Lovely Weather. Enjoy it?

Strolling down, say, G. Street on Saturday night my college buddy said the oddest thing. "This is perfect weather!"

Actually, it was a little cold, I thought. It was a night of such pronouncements.

G. was in DC for a competition, and though his team was defeated, he seemed thrilled to marvel at the wonders of the Capitol: the design, the culture, the colored people. G. is in law school in a small town in northern California, not far from his hometown Oakland. Apparently, there are few colored people in such town, as G. was impressed by all of the black people roaming around...Georgetown. Hmmm. when he made this exclamation, I felt assured that going to Marty's on 8th wasn't such a bad deal after all. His colored quota could be filled cross ing the street.

But racial demographics weren't the most interesting elements of the night. That DC is Chocolate City is so cliche to not even deserve mention, let alone conversation. (And of course there is the obvious point of the city becoming more diversified--to politely side step gentrification--by the minute).

Instead we continued a conversation we began the moment we both arrived in The American city, New York, as wide-eyed freshman cynics from minor American cities, Oakland (he) and DC (me). East understands west.

How California can be so chic, and yet so country. The driver of a Porsche, number 4 out of 100 on the production line, has a bucket of fried chicken and waffles in the passenger seat. How LA is a city for do-or-die artists but no one seems to hustle.

And the image thing. Shiny, polished and waxed image. (Adjectives that can describe the aforementioned car or an average woman.) Image there truly is everything. Now, it's somethere, here, too. This snippet of conversation illuminates the difference.

I told G. of a friend who was new to LA and trying to meet women.

"What kind of car does he drive?" this was seriously his first question.

"Oh, a nice one. A BMW." I was obviously impressed.

"Oh. Well. that's okay. But you see, a nice car in LA is a unique car, like a Spider."

What? Guess my 2000 Jetta isn't the hot isht I thought it was.

G., too, maintains this image. I noticed his finger nails were polished.

"Women notice those things. That's why I do it."

Image. And west coasters wonder why we presume a superior attitude. Maybe because a routine visits to the spa dominate weekend schedules.

"What about social time?" I wondered how this schedule, assuming a 50+ hour work week, allowed for other stuff, like just handing out,

"You'll go to the spa with your girlfriends, catch up on life, talk about men. you know?"

Yeah, i do. And I've done it. But it seems so much more important. No, not important. REQUIRED.

And the coup d'etat? "LA women make being gorgeous look like they didn't even think twice about it." He threw his head back exultantly. Exuberantly. Suddenly, with my eyebrows a little less than expertly waxed (if only my girl would get back from vacation!), I felt a little grubby. (G. consoled me that for an east coast gal, I wasn't so bad. It was just the culture in which i was raised.)

But that wasn't the worst of the charges. G. grinned smugly. "You all just don't know how to relax and enjoy LIFE!"

We're too busy running the country! If everybody, men and women, had their hands in a soap-dish or their backs on a massage table (like I would right now), who'd keep aimlessly chasing bin Laden? Tearing down Social Security? derisively lobbing lit bombs at Hollywood?

Ultimately, approaching my car on a clear night of perfect-for-a-light-jacket weather, G. made the ultimate concession: he'd love to marry a driven, less than perfectly coiffed well-educated East coast woman. And move her to LA.

(For the Rooster.)