This comedy blog post was made possible by Patreon. One of the rewards for becoming a Patreon backer is suggesting a topic for the blog. Two different patrons, Jen Manna and Jim Crider, suggested discussing the Midwestern perspective of Los Angeles. Jim wondered about how I would adjust as a Minnesotan. Would I be treated as a “fish out of water?” Jen expressed valid concerns about “Asshole Weather Updates” bragging about the sun and lack of snow. This is a frequent problem when a midwestern person moves to my new home, Los Angeles. Here’s a story that sums up a deep misunderstanding of both my old and new homes! Enjoy!
My wife and I moved to Los Angeles primarily for career reasons. But on top of that, I was personally incredibly done with winter and the snow.
Here are the some of the jokes I posted on twitter to try to cope with the winter:
- Snowflakes are falling. They are all unique. And yet they are all assholes.
- Did you know Minnesotans have over 72 different swear words for snow?
- My wife is RAKING snow off of our roof. Where’s your damn song dreaming about that, Bing Crosby???
I had to move, if no other reason, because I was running out of ways to express my personally being done with the winter.
When I posted that I was moving to Los Angeles, I was lucky enough to receive mostly positive, supportive feedback. Although there were some nasty things said about both the Midwest and Los Angeles.
But a couple of people said something that struck me as very odd. I’m paraphrasing, but they said, “Okay. You might be escaping the snow by moving to Los Angeles, but you’re just trading it…FOR FIRE.”
I understand it gets very dry and fires are a real concern in Southern California. But comparing fire to SNOW to a person from MINNESOTA made something break in my brain.
Having now lived in both the Midwest and Southern California, I’ve noticed there are several CRUCIAL differences between fire and snow.
I’m pretty sure that here in LA, the sky is not going to RAIN FIRE ON ME FROM ABOVE for six to seven months of the year.
I’m probably not going to make plans with friends and then be unable to get there because my car got stuck in the fire. Sorry, guys! I tried to push it out but the tires exploded.
Since I moved to Los Angeles, I have spent exactly ZERO MINUTES of my life scraping an inferno off of my car’s windshield.
I don’t have to put on layers and layers of flame retardant hats, coats, scarves, boots, and mittens every time I step out of my home.
You don’t hear people in Los Angeles say, “You know the fire is so beautiful when it first comes. You know, right around Christmas, you look outside and your neighbor’s house is just engulfed in flames? So beautiful! And the kids are outside throwing fireballs like they’re Super Mario? And the little ones are inside singing that great Disney power ballad LET IT BURN over and over again! It’s all so romantic! But then around March, you’re just like GO AWAY FIRE! YOU’VE BURNED EVERYTHING I’VE EVER KNOWN AND LOVED AND I WANT TO GO TO TRADER JOE’S WITHOUT IMMOLATING MYSELF!”
In fact, did you know that native Angelenos have over 72 different words for fire?
Fire, flames, heat curtain, infernonado, super hot juice cleanse, the REAL burning man. The list goes on and on.
Anyway, I have not yet burst into flames in Los Angeles. I’ve enjoyed the weather, but I’ve enjoyed it in the spirit of the Midwest–quietly, calmly, and without posting asshole comments to my friends back in Minnesota.
And so far, all the Angelenos I’ve met have been welcoming and kind to a newbie from the Midwest. Even the guy who decided to hit on me at 11 pm on Sunset Boulevard.
A man who like me was wearing a jacket (thus being grossly overdressed for LA) approached me. I thought maybe he was a fellow Midwestern human. Before he could reach me, the wave of alcohol hit me like advance troops storming the beach. He started to say something and I said, “I’m sorry. I’m not interested.”
I turned to walk away and he yelled something else. I thought there was no way I could have heard it right so I turned back and asked, “What?”
He repeated himself. He yelled, “It’s okay! You can trust me! I’m a presidential candidate!”
This was funny to me on a minimum of two levels.
I laughed to myself and continued down Sunset to walk back to my new home in Los Angeles. A home that I knew was not buried in eight feet of fire.
The man yelled one more thing.
“I REALLY LIKE YOUR JACKET.”
Maybe he was from the Midwest after all.
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