Looking for red weather balloons!

Help. If you see an eight foot red weather balloon anywhere in the continental United States on December 5th, I need you to contact me, now.

More info: https://networkchallenge.darpa.mil/default.aspx

They'll look like this: https://networkchallenge.darpa.mil/gallery.aspx

Update:

Final locations were posted. They are...

Balloon 1: Union Square, San Francisco, California
N 37° 47' 16" W 122° 24' 26"

Balloon 2: Chaparral Park, Scottsdale, Arizona
N 33° 30' 36" W 111° 54' 29"

Balloon 3: Tonsler Park, Charlottesville, Virginia
N 38° 1' 34" W 78° 29' 28"

Balloon 4: Chase Palm Park, Santa Barbara, California
N 34° 24' 51" W 119° 41' 5"

Balloon 5: Lee Park, Memphis, Tennessee
N 35° 8' 17" W 90° 3' 43"

Balloon 6: Collins Avenue, Miami, Florida
N 25° 54' 14" W 80° 7' 31"

Balloon 7: Glasgow Park, Christiana, Delaware
N 39° 36' 30" W 75° 43' 51"

Balloon 8: Katy Park, Katy, Texas
N 29° 48' 56" W 95° 48' 15"

Balloon 9: Waterfront Park, Portland, Oregon
N 45° 30' 44" W 122° 40' 28"

Balloon 10: Centennial Park, Atlanta, Georgia
N 33° 45' 33" W 84° 23' 33"

I had the Delaware and Portland ones, but submitted them too late to MIT to win any cash.

For my birthday

As I looked upon his face I saw his years.

These years were not in the thin lines beginning to form on his still smooth forehead, nor were they revealed in the random speck of white that crept into his stubbled chin. He was still a young man. The years were not in the scar on his cheek, nor his crooked nose. His face was slightly asymmetrical, heavier, it seemed, on the left. You wouldn't notice these things unless you looked at him long and still, as I do now. The sometimes tired eyes, perhaps, showed the weight of responsibility and the fixed point of his age, but not the years.

No, the years shown brightly in the corners of his smile, now beaming back at me. His half-smile contained whole truths. Years of tiny moments that only seem meaningful when taken together, and only to him, these personal but epic tales of tragedy and triumph, of loves lost and gained, of friendships and wonder, of secret memories only shared through that wordless smile. It was a quiet place in the curve and crease where his lips met his cheek that I saw years and years and years.

In the lines and scars of his face it showed a man that, if not by luck or providence, would have died years short by some stupid and hilarious accident. The years, though, lay in the smile that seemed to quietly scream, "I am still alive!"

As I looked upon this man I saw myself, smiling.