Let’s run down that why: meatheads, Jay Gatsby, Camaros with “performance-enhancing exhausts,” McMansions for the new money, Oyster Bay estates for the old, post-war, prefab supposed Levittown-ian suburban bliss that eventually banished an entire nation to milquetoast subdevelopments, lax bros, Joey Buttafuoco, Billy Joel, Billy Joel's car (which just drove through the front of your house), a bunch of Jewish kids who went to Michigan. Well let me tell you, it’s not like that at all -- some of the Jewish kids went to Indiana!
Hilarious Big 10 demographic jokes aside, I’ll more than freely admit that all of those things exist. None of them define. The accents maybe do. I don’t have one, never really did -- my mom is from Ohio, dad's from California. In normal everyday not-on-Long Island conversation, I might almost be considered newscasterly. And yet, when I go home I can’t help myself. I speak louder, and in a more clipped fashion, and say everything twice, and say everything twice. That’s how you talk like you’re from Long Island. I can see how it might get to people.