MOLI VIEW™

Like most New Yorkers, I have wondered from time to time if I could, or rather should, make a switch and live in the "other" major U.S. city, Los Angeles. Because, let's be reasonable: Though there is no city in the world like New York, LA has the year-round sunshine and the beaches (basically, the stuff you crave when going on vacation), and enough urban delights (creative people, art galleries, good restaurants, alternative bookstores, independent cinemas, yoga, gay bars, etc.) to make it a happy, livable medium. In theory, at least.

I mean, first and foremost, there's the driving that's completely not optional. And for someone like me who has never owned a car and only learned to drive at age 30, that's a major lifestyle change. And then there's the idea of living in a freestanding house — again, a very strange idea for someone who has lived in an apartment for all of her adult life. That said, I'm sure I could adapt to both of these modalities. But the one thing I'm not so sure about ever getting into the groove of is the infamous LA vapidness.

Oh boy: If your Snob-o-Meter just went on high alert, you may want to stop reading now...

Perhaps it was because I grew up in Hawaii, surrounded by hippie-dippiness and the idea that you never need be more dressed up than in a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and flip-flops, that I always wanted more. More than just a joint and good vibrations. More individuality, more character, more diversity, more analysis, more provocative conversations, and an escape from the almost oppressive pursuit of fun. Fun, fun, fun in the sun. What can I tell you, except that fun for me was like junk food: a pleasant distraction that kept me from getting any nutrients that were actually critical to my growth, development, and evolution as a human being.

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