Let me say first, before I begin this, that I like it in Pennsylvania. It's a nice place to live, and I can certainly understand why people enjoy living here.
But it's not the same as living in Texas.
There's differences, you know. Not GOOD or BAD, just DIFFERENT.
To give you a little background, although the last few years I've been a gypsy, I was born and raised in Houston, Texas, which is the third or fourth - depending on who you ask - biggest city in the country. Metropolitan area population: 5,280,077.
I'm now living in Port Royal, Pennsylvania. Borough population: 977.
Liiiiiiiiittle bit of a change, there.
So:
North Vs. South.
- North: Philly cheese steaks, which you can't get in the South, because they don't even sell the INGREDIENTS in the South.
- South: Chicken Fried Steak. Proper Tex-Mex. The Bellaire Broiler Burger. (Shitty website, but possibly the best hamburgers on the PLANET. CSC will vouch for this.) Whataburger, for when you can't go to Broiler Burger.
- North: Drivers tailgate like it was the national sport, drive with their high beams on ALL THE TIME, and generally act like asshats on the road.
- South: Drivers tailgate like it was the national sport, drive either 5 mph above, or 15 below, the speed limit, and generally act like asshats on the road.
- North: Dude, it fuckin' snows here, man.
- South: WTF is this white shit coming from the friggin' sky?
- North: Weis Markets, Giant, Mr. Z's, Aldi.
- South: Randall's, Safeway, FIESTA.
- North: salt trucks in winter. And plows. Don't forget the plows.
- South: Flash floods and hurricanes.
- North: OMG HURRY UP!!!
- South: Dude, relax.
- North: Shocked surprise upon utterance of the phrase "Good Morning!"
- South: "That rude bastard didn't even say 'Good Morning!'"
FIESTA has any grocery store north of the Mason-Dixon Line whupped all to hell and gone. Seriously. Get on the ball, people! You can do better!
I have to give the North the edge on climate, though, no joke. First, there's seasons up here, which was something I had to get explained to me, since I'd never seen them before. Second, there's a part of the year when it gets COLD, which - snow isn't THAT friggin' hard to drive on, you pussies - is a helluva break from what Houston usually has. You know, Summer, and the other two weeks. Plus, no hurricanes, and no flash floods - and anyone who thinks there are flash floods up here hasn't ever seen one - the climate is a dozen times better up here.
Oddly, for some reason people here seem determined to inform me of how hot it is. A lot. "OMG, we're gonna die, it's SO HOT." I'm like "Um, I'm from Houston." "Oh, my bad."
The dew point in Houston right now is 14 degrees higher than in Port Royal. Port Royal rocks.
Drivers are pretty much fucked everywhere. I'm convinced that it's a conspiracy - the government has a secret fleet of 18-wheelers kitted out to look like delivery trucks for major retailers that they use to follow me around, radioing ahead so that they can unload their horrifying cargo of world-class terrible drivers regardless of my actual location.
Attitude... is a little different. People here are always in such a hurry, even though we're out in the country. I'm not; I'm used to a bit slower pace, you know? Nothing wrong with taking your time. Seriously, the world will not collapse into oblivion if you fail to speed the ENTIRE way there. This doesn't mean I can't be hyperactive - feed me caffeine and I go wild - but that's not really my natural state. SARCASTIC, yes, but HURRIED, nope.
The first few months that I worked at my current job, I got the oddest looks from people. Not because I'm funny-looking - although I am - but because I greet customers. "Hi! How are you today?" gets you a look like you just shit on the carpet. "Good Morning!" can actually draw profanity. Down South, it's the exact opposite: if you ignore customers, they think you're a jackass. Now people around here are starting to get used to me - they don't jump quite as high when I say "Hello!" as they used to - but I think they just tell each other, "See? I told you he says 'Good Morning!'"
This doesn't mean people up here are unfriendly, though. Far from it. They will include you in their conversations if you're as far as a block away. You can tell, not because your name is called, but because you can hear every word quite clearly. People here like to share.
When CSC first moved to Houston, I used to shush her quite often as we would walk down the sidewalk and she would blare at me like a foghorn from two feet away. She comes by it honestly; people here are damn noisy. She didn't really believe that until after 3 years of Houston, we moved back up here, and were able to hear and understand a random conversation - from inside our apartment - that was taking place across the street in front of the bank. She said "OMGWTF?!?" and I said "YOU SEE?!?"
