Some 'splaining. Some splashing.

And some tips if you are considering moving to New York City from Sarasota, Florida.

1. Do not attempt to rent a minivan from Budget's SRQ branch. Two bald men, one tall, one short, will deny you your van on the day you had planned to leave. You'll be hung-over, exhausted, and almost crying, but they will not care. Walk 50 feet toward bag check and see Jessie at Alamo-National. Jessie understands you.
2. Tell everyone you meet that you're moving across the country to get a Master of Fine Arts degree in poetry writing. This will get you more free drinks than you can imagine.
3. If you're trying to find Mrs. Wilkes' Boarding House in Savannah's Historic District, be advised that there are two West Jones Streets, one of which will take you to the Savannah College of Art and Design - a place which, despite having dated an alum, you have no desire to go.
4. Do break into the pool after hours at the Gateway Boulevard La Quinta. Do not have the fish and chips at the Ashland T.G.I. Friday's.
5. Guided By Voices' "Bee Thousand" will get you through Baltimore, but Wilco's "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot" will only scare the shit out of you as you search for your exit off I-95 outside Richmond in the dark and the rain. Pack something sunnier for moments like this one.
6. There's no way in hell you'll find a parking space on your street when you arrive after seven. Park the rental illegally, double park it to unload, and park it illegally again overnight.
7. New York City cultivates an unsettling indifference to the scent of human urine. Are you the only one who notices? Seriously, it's everywhere. Especially your building's elevator.
8. Tell everyone you meet that you just moved across the country to get a Master of Fine Arts degree in poetry writing. This will get you more free drinks than you can imagine.
9. Avoid the food court, but spend as much time as possible at the American Museum of Natural History. Spend especially large amounts of time here.
10. Never buy milk from the Rite-Aid on 170th and Broadway.

So, okay. I'd be lying to you if I said this was my first blog; I've had a LiveJournal for years and I had an OpenDiary before El-Jay revolutionized our understanding of Sylvia Plath's effect on the modern American adolescent. There are definite elements of theatre and egocentrism that I enjoyed a lot when I was seventeen and make me cringe a little now. But seriously, if you're reading this that's awesome, because you probably know me and I probably miss you and it's about everything I do of which I wish you were a part. Please keep reading.

I nabbed the title from Yuri Olesha's Envy, and I like it because I think it sums up what I'm going through pretty well. I have numerous discussions with numerous people about feeling really provincial here, not just a country mouse but a water rat, someone for whom cutoff shorts are a fashion staple and Miller High Life really is the champagne of beers. No sense denying it: if you're a runner, run. If you're a bell, ring. It's not a new story - Southern kid tries to make good in the Big City while staying true to roots - but I guess it's mine now and no, I'm not prepared to comment yet on the much-analyzed City/Country dichotomy.

We'll just have to see how things develop.

Instead, for the moment I'm going to yield the floor, as I have on so many other important occasions in my life, to Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis: