Well, Ya Gotta Live Someplace
by George Carlin
I
grew up in New York City
and lived there until I was thirty.
At
the time, I decided I’d had enough of life in a dynamic, sophisticated city, so
I moved to Los Angeles .
Actually, I moved there because of the time difference. I was behind in my
work, and wanted to pick up the extra three hours. Technically, for the last
thirty years I’ve been living in my own past.
I
knew I didn’t want to move to the Midwest . I
could never live in a place where the outstanding geographic feature is the
horizon. The Midwest seems like a nice place
to catch up on your sleep.
Another
reason I could never live in the Midwest is
that it gets really cold there. You’ve heard of hypothermia and exposure? I
could never be comfortable in a place where you can die simply by going out to
the mailbox. Living in an area where an open window can cause death seems
foolish to me.
Of
course, living in the South was never an option – the main problem being they
have too much respect for authority; they’re soldier-sniffers and cop lovers. I
don’t respect that, and I could never live with it. There’s also way too much
religion in the South to be consistent with good mental health.
Still,
I love traveling down there, especially when I’m in the mood for a quick trip
to the thirteenth century. I’m not someone who buys all that “New South” #*$@
you hear; I judge a place by the number of lynchings they’ve had, over-all. Atlanta even found it necessary to come up with an
apologetic civic slogan: Atlanta :
The City Too Busy to Hate. I think they’re trying to tell us something.
There’s
also the communications problem. I have trouble understanding Southerners. Some
of them sound like they’re chewing on a *@#!. And I really have nothing against
them individually; one by one they can be quite charming. But when you take
them as a whole, there is some really dangerous genetic material floating
around down there.
So,
I live in Los Angeles ,
and it’s kind of a goofy place. They have an airport named after John Wayne.
That oughtta explain it. It has a charming kind of superstitious innocence.
But
if you really want to understand life in California ,
forget the grief clinics and yogaholics. Forget biofeedback, Feldenkrais,
neurolinguistic programming, and the Alexander technique.
Disregard
spirit guides, centering groups, dream workshops, bioenergetics, pyramid
energy, and primal therapy.
Ignore
centering, fasting, Rolfing, grounding, channeling, rebirthing, nurturing,
self-parenting, and colon cleansing.
And
don’t even think about polarity work, inversion swings, flower essences, guided
synchronicity, harmonic brain wave synergy, and psychocalisthenics.
You
also need pay no attention to nude volleyball, spinach therapy, white wine hot
tubs, jogging on hot coals, and the people who sing Christmas carols to zoo
animals.
Forget
all that. The only thing you have to know about California is this: They have traffic school
for chocoholics.
Okay?
The
problem most New Yorkers have with Los
Angeles is that it is fragmented and lacks a vital
center. The people have no common experience. Instead, they exude a kind of
bemused detachment that renders them intensely uninteresting. The West Coast
experience is soft and peripheral, New
York is hard and concentrated. California is a small woman saying, “Fuck
me.” New York
is a large man saying, “Fuck you!”
Still,
I live in California .
But I’m not “laid-back,” and I’m certainly not “mellow.” I associate those
qualities with the comatose. The solar system wasn’t formed because matter was
laid-back; life didn’t arise from the oceans and humans descend from the trees
because DNA was mellow. It happened because of something called energy.
Most
outsiders can’t handle New York ,
so they wind up back in Big Loins Arkansas, badmouthing The City for the rest
of their lives. Actually, most of the people who run New York down have never been there. And if
they ever went, we would destroy them in nine minutes. People hate New York , because that’s
where the action is, and they know it’s passing them by. Most of the decisions
that control people’s lives are made in New
York City . Not in Washington , not on Pennsylvania Avenue . In New York City ! Madison Avenue and Wall
Street. People can’t handle that. Pisses ’em off. #*$@ ’em!
And
I’m really glad the Yankees humiliated the Braves in the World Series. I’m glad
the gritty, tough, Third-World, streetwise New York
culture triumphed over the soft, suburban, wholesome, white-Christian, tacky
mall culture of Atlanta .
Overgrown small towns like Atlanta
have no business in the major leagues in the first place.
Concerning
L.A. versus New York :
I have now lived half my life in each of America ’s two most hated, feared,
and envied cities, and you want to know something? There’s no comparison. New
York even has a better class of assholes. Even the lames in New York have a certain appealing, dangerous
quality.
As
an example of how hopeless California
is, when I first got there, a policeman gave me a ticket for jaywalking. You
have to understand the kind of people who live in California . They are willing to stand,
passive and inert, on a curb, when absolutely no traffic is coming, or maybe
just a little traffic that could easily be dodged. They simply stand there
obediently and wait for an electric light to give them permission to proceed. I
couldn’t believe this cop. I laughed at him. The ticket cost me about twenty
dollars in 1966. Since that time, I figure I have jaywalked an additional
thousand times or so without being caught. #*$@ that lame-ass cop! I’ve managed
to prorate that ticket down to about two cents a jaywalk.
One
thing I find appealing in California
is the emphasis on driving. I like to drive, I’m skillful at it, and I do it
aggressively. And I don’t mean I scream at people or flash them the finger. I
simply go about my passage swiftly and silently, with a certain deliberate,
dark efficiency. In the land of the unassertive, the aggressive man is king.
Of
course, in Los Angeles ,
everything is based on driving, even the killings. In New York , most people don’t have cars, so if
you want to kill a person, you have to take the subway to their house. And
sometimes on the way, the train is delayed and you get impatient, so you have
to kill someone on the subway. That’s why there are so many subway murders; no
one has a car. Basically, if more people in New York had cars, the subways would be a
lot safer.
I
hope you can tell, the Apple is still number one in my heart. I’m so
chauvinistic, I even root for New York to
raise more money than Los Angeles
on the Arthritis Telethon. And we usually do.
Because
the sun goes down a block from my house.