"The difference between this place and the Titanic is that the Titanic had a band."

This was my first Thanksgiving in New York and my first Thanksgiving away from my family . . . which is a good thing.

It's nice to spend at least one holiday with a family not your own because it allows a welcome break from the politics and the strife and the banalities of the norm. Not that this Thanksgiving was without a touch of stress.

I found myself invited to my mom's good friend's Thanksgiving in Connecticut--to the posh confines of Fairfield County. This meant a) making sure I didn't look like a slob b) making sure I had a suitable thank you gift and c) navigating Grand Central Station in order to find the correct Metro North train.

Trust me. It was hard.

"At least they covered Mother Teresa's nipples . . ."

Inaugural entry!

As I sipped on my fourth vodka tonic within the dark cavern that is the back lounge at Aroma, more than one person mentioned that I should have an online journal (dare I say blog) to chronicle my forthcoming adventures in New York. Already I had my "Dairy of a Nomad" on Guardian Talk to span the month and a half that I was without permanent residence. So it seemed like a natural progression.

"In the beginning . . ."

Four days shy of my twenty-sixth birthday, I moved from Washington DC to an industrial (ie: slightly dodgy) section of East Williamsburg, Brooklyn. The large draw of this locale, apart from the wonton factory across the street, was the cheap rent and spacious loft. Why would I move from Washington and leave my job of four years to move to a dodgy section of Brooklyn? Good question.

In short, it was time for a change.