Hoosier’s
California hype hardly worthwhile
Molly Stewart
Recently
I left the land of beaches, fake boobs
and bronzed bodies to go back to my hometown
of Indianapolis. My home is happily filled
with pasty, overweight truckers and car
mechanics who enjoy fancy dinners at
Applebee’s on Friday nights.
We’re not beautiful, glamorous people like those I find everywhere in
Los Angeles, but what’s so wrong with wearing sweats from Kmart and hanging
out at Dairy Queen?
I chose to come to Southern California for school because I was intoxicated
by its flashy Hollywood image, but the truth is I miss my hick hometown where
the only thing to do on the weekend is hang out in the back of a truck and
eat Cheetos.
Being back in the land of cafeterias and cornfields was like eating a big slice
of my mom’s famous pecan pie. It felt warm and comforting.
There are dozens of differences between my quaint home and sunshine Long Beach.
Indianapolis does not have a Mexican restaurant on every street corner like
California does.
The only place where you can find Tabasco sauce back home is Taco Bell, one
of our only “exotic” restaurants. I find California has every type
of cuisine imaginable, from Ethiopian to Peruvian to Chinese.
Most people are fans of plain old chicken fingers and cheeseburgers, so Chili’s
is our date night restaurant. We don’t have very many ethnic restaurants
or exciting things to do, but I like my small city.
There was a two-page article in the paper when P.F. Chang’s opened and
there was a beacon and party thrown when Blockbuster finally came to town.
Clubs like the Vault 350 and Glam are nonexistent in Indiana, but we did just
get a new movie theater and a Cheesecake Factory moved in with valet parking.
I know these things seem meek to most, but to a city where feeding the ducks
is considered a thrilling way to spend a Saturday, they’re a big deal.
I miss the slower pace small-town life offers. The truth is, Long Beach is
a whole lot less “L.A.” than I thought it would be.
Where are all the movie stars who are supposed to be filling the streets? I
have yet to see Paris Hilton or Lindsay Lohan, but almost every girl here looks
like them.
There is a California uniform among girls I’ve noticed. All you need
is one giant pair of sunglasses that make you look like a bug, a pair of low-rise,
tight jeans, flip flops, a low-cut pink tank top and a cell phone glued to
your ear and you’re a celebrity.
These Californian girls are gorgeous, but I prefer the low-maintenance look
of Indiana women. Throw an old hoodie and we’re ready to go to Target.
Back home, the leaves were changing into stunning shades of red and orange,
the apple orchards were serving fresh cider, the air was crisp and the grass
glistened with frost. I miss the Indiana fall seasons, even though I thought
I would love going to the beach everyday here.
California isn’t always sunny. It blows my mind that it actually rains
out here. I thought I’d be wearing shorts and a bikini everyday, but
I’ve been in sweatshirts for weeks.
This “O.C.” has shocked me in a few other bizarre ways as well.
Indy is full of raccoons, possums, foxes, birds, geese and deer, but the only
animals I see in Southern California are the stray cats that roam the dorms
and the impossibly tiny dogs that rich women carry around as accessories in
their Louis Vitton purses.
The diversity of people in California is a refreshing change from my high school.
I love having friends who aren’t all white, middle-class and straight.
My new gay friend called me “fabulous” the other day and it made
me feel so hip and “L.A.”
I may not ever be a California girl, partly because I would look horrible as
a blonde and my skin color is best classified as “eggshell white.”
I crave the slow pace of Indiana where people actually go to bed before 10
p.m. and keep pet squirrels in their backyards. It may not be as glitzy as
California, but it suits me, a girl who would rather go bowling than drink
from a bong.
Molly Stewart is a freshman journalism major.
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