An East Coaster After All

My freshman year of university, I was that girl. You know, the one who came East for college convinced that it couldn’t possibly be THAT cold. Given a parka, a pea coat, and an iron, I would have been hard-pressed to identify the one most appropriate for a snowstorm. I did, however, own several pair of long underwear, a collection amassed over years of fierce L.A. winters.

The first time it snowed, I ran out of the shower, threw on my bathrobe, and skipped down the stairs. Not two minutes later, a gaggle of very amused neighbors looked on as I shivered my way back up in shame – who knew your hair could freeze to your shoulders?

That year I learned the difference between cold, damn cold, and f***ing cold. I learned that you cannot wear flip-flops to class in December, even if it is sunny outside. I learned that East-coasters easily confuse the “yes, Mr. Stranger, I acknowledge your presence as you pass me on the street” smile with the “yes, Mr. Stranger, I would very much like you to take me home and have your way with me this instant” smile. I learned that tennis shoes are called sneakers. And sneakers are called “those shoes that the nice cafeteria ladies wear.” I discovered that I too can produce that horrifying ah sound that apparently distinguishes Aaron and Erin, even without plugging my nose. And that I too can look quizzically at the uninitiated, pretending to be completely unable to understand their ah-less language. Above all, I learned that I am NOT an East-coaster.

So, naturally, here I am a few years later, sitting in my New Haven apartment, watching the snow fall. Lest you think this is merely post-college inertia, I did manage to live in both Louisville and Berkeley before deciding that no, really, that was just way too much sun. Connecticut winters are much nicer indeed -- keep my skin a lovely shade of gray.

Truth be told, I’m beginning to like it here (although, if anyone asks, I’ll deny it). I like that on the East Coast you can drive an hour and a half in any direction and be in a different state. In California, you drive an hour and a half in any direction and … you’ll be in California. I like that people around here can both define and locate public transportation. In Los Angeles, such skills are quite rare, found only among East Coast transplants and those pursuing careers in sociology. I like that on this coast, you can have a good fire going in the wintertime without fear of heat exhaustion -- and without turning on the air conditioner. I like (and hate) that some buildings don’t even have air conditioners. I like that the children in my building all gather outside at the first sign of snow. And I like that, on occasion, they let me join them, even if I am lacking in the color-coordinated snow outfit department. I like hot chocolate, and snow angels, and leaves that change color. And I like wondering if maybe I am an East coaster after all.