I'm going to institute a new form of storytelling here: biopic via satellite images.

Have you checked out Google Earth? Wowie zowie. I don't know if I've ever found a cooler timewaster.

[Timewasters are good. I just had one of those soul-destroying days yet I refuse to rant or allow the demons of rage to take control; I find solace, instead, in the comforting, non-judgmental lap of sloth.]

[Editor's note: No one on the planet will have any interest in the rest of this post except my Mom, who occasionally reads this blog, and who will probably be relieved to see me doing something besides antagonizing one-quarter of the Earth's population, for a change. Hi, Mom!]

The above image is the house we lived in right after I was born. The one touching it was my grandparents' house and the one across the street was my great grandmother's. This is the same neighborhood where those wacky guys shot the film 'Clerks' many years later, in a store a couple blocks away. Leonardo was pretty tame during my time there. The most interesting thing I remember about it was there were supposed to be muskrats in the field nearby. Never saw one, though.

This is the beach where we spent a WHOLE lot of time my first 11 years; there used to be a lighthouse next to it. At night you could see the lights of Staten Island - or Coney Island, I don't remember which one, but it always struck me as some exotic place I would never, ever get to go to.

This is the house I grew up in, and the other arrow points to the field next to the telephone company where I learned to play football and most other stuff that involved running on grass. It's also where I learned to be a loud, obnoxious a-hole and boss the other kids around, a skill that has carried me throughout my entire professional career.

This is my other grandmother's house. My most vivid memory there was the time in second grade my grandmother had to pick me up from St. Agnes Catholic School because I got caught writing naughty words in a story book: words like 'weiner schnitzel' - which I thought was absolutely hilarious - and also writing over 'pumpkin' so the title page read 'In a Poop Shell' - which the other kids found hilarious.

I don't think I ever went back to the Catholic school after that day. I was a bad second-grader.

Now, we switch to another part of the U.S entirely - and the really cool thing is you zoom out to 'planet view' then zoom back in to the next spot.

Did I not say this is cool? Yes, I think that I did.

Here is where I lived from ages 12-18, becoming acclimated to the suburban lifestyle and, without any parental guidance, honing the proclivities which would later allow me to successfully antagonize one-quarter of the Earth's population.

Next stop - oh Lord have mercy, it's only the most wonderful place on the continent: Southwest Florida. You can fish here, raise a kid here, learn philosophy, tend bar, work as a 'freelance journalist' for beer money, and take all the other appropriate steps to ensure that, later in life, you will become immersed in a protracted episode in Domestic Relations Court. What else is young adulthood for?

We lived in the little garage guest house out back. Some of those trees are avocado trees, some are citrus. The bay is across the street. I took the toddler down by the water every evening. Sarasota's got some places to take your breath away. You couldn't find a better town to spend your early twenties in.

After five years we moved about 100 miles south and 60 miles inland to Collier County for another five years. This A-frame homestead was spittin' distance to the Everglades and surrounded by canals full of bass and cottonmouths. We are talking boondocks.

We kept a .22 rifle around for snakes and obnoxious critters. One night after hearing a commotion at the trash cans I went outside, armed, and just outside the perimeter of the front-porch light I saw a pair of large yellow eyes at a height of about 5 feet. I'm about 6 feet, but that individual 20 feet in front of me felt a whole lot bigger, so in very gentlemanly fashion I lowered the rifle, took a few quiet steps back, and then hightailed it up the steps into the house. I believe that was my first and only Florida panther.

I finally ended up right back here in suburbia, where the money is, not much wiser but a whole lot older. I'm semi-financially secure, as a result of spending the past 16+ years at a job I usually hate. But that's ok. Most people in this country probably hate their jobs and, from a global perspective, most people probably wish they had a job they could hate.

Plus, I'm in the best house I've ever had, with the greatest wife in the world, and both of the kids are upwardly mobile. I don't get to fish much, but at least I'm not lacking for much, which is a lot better than I could say when I was living in paradise.

The time between Leonardo, New Jersey and the present day, in some respects, does not seem like that long, and that's a scary thing. That bad-boy second grader? He's still alive and well, but now he calls himself a 'blogger' and his vocabulary is a smidgen more developed. But it's been a mighty quick ride. I graduated from place to place without really appreciating all those homes until sitting here in my easy chair looking at them by satellite.

There's no going back, and I'm friggin' 45 already, so the current task will be to learn to appreciate this one while I'm still living in it - and maybe slow the passage of time a little in the process.