Los Angeles

Maria Karras

Woman’s Building And Rtd

Although I guiltily tell the latest California joke—you know, the one about how many Californians does it take to change a lightbulb (one to do it and four to share the experience)—I am not metrocentric. Metrocentric: overweening pride in the city where you live, characterized by the syllogism, “If X is such a terrific city, and if I live there, then I am terrific by association.” It translates into obdurate provincialism when practiced seriously.

An Angelena relocated to Manhattan, I subscribe to the best-of-both-coasts principle: there are plenty of good reasons to go Atlantic or Pacific. It can all be reduced to degrees and rpms. LA is 78° at 33 1/3; Manhattan 45° at 78. The choice is simple. Some like it hot and slow, others cool and fast. Let the Yanks and the Dodgers slug it out, the Knicks and the Lakers match shots; I am a committed ambilittoral.

The only question that interests me

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