Proud to Be From...Uh, You Know Where

The other day someone forwarded me a t-shirt collection so that I could, if so inspired, purchase the shirt that proclaimed, "Proud To Be From Long Island."

Proud to be from...Long Island? Was this post modern irony? But no, the model in the ad stood there in the classic t-shirt model pose (boobs thrust out, delighted smile on her face - the "it's such fun to wear t-shirts!" expression), and I could find no speck of irony anywhere on the site. Apparently there really are people who are proud to be from My Own Private Suburban Hell. Startling.

Now I might wear a t-shirt that says: Reluctantly Admits to Being From Long Island. Although I probably wouldn't, since it actually took me 20 years to say the words "Long Island" without swallowing them and wincing at the inevitable You mean Longuuuuuyland that would come in return. Most people from Youknowwhere seem to feel the same way I do, at least in my experience. In fact - and this is a true story - when I met my long term boyfriend P. in San Francisco and we talked about where we were from we both said that we grew up "outside the city." When pressed, I admitted to Bellmore, Long Island (home of Amy Fisher, Long Island Lolita, who actually attended my high school). P. claimed to have been "born and raised in the Bronx." Infinite cool points over LI, you see. It was not until we had been living together for six months and I went home with him for Christmas that I discovered that he had been taken from the hospital in Long Island directly to his parent's house in Levittown. About all P. had ever seen of the Bronx, according to his parents, was the zoo on a field trip. Are you getting this, dear readers? P. was so ashamed to be from LI, he lied about it to someone who was also from LI. That's about how embarrassing it is for us natives.

Even when I was young, LI was crowded and characterless and stuffed with pissy attitudes and shopping malls. It wasn't a place to settle in, it was a place raise the children to give them that all important grass so essential to a happy childhood. What's up with that grass? I don't know anyone raised in a suburb who didn't secretly yearn to have learned the mysteries of the subway system at 11. On Long Island, you have to be ferried from one place to the next by your mother. And this was before kids enjoyed a schedule of activities so intensive it makes Paris Hilton look like she doesn't get out much, you understand. My sister and I were yanked from the car to dance classes and sleepovers and piano lessons. What fun for everyone! (Inexplicably, my parents would take us on vacation to numerous educational places - forcing us to spend countless more hours in the car. I didn't know people went on vacation to have fun until I left home.)

I envy people who got to grow up in Seattle. You can tell how nice a place is by the number of people who stay there after they're raised without being forced to because of family obligations. What's not to like about a city with the greenest grass, great dive bars, and amazing fries anywhere you go. And by the way, the sun hasn't been out in two days.  So there's that.

The one plus to LI - it's a grid. I'm so directionally challenged, that if I was in school now, they'd slap me with a learning disability and put me in special classes for it. I actually have fantasies about dropping breadcrumbs in my path.

Of course, Seattle has a lot of birds too.