I spent the first 20 years of my life in Chicago and the next 15 in Los Angeles, which is weird since I’m only 29. (It’s tricky math—like calculus, only not.) Here is my personal tale of two cities—like Charles Dickens, only not.
The Weather
I will open with this: LA has never tried to kill me. However, in January 1994 Chicago almost took me out. I was a junior at Illinois Wesleyan University. All dolled up, I was off to summer-stock auditions when I discovered my car was buried under a foot of snow. In heels and panty hose (Midwest sexy) I began to feverishly dig my car out of its igloo. There was progress until I struck the hidden sheet of ice on the windshield. As I pounded it with my plastic scraper from the 99-cent store, the force of my body against the immovable sheet of ice and my unstable footing landed me smack on my back under my car with my head in the road in the path of oncoming traffic. I was one errant SUV away from buying the farm. I decided that day to move to LA.
The Food
I could eat myself to death with two things: Nacho Cheese Doritos and Chicago’s own Gino’s East pizza. You can get Doritos anywhere in the world, but only Chicago has perfected the deep-dish pizza: cornmeal crust, cheeseon the bottom, sauce on top—yumminess that makes my eyes roll back in my head. If I haven’t exploded after that experience, I might even indulge in a deep-fried Snickers, and I am in hog heaven. Los Angeles has fresh, healthy gourmet food in spades, but I am a Midwesterner at heart. Deep-dish and deep-fried send me off the deep end.
Career Opportunities
My dream was to be a “triple threat”—a singer/dancer/actor. Sadly my singing voice is terribly average, and my dancing career took a turn for the worse when I broke my ankle in three places during a summer-theater hoedown. Chicago is a great town for musical theater, but alas, when you come in at one for three on the triple-threat scale, it’s time to look elsewhere. Turns out they make a lot of
television shows in LA, which (besides Glee) only require standing and talking. Those skills I have mastered. (Does that make me a “double threat”?)
And so Los Angeles is my home sweet home. LA, my friend, I thank you because—let’s be honest—if I’d stayed in Chicago, I’d be out of work, weigh 280 pounds and have my shoelaces frozen to the El tracks. Instead I fly back to my hometown every summer and spend a week eating and laughing myself silly.
