The Sunshine State: Now With 100% More Humidity (and 50% Less Old Bay) - Humor Column

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I have recently relocated to Jacksonville, Florida. For those of you who aren't familiar with the geography of the East Coast, Jacksonville is located in that part of the country where the primary local exports are liquid air, "Florida Man" news headlines, and cockroaches the size of subcompact Toyotas that stare at you with the cold, judgmental eyes of a disgruntled DMV clerk.

I moved here from Frederick, Maryland. In Maryland, our entire cultural identity is based on the belief that if you aren't dousing your food in enough yellow-and-blue-canned seasoning to cause a localized dust storm, you aren't really eating. We are a people who view the state flag—which looks like a medieval knight got into a fight with a checkerboard—as a sacred garment that should be printed on every available surface, including socks, toaster covers, and possibly the family dog.

Why did I move? Well, primarily to be closer to my six-year-old son, Caleb, who is currently at that magical age where he possesses more raw energy than a nuclear fission reactor and a more complex legal understanding of "but Papa said" than most Ivy League law professors.

In Maryland, "winter" is a dignified, state-mandated panic. At the first mention of a snowflake, the entire population of Frederick rushes to the grocery store to buy enough milk and toilet paper to survive a decade-long siege. We then spend the next four hours stuck on I-270, watching people in SUVs forget that physics applies to them.

In Jacksonville, "winter" is that harrowing three-day period in January when you have to put on a light hoodie and the locals begin preparing for the inevitable heat-death of the universe.

As a 40-year-old guy, you’d think I’d have the "moving" thing figured out. But Florida is a culture shock. In Frederick, "wildlife" means a deer looking confused in your backyard. In Jacksonville, "wildlife" means a prehistoric reptile lounging in your driveway, looking at you like you're the intruder.

I’m currently busy trying to launch a legal document service in a state where "legal advice" often translates to "I know a guy with a boat." It turns out that navigating the Florida legal system is a bit like trying to perform an appendectomy on a live alligator using only a spork and a copy of People magazine.

So, here I am: living in the land of "No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problem," trying to survive the humidity without my emotional support animal-- the blue crab.

It’s going to be a wild ride. Stay tuned.

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