Congratulations, graduates! It's time once again for you, the intrepid few who have endured the slings and arrows of outrageous academia, to sally bravely forth into the wide world, hopefully remembering to put your pants back on first. (It was a wild party last night.)

But first, I would suggest you douse all your material possessions with lighter fluid and burn them in the front yard. I say this because if your post-educational life becomes anything like my own, you will be moving into a new apartment roughly every nine minutes.

I relocated again recently for - I am not joking, here - the 10th time in the last six years. This came directly on the heels of helping my ex-wife move the week before, and three months after I moved myself into a new apartment.

If nothing else, this has been an excellent source of exercise, moving and unpacking countless random items (my own or otherwise). I am considering developing it into a fitness video with a name like "Let's Move! Evict Squatting Pounds From Your Body by Month's End!" But that is another column.

Anyway, this most recent move was a big one, from suburban Long Island to the woods of rural Vermont, the reasons for which should be fairly obvious to anyone who has visited either place.

It's not that Long Island is bad, necessarily, unless you count having all the overpopulation, over development, materialism, high cost of living and general bad attitude of New York City with none of the culture. Long Island is the kind of place where, if you were to drive your 8-wheel drive Suburban Utility Vehicle through the front window of a manicurist's shop, killing three Chinese workers and a patron in a wheelchair, the most severe punishment you might expect to receive would be a ticket for Possession of a Vehicle Getting Too Many Miles to the Gallon.

Vermont, by contrast, is full of people for whom the Hummer 9600 Super Enviro-Destroyer is equal in cost to the salaries of 17 lifetimes. And so, in a part of the country where it actually makes sense to have a larger vehicle, many Vermonters are relegated to driving, for instance, the single-cylinder Toyota Breadbox.

And the differences aren't just vehicular. There are many little things I am readjusting to, being back in my home state of Vermont. Having spent the last five years in and around New York City, I had forgotten how different life can be in a rural community setting. For instance:

"Know" Credit is Good Credit

At the local general store yesterday, I noticed a handwritten sign taped to the gas pump that read:

"Do [sic] to the large number of problems, we are no longer able to accept personal checks unless we know you."

My immediate question was this: what constitutes "knowing" me? The sign makes no mention of having good credit, valid identification, collateral, etc. I assume I could simply walk up to the counter and state in a loud, boisterous voice:

"Hi! My name's Bob! Mind if I write a personal check?"

...and they would immediately allow it. (This is similar to the "My name's Bob! See? Now we're not strangers!" technique favored among kidnappers.)

Like most elderly people I know, my grandparents, now close to 80, own and regularly operate the following: three tractors (for mowing, plowing and skidding logs), a dozen chainsaws, two snowmobiles, innumerable large power tools (table saws, planers, etc.), two ATVs, two pickup trucks with trailers, several lawnmowers, and an assorted collection of winches, chains, pulleys, skids, and other contraptions that require significant knowledge of leverage and heavy machinery to operate correctly.

They also enjoy Scrabble.

In addition to all this, Grandma and Grandpa own an outdated computer and two donkeys named Betsy and Teddy. I mention these last two items in the same sentence because in order to operate the computer, one must first turn off the electric fence containing the donkeys, so as not to blow the electrical fuse. (The donkeys are pets, and give no thought to escaping when the fence is off for short periods of time.)

If by this point you are not soiling your personal undergarments, I would suggest you read the preceding paragraph a second time. Then think about this question for a moment: when was the last time, when getting online, that you had to remember to turn off your electric donkey fence?

Follow-up: is there any greater place in the entire United States of America?

So you see, it's just these kinds of tough decisions you'll be facing out there, my tender young graduates. Make them with care. Take responsibility for their consequences. And find your true place in life; this may happen tomorrow or, as with me, many, many rented U-Hauls and long, sweaty man-hours later. (On a side note, "Long Sweaty Man-Hours" would be an excellent name for a gay bar.)

Go out and live life, my friends! Move on! Just don't call me when you are doing so. I'll surely have boxes of my own that need packing.

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