"Where do you live?" someone will ask.
"Sacramento," I'll say.
"Oh" they say. And always a pause.
"What do you think of living there?" someone will ask, in a voice generally tinged with skepticism.
Sacrament-oh.
My answer has changed in the three years since I moved here.
I used to say something about how it was just OK. It seemed overpriced, crowded and dirty, especially compared to pristine Denver, where my husband and I used to live. And it didn't seem like there was that much to do – but the people were sure friendly enough.
Some of us ended up here because of a job, a spouse's job, a romance, to be near family or to finish school.
Others of us were just carried here by the winds of life. It seems rare to meet someone who moved to Sacramento on purpose, because they simply liked the place.
Sacramento has bragging rights as the capital city of the much-envied and ballyhooed state of California. However, the city seems to be a place with a sizable chip on its shoulder, a place with an image problem and a lack of self-esteem.
Our civic leaders fret when we can't get a toehold onto national lists of "Best Places to Live" or "Coolest Cities." Sports fans are upset because we lost a bid to hold a regionalNCAA basketball tournament. Friends from around the country suggest meeting up in San Francisco instead of flying to Sacramento for a visit.
Sacramento can feel like the overlooked, restless youngest sibling in a large geographical family of overachievers, the laid-back skateboarding slacker with a few tats and lots of friends who hates being in a landlocked valley. He likes to drink beers at Paradise Beach and gets straight B's in school.
His sister, San Diego, is a gorgeous blonde and beauty contest winner with a perfect body. She married rich, doesn't work, is conservative and loves designer clothes. She is vain but fun to be around. She likes to dip her freshly pedicured toes in the ocean – her mansion has a lovely view – in the perfect weather.
His brother, Los Angeles, is an industrious workhorse and playboy with a handsome tan and a chiseled body who is a self-made millionaire.
He's in the film industry and started out in the mail room but worked his way up.Heis a surfer, loves action-adventure movies, is always dating someone new and drinks espresso shots all day long.
His closest sister, San Francisco, is the mystical artist who has achieved worldwide fame with her charcoals, oil paintings, sculpture and performance art. She dabbles in everything, has throngs of admirers, but remains single, bisexual and unattached.
She meditates every day, has a colorful string of Tibetan prayer flags strung across the back of her stylish treetop bungalow and makes ghee during each full moon.
It's a rarefied clan.
These renowned siblings make Sacramento – a city that would unquestionably attract lots of awe, praise and love in a different geographical family, like gawky Iowa or awkward West Virginia, perhaps – seem permanently overshadowed by comparison.
Sure,we have the state Capitol, the big white wedding cake of a building plunked down right in the heart of downtown. The exquisitely carved wooden bear handrails, frothy green Assembly Chamber, cheekily modern portrait of Jerry Brown, and the infrequent Arnold-sightings do delight us.
But Sacramento doesn't have the glitz, glamour or working-class grit of Los Angeles. It doesn't have the mild weather, sheer beauty or lushness of San Diego. And it doesn't have the sophistication, cultural offerings and pure charm of nearby San Francisco.
"Isn't Sacramento close to a lot of cool stuff?" people will ask, grasping for some positive association with California's capital city.
We're a few hours from everything: Tahoe, Sonoma, Napa, Yosemite, San Francisco and the coast.
But that's the thing about Sacramento: It constantly gets defined by what it is not, what's wrong with it, what's surrounding it and what it's lacking.
What's right about Sacramento?
