The Restaurant Scene...

The end of another day in California.

I switched hotels today, on the advice of some of the colleagues in the office here in San Ramon. The general consensus was "what the heck...?" when I let them know where I was staying. So, here's a new hotel room. Interestingly, same door clicking sound. Same feeling, although this feeling is slightly diluted, mainly because the room is so much nicer than the one I've spent the last two nights in.

This hotel is a lot closer to the office, like a six minute walk away. There's also some shops within walking distance, so I don't feel isolated like I did at the Hilton. And a Starbucks.

So at least I'm comfy, and coffee'ed up. When I got back from the office this afternoon, I unpacked and changed, and went for a walk to discover what was close by. Other than the grocery store and a lot of eating places, and Starbucks (ahhhh) there's not a lot there. But it is something. After getting my grande-latte-skim-milk-to-go, I stopped at the service station to get some snacks. Then I got back to the room, tossed the dodgy mints out of the jar on the coffee table, and moved in properly...

Went out for dinner tonight, to a place called Bridges in a town a little way down 680, called Danville. If you've watched Mrs Doubtfire, you'll know Bridges. It was the restaurant that the movie culminated in, with Robin Williams trying to be both his character and his/her alter ego. So that's nice. Very nice restaurant, by the way. Try the creme brulee, the pecans are a great touch.

Also, in Danville tonight was the first night of Street Heat. Remember the convention a-brewing at the Hilton? Well, it bubbled over in Danville tonight. The main street, right outside Bridges, was closed off, and lined with gleaming hot-rods brooded over by proud owners sitting in fold out deck chairs. Hot Rod owners are possibly the most easily stereo-typical folks I've observed. Loud shirts. Cargo Shorts, usually khaki. White ankle socks. Sneakers. Baseball cap. Sunglasses with string. Deck chair. Loud speaking voice. Default phrase - "oh, man..." And I take my hat off to them - the care and attention they put into those cars is commendable. If we could bottle that level of love and spread it around, the world would be a better place.

So I'm sitting in the same place that Robin lost his dress, sharing dinner and conversation with a couple of colleagues, when three blondes sit down at the table next to us. A walking advert for the values of silicon. Then, in hushed tones, one of my fellow diners informs us that the one with the lips is the wife of one of the band members from Motley Crue. Wow. The waiter, who was nice, but not amazing in his service levels to us, kicked into over-drive. A whole nother level. Hope he got a tip. And then, as the evening progressed, the table of blonde became a magnet for the Beautiful People, as the dropped by to say Hi, and make OTT small talk (if small talk is OTT, is that really big talk? Just asking...). John, my colleague who by day is a historian, delivered the line of night. He asked, "you want to have your picture taken with her. Some Americana?"

I declined, but marvelled at the spectacle of the moment. This, my friends, is Northern California. Hot Rods in the street. Obscure band member's wives recognised in restaurants.

I miss the simplicity of my real life.