Sunday — Shortly after rolling into Bar Harbor we headed out for dinner. We were in Maine, so I figured I couldn't go wrong with a lobster, right? The problem was, I had no idea how to eat one. I've only ever had a whole lobster one other time, but I was drunk in Las Vegas with the Mizzi and Jeff, so I don't really remember it. All I knew was that I had a two-pound crustacean sitting staring up at me from my plate, and all I had to battle it with was a little fork and something that looked like a nutcracker. Fortunately for me, Kristin — who doesn't eat seafood — knew all the ins and outs of tearing these little guys apart. So I donned my lobster bib and cracked, pried and splashed my way through a delicious meal. The whole trip we've been saying "We can't live here because..." Bar Harbor is no different. We can't ever live here because the wife doesn't eat seafood, I can't manage to eat it without help, and we don't have enough cash inherited from our parents to support ourselves. Seriously, this is a tourist town but it's a tourist town for the ...