Welcome home

Here's the thing:
When I live in the Big City (not even so big; lately, it's Washington, D.C.), I am annoyed. I am cynical and aggressive and very, very citified. I wear a lot of black. And also, inside, I sometimes feel like a little bit of a rube. I do like the stuff to do and all the people watching, but it wears me out.
When I live in the Rural Places, I feel overdressed, a little awkward. A little stupidly slick, even prissy, and you country folks know what I mean because you look at me like I'm crazy. A former farmer who knew me only from the city once expressed surprise that I knew where mules came from. The more time I spend away from the city, the more that wears off, which is good, and the serener I get, but won't I eventually get bored?
So I waffle.
And my latest waffling has brought me to a small-but-not-tiny Northern Town I lived in before I went to Washington for 8 years. I am back home, in some senses, and a fish out of water, all at the same time. Been here a week. Wowza.
I left some wonderful city friends behind, who wanted to hear about the transition, and I was inclined to send e-mails, telling them all about it.
But what is the World Wide Web for, if not to tell the Wide World about things only your close friends could care about at all?