California Day 1

Sunny San Diego is grey and damp and yet I still feel like I've stumbled through a time warp and onto the set of the OC. I have not seen so much pin-straight blonde hair since...well, ever. I must still be wearing Smith goggles of some sort because I am overwhelmed by this valley of the dolls. I like it. Last night I ate at this somewhat trendy restaurant (cucumber water, tiny menus, roasted marrow) called Whisknfork. I know. I spent half of the meal mesmerized by the couple seated next to us, a highlighted emaciated china doll and her tanned hobbit-like companion who could not stop bragging about his many paramours. The girl looked enraptured, twirling her toes beneath the table to lightly brush his legs, nodding in rapt attention when he launched on another tirade about the craziness of the fairer sex. He, in turn, seemed oblivious to the spell he was casting on this woman. Perhaps that was the point, the game, to keep her chasing. Perhaps that was the plan, the game, to keep her wanting as they picked at their $10 ice cream and exchanged not-quite-clever banter over cocktails. I keep reminding myself: We're not on Northampton anymore. Is this a preview of the culture shock to come?