Mr. Chad is off in Oregon and until I can figure out how to knit a pair of warm fuzzy mittens to match his scarf, I'm very much tempted to mail him cans of spam at random. He's written to tell me the shared kitchen of his dormatory appears to not have been used in ages making it suspect. So I suppose if I send him any random food items it'll have to be something that doesn't require cooking to avoid risk of fire or explosion.