New York vs. Los Angeles

I am a New Yorker.  No, I was not born there, but it is my home, it is what I am homesick for, and it’s where I see myself in the future.  After a certain amount of time in New York you adopt a way of living, realities that are very unique to the New York way of life.

Which is why it’s difficult to adjust when you’re away from New York for a significant amount of time.  Life in Los Angeles is very different from life in New York.  Not a day goes by where I’m not made aware that the New York reality that I know and love does not translate outside of the Big Apple.

- Men are more built in Los Angeles.  People are in shape in New York, sure, but it’s normal looking in shape.  They are pale, fit but not tragically skinny, and certainly not muscly.  But in Los Angeles everybody is in shape, strong, tan, and very focused on maintaining it.  For somebody who is in shape, but also enjoys the bagel, all this muscle is hard to swallow.

- The bars close at 2AM.  This is sad.  In New York you are never short of things to do pre or post 2AM.  But in Los Angeles, after 2AM, you’re either going home with a cutie or going home with your alternate cutie (commonly acknowledged to be your right hand).

- The gym is a holy place.  I have worked out alongside Jeff Goldblume, Jason Priestly, Ryan Gosling, etc.  In addition to the celebrities there, there’s also an array of men.  I have struck up conversations with men in the steam room, lifting weights, even in yoga (that didn’t work out so well).

- Everyone seems to have a gluten allergy in Los Angeles.  It must be in the water.

- People will drive from parking lot to parking lot, even if the shops are within a block or two of one another.

- Coyoyte’s in Los Angeles are what rats are in New York.

- Men in Los Angeles do not have chest hair.  Very few have facial hair.  This is sad.

Of course, these are not bad things about Los Angeles.  I love the City of Angels, I have had nothing but good experiences here.  But in the end, it is not New York City, nor should it try to be.  Unfortunately I can’t be anything other than a New Yorker.

Oh, and there’s no good pizza out here.  None.  Nowhere.  Zilch!