East Coast vs. West Coast


I was fortunate enough to spend this past week 3,000 thousand miles away from Miramonte High School. Now, normally I try to avoid missing school, but due to certain circumstances my family and I had to take the trip that week, or else we wouldn’t have been able to take it at all. Fortunately this gave me an idea for an article that kept the continuation of a fresh and funky new outlook on something that has been up for debate for awhile. This time, its East Coast vs. West Coast.

The first problem I have with New York is that it’s cold. Really, really, really cold. Within about 2 minutes of stepping out of JFK I was missing my sunny California beaches. While the nippy 25 degree weather may have been nothing to most New Yorkers, it was a pretty big deal to me. As someone born and raised in California cold to me is when I have to make the switch from a 2/3 wetsuit to a 3/4.

One category I think the East Coast outshines the West however is diversity. I don’t think there is anywhere else in the U.S. where you can walk down the street and have all of your senses vigorously assaulted by such a myriad of sights, sounds, smells, and noises. But at the same time, it was awe-inducing. Just walking down the street you hear enough languages to fill up a model U.N., and see restaurants advertising ethnic food from countries you didn’t even know existed!

When people travel to California, they always comment on how nice everyone is, even to complete strangers. Clearly, these people were not joking when they said it is nothing like they experience it at home. In New York, everyone’s hearts are as cold as the weather. Taxi drivers, old ladies, street vendors, Donald Trump, and even the super duper fashionable waiters. All of these people treated my family and I like the caste system was still in place. They were blatantly rude and disrespectful, even to my 10-year-old sister.

Finally, the deciding factor for me about New York was the cab drivers. If you thought people who do extreme sports for a living had crazy jobs, just go for a ride with my good friend Malazkmah. Malazkmah drives with one hand on the wheel while jamming out to Beethoven, and has apparently never heard of the words “turn signal”, “red light”, “speed limit” or “drive in your own lane, not down the middle of the road you crazy man.” Thankfully he knew that one way street signs meant you couldn’t drive both ways down the street. Unless of course you went really, really fast.

So in the end, even though it may have been the years of growing up in California that skewed my opinion, I definitely had to go with the West Coast on this one. You can’t go wrong when summer pretty much lasts three season during the year and no one calls you “dumb-ass whitey” because you brushed shoulders with them on the street. But, regardless, there will always be a place for the East Coast in my heart.