Los Angeles

This morning I am writing to you from the West Coast, where I am attempting desperately to survive my third and final day amidst the Californians. I have never been to L.A., but of course being a jaded New Yorker, I arrived completely "over it." I've spent most of my time here trying to put into words exactly what distinguishes the Los Angelites from the Manhattanites. For starters, the men hanging about the bars are a bit younger and not investment bankers. Hence they have traded the suits so prevalent in Manhattan's Midtown happy hours for printed shirts and flip-flops. Of course they've also traded their salaries for credit cards because "music executives" don't do quite as well as people with say, actual jobs. Now I think the women hanging about the men are younger, but as the women in Manhattan have been frozen in time, it's really hard to say. I guess the girls here save money on clothing by not wearing much of it, which of course frees up the cash to finance all of their enhancements. I'm telling you, I saw a girl nearly suffocate on her own lips. One thing is for certain, these folks haven't heard any of the news about the sun causing cancer, in fact they consider "leather" an actual skin type. And though they sacrifice their skin to melanoma, they wouldn't dream of contaminating their insides with red meat or mayonnaise. I went to what is advertised as a steakhouse in the other 49 states only to find the menu full of sushi and vegetables, with sides of brown rice...not an onion ring in site!

I'll be boarding the plane in a few hours, to return to the garbage, the winos, the constant mania that is New York City and I couldn't be more excited. For all the talk about Californians being so relaxed, someone should tell them they're really just acting like New Yorkers who are trying too hard.