New York Charm
I am that mythical, neurotic, mysterious beast: The native New Yorker. We do exist. It IS possible for human babies to be born and raised into semi-functional adults in the N-to-the-Y-to-the-C. People don't believe you when you tell them. They say, "where are you from?"
New York.
"Yeah but I mean like where were you born?"
New York.
"You mean Long Island? Hoboken? Westchester?"
No I mean what I said, New York.
"Really? Like you were born here? Oh my god! What was that like? That must have been, like, SOO weird."
No, it wasn't. You're weird. You know how to drive. You didn't take the subway to school. You call Harlem "Morningside Heights". You think that domino's is pizza. You think that Stuyvesant town is the projects. You don't think it's strange that there is a K-mart on Astor place, or a McDonald's around the corner from St. Mark's Place, next to the Continental. Your highschool had a football team and cheerleaders. Your cultural center was the mall. You're the weird one, not me. Now buy me a drink, Wisconsin. Vodka Gimlet, ice. Oh sorry, Idaho, whatever.
Disclaimer: Don't worry. I fucking loooove Idaho and Wisconsin. You guys rock.