Culture Shock-from an LA Transplant

Culture Shock:
From LA to Marin County
By Liz Siegel
I moved to death row to start a new life. Far from the glitter of Hollywood and all those lost angels who never did get their wings.
I’m a long way from Los Angeles, in the shadow of San Quentin Prison, where I live on a one-lane road skimming the San Francisco Bay. My apartment has a billion dollar view and views are important here in Marin County, both visual and intellectual. I’m swimming in deeper waters here alongside the self-righteous, socially conscious set. Instead of the Golden Globes, I have the Golden Gate. Green means organic here, not cash or envy. You don’t drop names here, you compost. It’s a quieter place, a smaller place really, an older place. Gone are the jaded cool LA wannabes and their frantic strivings. I do not miss them. There is no lingering scent of desperation in the air. You can breathe here, you can age. No one cares.
People are whole, there are no hyphenates. They are what they are, they do what they do, but it doesn’t define them. They’re engineers, doctors, programmers. They’re left-brained and left-winged. Their lives after work are their lives. You hike here, you don’t social climb. You vacation in Tahoe, not Vegas; Napa not Palm Springs. There’s a lot less skin on display, a lot less fashion. This is a style-free zone but not without it’s own game rules. You wear a down vest here, preferably black and with a North Face logo. You are not camera ready at all times, you are mountain ready at all times. You don’t have blinding white teeth. You don’t have a skeletal body with muscle man arms. If you’re over 40, you don’t look like a Desperate Housewife. Malibu Barbie is not your muse. You can grow old gracefully, you can let yourself go. Beauty is natural here, not injected. There may be desperation in Marin, but if it’s here, it’s quiet, subdued, like the soft notes of a vintage Napa Merlot.
If you have it here, you don’t flaunt it. Unless you live in Belvedere. There are hippies in Fairfax, yuppies in Tiburon, tourists in Sausalito, new age snobs in Mill Valley, homeboys in San Rafael. But no one is fabulous here. No one wants to be fabulous here. No one even knows anyone fabulous here. And therein lies the difference between Marin County and Los Angeles.
Northern California is a playground for adults. Southern California -- a sandbox for Peter Pans and the Wendys who love them.
Sean Penn, Snoop Dog, Joan Baez, they’ve all been on my street lately protesting the death penalty. But even celebrities are different here. They’re earnest. They care about issues. It’s not all about them. Their lights don’t shine quite as brightly here. It must have something to do with that full moon shimmering over the Bay. They just can’t compete.
In the great divide that separates the two halves of our beautiful state, I choose true North.