Pretty Vs Manly: The Coastal Difference

I hesitate to allow this blog to turn into a repeated juxtaposition between Boston and California, as I am bordering on annoying my own self with my continued pointed observances. I moved away for several reasons, mainly having to do with being particularly bored with the same superfluous rigmarole day in and day out (rigmarole of which I was definitely both a subscriber and an enabler - Dont kid yourself), however I am still homesick on a frequent and daily basis, whatever I may have to say to the contrary. But now that I have recently realized that I live in a state where EVERYTHING has been crowned with the rather bold title "First Ever" (Im serious. The Country's First Restaurant. Country's First Cemetery. Country's First Strip Club. WE GET IT. Get over yourself Boston.),I thus feel that it is my duty (both civic and comic) to highlight the silly local oddities that make up the long list of distinctions between east and west.

For starters, I have long since held a serious obsessive infatuation with boys from beantown for the better part of my adolescence, and continuing on into adulthood. Maybe its the east coast in general. Ive spent some time in various states such as New York, New Jersey, Philly, and Maryland - and it has become quite apparent to me that there is an obvious dissimilarity between the male population that reside on the right side of the map, and those who live on the left. (Except for Florida. Because, well...just no. Im looking at you Whorelando.)

I am not necessarily speaking about the Northwest either, which only distinguishing features, in my humble opinion, are rain, abercrombie and unibrows. Nay. I am specifically referencing my beloved home planet of Southern California. Where the beer flows like wine, and the desperate starlets instinctively flock. Where guys have developed the nasty habit of spending more money on their jeans and more time on the coifs then I do. Regardless if they are blatantly scraping by on their tips from Outback, everyone is living like a rock star, and literally like today may be the last. No loyalties, no future plans. Just looking good and livin' the dream. Its both ridiculous, and hopelessly self-indulgent. And its home.

Ive always been acutely aware of how terminally self-impressed and self-important we Californians believe ourselves to be, often for absolutely no reason other than having the good fortune of being a native resident. Lets be honest though for a minute, as resolutely fanatic and blow-hardy as you New Englanders are, if given the chance to move to California free of charge, there would be nothing left but smoke and a trail of Dunkin Donuts spillage in your wake. Dont fool yourselves. Not for nothing, but the weather in Cali is amazing, and everyone, honestly, is probably better looking than the rest of the 49 states. Sorry. (And so ends my "Better Than You" World Tour of Audacity...thank you for attending. Roll your eyes and kindly leave. I said Good Day!)

And yet, while I do count myself amongst the cliched bourgeoisie of SoCal, I do not, in fact, subscribe to the supposed regional ideal when it comes to the male aesthetic - a certain sub sect I like to call "hangers-on". Think Johnny Drama from HBO's Entourage. While his voice, mannerisms, and very (albeit fictional)existence makes me want to violently drown him in his own bong water, every guy I know reveres him. Why? Because he has achieved the ultimate in man-child awesomeness: a life concerned only with marginal talent, calf implants, and cultivating a deluded 15 minutes, all on someone else's dime -and someone else's time.
In case you didnt get it, this me releasing my official memo: Being a "friend of", a club promoter, or a pot dealer - or all three - does not constitute a real job. Put down the eyebrow tweezers and pick up a damn hammer. And stop wearing my jeans.

But I digress.

So I imagine my affection for east coast men has much to do with the bad boy vibe that emanates from those who grew up in an inner city - or an urban city at all, which stands in direct contrast to my own beige suburban upbringing. Take for instance the New Kids on the Block, for whom my devoted childhood love has been well documented in this space. Yes, they were a bonafide teen mag boy band, but most of them grew up on the streets of Dorchester, and area not synonymous with turning out teen heartthrobs, and who were definitely no strangers to breaking laws, faces, and hearts. (I could not resist...)
Subsequently, I grew up with a hulk of a father who built things with his hands for a living. He did not wear a suit, he wore a tool belt and basically spoke in grunts. He also, as was told to me by my mother two days ago regarding a recent "incident" with a pushy Asian gentleman, will still not back down from a fight. He is 57 years old - and he has shoulder hair. He is also more manly than many can ever hope to be.

And I guess thats my point really. Like my father, I firmly expect men to be men, and not hairless, shiny, preening pre-teens. I have refined my inherent attraction over the years for those who posses a no-nonsense, rough around the edges, penchant for bad assery. I dont know if its the bitter cold here in New England, the sports obsession, or the imagined mob ties (The Sopranos is just a SHOW you fools), but Boston is definitely saturated with the proverbial tough guys. Beer-swilling, truck-driving, possibly flannel-wearing (okay calm down, when did I move to Oregon?) pillars of manliness - in my girlish estimation atleats. The west coast however is noticeably lacking in this department. Unless you are an ex-con. Or a gang member. Or both.
Flip on any reality show devoted to Southern California, and be regaled with tales of hetero boys acting like bitchy drama queens and attention whores - Holla cast of The Hills! - and you will at once feel my pain and want to reimburse me for my relocation.

Know this Boston: this California girl is a force to be reckoned with.

Ive had enough of the lazy, the entitled, and the impeccably groomed. I want musk. Man musk.
And Im taking names.

You have been warned.