’s surface. Strange, yes. Fascinating, surely. But not nearly as strange and fascinating as reality TV’s Rhode Island obsession. (The same series features Brown professor of geology Peter Schultz demonstrating how the dinosaur-asteroid collision might have occurred.)

Disc jockey “Pauly D,” a.k.a. Paul Delvecchio from Johnston, is a member of the incomprehensively popular “Jersey Shore” cast. Spoofed on “Saturday Night Live,” invited to late night talk shows, the cast is cashing in on what Rhode Islanders have seen and heard for free by going to Scarborough Beach for the last 50 years.

Why so many Rhode Islanders? Well, TV producers generally go for two things: sexy and quirky. With rare exception, Rhode Island doesn’t really do sexy. But we practically invented quirky. Especially when accompanied by a healthy sense of humor. (See “Family Guy.” Farrelly Brothers movies. Don Bousquet cartoons. May breakfasts. Political history. Rhode Island-ese as a Second Language. Quahogs, jonnycakes, littlenecks, cherrystones, soupys, strip pizza, stuffies, weiners and pretty much anything on the menu. Big Blue Bug. Mr. Potato Head. Oscar the Death Cat.)

What would be a good reality TV show based in Rhode Island?

Floating Rhody

A few weeks ago another Rhode Island-sized iceberg snapped off the Antarctic. This time, we have an iceberg the size of Luxembourg to thank.

The iceberg we like to call Luxemberg slammed into an Antarctic glacier known officially as the Mertz Ice Tongue. The collision caused a Rhody-sized bit of ice tongue to splinter off and float away. If you look at the picture provided by NASA, the Mertz Ice Tongue even looks like an upside-down Rhode Island – minus the East and West Passages of Narragansett Bay.

Anyway, this new Rhodyberg is potentially lethal to sea life. Some scientists believe that it could “disrupt the undersea currents that ferry oxygen throughout the oceans,” with the consequence that vast areas of the high seas may not have enough oxygen to support life.

In a case of life imitating art, comments posted to science blogs have resorted to quoting the 2004 movie “The Day After Tomorrow:”

Jack Hall: Our climate is fragile. The ice caps are disappearing at a dangerous rate.

Vice President Becker: Professor, um, Hall, our economy is every bit as fragile as the environment. Perhaps you should keep that in mind before making sensational claims.

Jack Hall: Well, the last chunk of ice that broke off was about the size of Rhode Island. Some people might call that pretty sensational.

Now that we have killer icebergs the size of Rhode Island roaming the seven seas, it’s only a matter of time before astronomers start charting Rhody-sized killer asteroids to rain on the Earth. But enough of this doom and gloom. Here are 10 reasons why frozen, floating Rhode Islands are good for the world.

10. Quonset huts can be easily modified into igloos.
9. Cans of ‘Gansett never go warm.
8. Hockey moms won’t lose sleep commuting to pre-dawn rink rentals.
7. Rhode Island-sized tongue should win most arguments.
6. Unlimited supply of Del’s.
5. Rhode Islanders won’t have to go anywhere. The iceberg will travel for them.
4. Can convert Thurbers Ave Curve into Thurbers Ave Luge.
3. More elbow room for polar bears at Roger Williams Park Zoo.
2. State might finally start developing some winter Olympians.
1. No longer have to share a boundary with Connecticut.

Have you heard a good “size of Rhode Island” reference lately?