me, buffalo and mother teresa

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