me, buffalo and mother teresa |
| www.bflowriter.com |
I live in Los Angeles. But I grew up in Buffalo and last year I bought a condo and now I divide my time between the two cities. There are many differences between Buffalo and LA but lets talk about difference #1, the most significant difference and I don’t mean the weather. I speak of the people. Buffalo people are friendlier. Why? Because they don’t live in Los Angeles. LA has some cool people, including my friends, but they are showing the strain, something about the city that imposes an attitude, compounded by stress and its easily explained by one word: traffic. You have to live in a city like Los Angeles for a few years and then visit a city like Buffalo for a spell to appreciate the impact of traffic on the quality of life. We drive in Buffalo too but we drive in Buffalo traffic,not Los Angeles traffic. For example: In Los Angeles if I accomplish one thing every day, lets say a visit to Target to load up on paper towels--I feel tremendous satisfaction. In Buffalo I do five things a day. Another example. I live on W. Ferry. My friend Sam lives off N. Forest in Williamsville. I get the urge to visit Sam and I just go. I don’t think about it. In Los Angeles I have to think about it. I will end these observations with a story—a Mother Teresa story. Years ago Mother Teresa was visiting Los Angeles— to participate in a conference. She was staying with a friend and it so happened she was getting her drivers license at the time, back in Leopoldville, and the day for the conference arrives and Mother Teresa says: is it ok if I drive? The friend thought it over and says: why not? So off they go with Mother Teresa behind the wheel, over to the west side, via Olympic, its 2:30 PM, the beginning of rush hour, they are 4 minutes into the drive and the friend notices Mother Teresa’s eyeballs are filling up with blood. Now Mother T gives the finger to a fellow motorist, attempting to cut her off (we cut off the Saint in Los Angeles) and she glues her fist to the horn and starts screaming—the filthiest language imaginable. And so it goes for the next 30 minutes—one finger after another along with this orgy of cursing-- every word in the book. Im told that is a true story |
