East versus West

Recently, I came to realize that I’ve lived an equal part of my post-graduate life on the East and West Coast. Here is my take on the differences between the bookends of America.

City Layouts

West Coast cities are laid out in a structured, orderly way. Like divine intervention, or SimCity planning, borne by the lessons learned from their older, East Coast ancestors. There are grids. Commercial buildings are with other commercial buildings. There are gated communities with logical street names, or perhaps an orderly numbering system.

East Coast cities are a mess. Roads jumbled all over each other. Streets twist and turn; town lines laid out a Pennsylvania congressional district. The history of the East is written in their roadmap like a bloodline. They have evolved into their present form over centuries, originating before public sanitation systems were a thing. As such, it’s not uncommon to see houses next to highways, or a doctor’s office in an old Victorian farmhouse that used to be the only residence within 50 miles.

Weather

Honestly unless you’re living in Southern California, the weather sucks everywhere. You may find that surprising. You may be the kind who automatically associates “sunny” with “Cali” as the marketers would like you to believe.

But the truth is that most of the West Coast is draped in a damp cloth of clouds for half the year, and unless you’re one of the 1 percenters, no one has heating; so if it’s 50 degrees out it feels like 20 inside. West coast weather also barely ever changes from day to day. During the good seasons this is great, but during the bad seasons it’s like sitting in a lukewarm bathtub.

You may also find it surprising to learn that the East Coast can have some spectacular days. 75 degrees, sunny, and not humid. Or a crisp 55 degree Autumn day that hits you like a splash of water on your face. The East Coast also has seasons, and the beautiful transition of the world around you makes you appreciate the passing of time more. True, any given day can be 40 degrees warmer or cooler than the day before, and being conditioned to this unpredictability can make you erratic and twitchy like a rescue dog that was abused by it’s former owner, but the nice-weather days on the East Coast are better than those on the West.

Attitude

East Coasters are much more aggressive. I’m not sure if this is due to the humidity, how crowded it is, or the fact that they spend their winters huddled indoors like hibernating bears, but they are. This distinction manifests itself in nearly everything, from driving to cheering on sports teams. West Coasters are like, “Love who you want. I don’t care but I like the Angels.” East Coasters are like, “Fuck you the Angels are the fucking worst.”

Inclusion would not be considered a “core value” for the East Coast. It’s a tribal mentality. You have your crew, those people who you’ve known all your life, and it’s “go fuck yaself” to anyone else. It can take years to feel comfortable with a new group of East Coasters. There is nothing worse than being an in-law to an East Coast family.

West Coasters really are liberal hippies, even the conservatives. They are more accepting of differences, more open to outsiders and new perspectives. This is probably because everyone who’s lived on the West Coast has come from somewhere else.

West Coasters also celebrate more, like the pioneer triumph of making it over the Rockies and to the Pacific still remains in their soul. Everyone everywhere has their chosen vices, but on the West Coast people don’t try to hide it as much. Weed is everywhere. Sex is everywhere. East Coasters have those things too, but they generally indulge in them alone, in the dark, still bound up in that puritanical conspiracy of self-righteousness and self-denial.

My name

S stands for Stephen, pronounced like “Steven.” The way people pronounced it throughout my entire childhood on the East Coast. They get it. But for some reason no one on the West Coast can handle this. The call me “Stefan” or even worse, “Steph.” The barista kids at the organic coffee shops refuse to spell my name properly. Sometime they will spell it with an “f” or put an “a” in there somewhere. This problem irks me almost as much as people asking what “SJ” stands for. I blame the lack of Italians.