"There are roughly three New Yorks. [The one] of the man or woman who was born here, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size and its turbulence as natural and inevitable? of the commuter-the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night?[then] there is the New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came ? in quest of something. The settlers give it passion." So wrote E.B. White in Here Is New York, a book from the 50s that reads as though it were written yesterday. OK. Who am I to argue with the legendary and brilliant author, editor and poet who contributed to The New Yorker, penned Stuart Little and Charlotte's Web, as well as the ultimate book on language, The Elements of Style? Well, I guess I am one of those New Yorkers who was born here, takes the city for granted and accepts its size and its turbulence as natural and inevitable. I don't/can't take umbrage with this description, as much as I take offense to his giving credit to the "settlers" as the ones who embrace New York, "with the intense excitement of first love?with the fresh eyes of an adventurer," and attributes them with generating, "heat and light to dwarf the Consolidated Edison Company." Excuse me? I guess he felt that way because he was one of them, hailing from Mount Vernon and all. Even though I moved here from the Bronx, which is only 20 minutes away by car, I can honestly say that I did so with the "intense excitement of first love." In fact, I fell in love with Manhattan back in 4th grade when my mother took me to the Christmas Show at Radio City and hence began counting the never-ending days until I'd be able to move "downtown." And it was still an adventure, as when I was growing up and visiting Manhattan, I never got below 34th Street or west of Fifth Avenue or east of Third. I had a lot to learn. I also must say that I think we natives, for whom this is our home and not a pit stop, bring just as much passion and generate our share of "heat and light." Yet I have always felt my kind was overlooked. I spent years feeling one-upped, personally and professionally, by people who had "journeyed" from the south or Midwest. I watched many a colleague catch breaks based solely on the fact that a boss felt sorry because he/she was all alone in the big city, since moving here from someplace that grows corn. Because we all know that if you were born here (and I don't mean on Park Avenue) life's a cakewalk. Since I rarely worked with anyone but "outta townas," I never had anyone with whom to share or who would understand my side; then I read Michael Agovino's The Bookmaker. Although the memoir is primarily about the acceptance/forgiveness of a loved one whose addiction rules/ruins the roost, he also speaks of beginning his career in Manhattan. "What if?your city?.is?the place for strivers from Indiana ?who couldn't care less that you're from here, that you're rooted here, that you helped make it what it [is], in your own small way." You're the one who then feels taken for granted. No matter where you're from, if you're living here, read Here Is New York. If you are from the outer boroughs, read The Bookmaker. With the bookie's son representing us, we come out the winners. -- Lorraine Duffy Merkl is an Upper East Sider. Her column appears every other week.