Home is Where the Rental Van Is.....I'm an Official New Yorker

Hey y'all, sorry I have been on a hiatus for a few days, this move to NYC takes up more time than the DMV. After all the phone calls, flights, applications, down payments, security deposits, rental cars, and the donation of a kidney....I am finally here. The journey up here was fun, I drove 932 miles in a 2011 Chrysler Town and Country, which I nicknamed "Cody" to remind me of home. Cody took us through such awesome metropolises as Chilhowie, Virginia ("Chilhowie" is a Cherokee word that means "land of many deer.") I envisioned a mass exodus of the male population of Cassville to Chilhowie in September. Imagine an army of my people, covered in fox urine dressed in their best Realtree, invading Virginia to annihilate the deer population for three months. The only advice I can give to Chilhowie store owners is the following: stock up on whole corn, Copenhagen, Natural Light, Fudge Rounds (for breakfast of course) and have snow shovel handy for all the bulls*** stories that you will hear in the afternoons. "Hell, I seen a twelve pointer, no...it was a fourteen pointer. Would've field dressed at 325! I let 'im walk though, I told 'im (spits Copenhagen)....."go git yer big brother." Chilhowie is also home to the other  "Nature Boy" Buddy Landell, the uber-successful Smoky Mountain/WWF/WCW Wrestling star. (notice I put Smoky Mountain first) Seriously, deer and wrestling....I almost stayed here.

No, I kept on going. Washington DC has some of the most confusing highways in the known universe, no wonder so many people live in that area....they can't get out. I paid $27.00 in tolls to the People's Republic of Maryland on the way through their state. Seriously, the state's motto should be "Tax Dat @$$" because I was out of greenbacks by the time we entered Delaware, which was a pivotal moment in my life. Why? Because it's Delaware. The first state and.....um, well...they have....a big bridge into Jersey? I navigated my way down the Jersey Turnpike pretty well. You can tell when you are in New Jersey because the GPS gets an attitude. "In three miles, keep left on I-95, you freakin' moron." More tolls were paid on this road, I did not see Snooki or Tony Soprano, and Bruce Springsteen has his own XM station. Needless to say, I was ready to get to New York.

You will notice that I said I drove 952 miles. If you Mapquest the route, the drive appears to be 895 miles. Yes, that mileage would be accurate if you plugged in the address correctly in the GPS. We did not put the word "West" in the street name, which was not a big deal, except we live on a numbered street. Every borough has numbered streets. Our GPS decided that we were going to Brooklyn. By the time we realized this, it was too late. Cody and I did a magnificent job cruising the streets and highways of Staten Island, Brooklyn, the Upper East Side, and Midtown in an effort to get home. It is a sick feeling to see the city skyline appear and then disappear as you FREAKING BYPASS it on the way to the wrong borough...not to mention I had to pee and there was a $12.00 toll that I paid to get on Staten Island. I was 1/7 of a mile from the correct exit when I turned off. To put it in perspective for Georgians, this is like going to Smyrna from Marietta, except you take I-285 East all the way around Atlanta. Driving in New York is like vehicular combat, it is dangerous, fast paced, aggressive and not for the faint of heart. Did I mention I had to pee? At least I got to see where Sandy Koufax was born. Cody and I were almost sideswiped, rearended, T-Boned and left for dead in the hour and a half detour through the most populated area of the city. We made it, however. When we returned Cody to Hertz Auto, I shed a small tear. I hope he is driving a small family on a two-lane road in Kentucky somewhere.

The Upper West Side is a special place, it is far more residential than most parts of Manhattan. You will not see tourists wandering aimlessly on the streets, taking pictures of manhole covers and bus graffitti. (no joke, saw some foreigners doing that down in Times Square.) Famous people live here to get away. Ralph Lauren and Jerry Seinfeld live near me. So does Regis Philbin. John Lennon lived about eight blocks away before he was killed. I guess they are like me, they wanted the small town feel and to be left alone. It's like Cassville amongst the skyscrapers, except there are 1.5 million people in this part of town. And taxis. And guys with yarmulkes. Let's face it, we ain't in Kansas anymore. Life is different here, but it is not a bad different. You know me, I like to compare and contrast everything. There are no Waffle Houses, but we have real Italian food with a wine selection that includes more than Franzia. I am not afraid to day drink on Montepulciano.....

                                                        Aviators and Rigatoni....winning

 College football is not big here but they have alumni bars all over the city that show the games for homesick Southerners. The UGA bar is called "The Village Pourhouse." I have not seen a Browning sticker yet. The only cowboy boots are worn by Hispanic men and rich Connecticut girls trying to rebel against Daddy and going to Dartmouth. School is out during Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. I have not heard anybody called Shane, Dwayne, Cody, Crystal, Misty, Tonya, Charity or Chastity (whom are neither charitable nor chaste).  I have a doorman. I have no car. I live near the Beacon Theater, where the Allman Brothers perform for thirty straight days every March. When I get directions to somewhere, it's not "take 75 to Peachtree" it's "take the 6 to Houston and cab it to Avenue A." Yep, life will be awash with new experiences. I will miss the South and Georgia very much. This harkens me back to a day in high school when a teacher told me, "to be successful in the world, you will have to lose that accent at some point." Frankly, I never considered that route and I personally took offense to it. Courteney Cox went to speech classes to eliminate her Alabama twang and I lost all respect for her. Interestingly enough, a New York attorney told me the other day, upon hearing my drawl, "don't ever change, that accent is classic!"

Don't worry, I won't. If you removed my skin, I swear you would find red clay under there. If I ever get homesick, I'll just re-rent Cody and drive to Chilhowie. Y'all have a good day!