13 March 2006
We never metaphor we didn't like
This Weetabix description of the City of the Big Shoulder Pads got me musing:
While San Francisco is a lithe, slightly aging woman sipping tepid green tea while looking out across the hills, Chicago is a plump grandmother of twelve singing in a Gospel choir before going home to cook up a nice plate of ribs. Or maybe Chicago is a beefy guy who smells a bit like sauerkraut and a bit like cigar smoke who wants to know how you like your dog. Chicago is a tough old broad, with visible roots and a harsh voice but she means well, really she does.
Chicago, of course, has had time to build up this kind of mythos, and enough people over the years to pass it on.
Is there a comparable description for Oklahoma City? Maybe. I see this town as a farm girl, used to fresh country air, at least when she's upwind from the livestock, used to simple, uncomplicated fare for dinner, suddenly faced with the task of picking out a prom dress and not having the slightest idea how she's supposed to look in it. You can tell her that her hair is pretty, that she can afford to take an inch or two off that hemline, and she might even say she agrees with you, but you can hear the butterflies doing barre exercises in her mid-section, almost loud enough to drown out her voice.
And yet when she finally puts it on, fills it out, makes it work, you know someone's going to fall for her hard and you just hope it's someone worthy of her.Posted at 6:19 AM to City Scene