City Vs. Country:
- City: There are tons of phone companies; tons of cable companies, and a plethora of broadband internet providers.
- Country: I hope you like Embarq - they're the only phone company that serves this borough. There's one cable company, and you can get broadband from one or the other.
- City: You never see the same people twice.
- Country: A few weeks after I started at my current job, we got a phone call, and I answered. "Dave speaking, can I help you?" The person on the other end says "Is this the Dave who lives across from the bank in Port Royal?" Why yes, yes it is, but OMG.
- City: You have either a driveway, or assigned parking.
- Country: If you're in Mifflintown you have a meter. Port Royal, pretty much you just park on the side of the street.
- City: No Amish.
- Country: Amish.
- City: Wiiiiiiiiide variety of produce.
- Country: Fressssssssssshh variety of produce.
- City: Mass Transit.
- Country: Riding tractors on the highway. Often drunk, and racing against other tractors.
- City: Too many civil servants, not enough civil services.
- Country: Too many civil services, not enough civil servants.
City definitely has the edge in utility choices, but since all the companies suck, and try to screw you, that's not that big a deal. Here there's only one of each, but you get treated just the same as you would in the city.
People recognize you, quickly, in small towns. I will probably be "that new guy" for a lonnnnng time, but just about everybody knows who I am. In Houston things are more courteous in terms of greetings and whatnot, but at the same time more anonymous, and kind of disposable - you don't have to pay all THAT much attention to whoever you're dealing with, because you'll never see them again. Here, you're nice to the customers, because if you're not, they'll tell your aunt.
Parking - as long as I have a place to sit my wretched, ancient gas-guzzling boat, I don't care, so this is a toss-up.
The Amish - seriously I have only one problem with these folks, which is that Pennsylvania departs from the standards of every other place that has Amish and does not require them to bag their horseshit, which means it litters the roads, and they don't pay road taxes. You'd think the least they could do would be to put a poop bag on their horse.
In Houston you can get just about any fruit, vegetable, meat, game, or any other grocery item known to man. Seriously. It just takes a couple days in a truck to get it to you. In Pennsylvania, most of the produce comes from locals, so there may not be as much variety - try to find fresh habanero peppers here - but it sure is fresh. Couple HOURS in a truck beats couple DAYS in a truck hands down.
(A note, here, about the Habanero. It is maybe the fourth hottest pepper in the world, behind the Red Savina, Naga Dorset, and Naga Jolokia. The others rage from twice, to nearly four times as hot as a Habanero, which is itself about 65 times hotter than a jalapeno. However, the Habanero is the one upon which I shower my attention, because it is the hottest one I can comfortably eat. Naga Dorset feels like you're going to die. The endorphin rush is wonderful, admittadly, but getting there is a biatch. The Wiki for it notes that most people who use them "touch the food with the pepper" rather than including it as an ingredient.)
[*Edited to add a note: I feel like a jackass. You can buy Habanero peppers here; you just have to look really really hard in the produce section to find the single one-pint plastic tub behind the zucchini.*]
Maybe I'm biased due to many moons of riding Metro, but the sight of two drunken farmers racing their riding mowers on the freeway makes me laugh until there are tears in my eyes, and I don't give a damn if it IS illegal.
There's no shortage of officious people with bureaucratic jobs in Houston, but there's very little help for people who are down on their luck. Up here, there aren't as many people working for the state, but they have a lot more help to hand out. (The first paycheck I got up here I was AGHAST at the number and volume of the deductions, but that's a totally separate issue. I have issues with most of that help, but that doesn't mean they're not honestly trying to do the right thing, and this isn't really about politics.)
I guess what I'm getting at is that it doesn't really matter where you live; anyplace has its ups and downs. You just kind of have to figure out how to be happy wherever you are.
I've got that down, and I'll tell you how:
Wherever I sleep tonight, that's home.
No civilian job is worse than being shot at. I promise.
I have the most beautiful wife in all the world, AND SHE COOKS.
My car may be ugly, but it runs.
My apartment may be small, but that just makes it cheap to air-condition.
The video store knows me - not like any Blockbuster I ever entered - and will order things for me if I ask real nice.
So does the hardware store.
So does the computer store.
All my bills are paid; all my bills are on time; and I have enough free time to publish offensive, sarcastic political rants on the internet.
Life is good.
