D.C. Doings
Day 1
Daniel Johnston is a sentimental favorite of mine. Daniel was "on the way" when I first met Kathleen so he represents a kind of time line to our relationship. He was a sweet and goofy kid, skinny with tons of blond curls. I remember taking him to the Bronx zoo with Kat. He loved bouncing down the steps in his carriage. There's a photo we have somewhere of his beaming smile as he experiments with the thrill of the sensation that we just might lose control of his conveyance. He laughed and laughed.
We used to play a game called hawk. I'd pick him up and whirl him around the back yard. He'd grab wayward bunnies in his talons and tear them to shreds. Later we spent hours working on his crawl and I would repel his gentle efforts to drown me. We moved on to football passes as he streaked across his grandparents back yard. Dan played hard and had great hands.
Now he's graduating from Georgetown.
Dan follows in the footsteps of his brothers as this is our third trip to that institution in five years. What's different about this trip is that it serves both as a celebration of Daniel's accomplishment and as a family reunion of sorts. We haven't seen Kat's family since last Thanksgiving and the kids were excited to see their cousins. I was too but held a special bit of baited breath for a repeat visit to the Udvar-Hazy wing of the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum.
We looped out of Carmel Valley at 8:30am Friday morning. They kids always appreciated a day where they get to skip school. So do I. The travel up to the airport was remarkably painless.
Jet Blue... oh excuse me I mean jetBlue (gotta get their geek branding capitalization correct), despite their recent woes with passengers waiting on the tarmac, was our transporter and transport us they did albeit with some minor hitches.
"Ladies and gentleman if you are seated in row 17 we're sorry but televisions are not working in that row. Perhaps you could take a moment before we board to get yourselves some extra reading material."
Our seats?
17C, 17D, 17E, 17F
I hustle to the counter.
"Can we switch seats?"
"Not unless you all want to sit in middle row seats all over the plane."
"Thanks, no."
This set off a minor panic (Good Lord, no TV!?) and Mitch and I zipped into the next door magazine/book/trail mix distributer.
There ain't a lot of kid friendly magazines or books at the airport.
We desperately and somewhat grumpily settled on "Easy Crosswords."
Back in line and on board. Well the short version is that they reseated us in the last row with working TV's. Mitchell resumed breathing.
Zip! Off to D.C.
After schlepping no less than a full mile through the Dulles airport (I'm not kidding, it was a ridiculously long series of tunnels, escalators, walkways and such) we waited interminably for the Hertz shuttle and finally landed in front of the little sign with my name on it.
"Dad... the back seat is covered with gum!"
"Is it sticky?... OK, OK... I'll get a new car."
Trudge.
"Sorry sir."
Bags are shuttled 20 slots down the row.
<- Click me
"Honey this car reeks of smoke!"
"Let's turn on the fan and see if it smells better... OK, OK... I'll get a new car."
Trudge.
"Sorry sir."
"Do you clean your cars?"
Shuttle bags 2 slots over.
Avanti!
The hotel is less than 10 minutes away. Hyatt Place is a new branded version of Hyatt hotels. I think they're supposed to be sort of less expensive, like Song or Ted.
Well our room was huge, comfy and cheap.
Bed.
Day 2
Well everyone was quite sleepy the next morning given the time change. We dragged ourselves out of bed at 9am and grabbed some free continental breakfast downstairs. Not bad. Good snacks. Starbucks. Nice seating.
We headed into the city and straight to the National Archives.
D.C. is a great town. Lot's to see. Free museums. Friendly people. Big, spread out streets. Great food and drink. Lot's of funky neighborhoods. It's the tops.
We circle the mall and park in a garage. It's a beautiful, sunny day following dire threats of the graduation being rained out as recently as yesterday.
We amble right into the archives building and after a brief probing for contraband head straight into the main viewing room for the Constitution and the Declaration. The place has roped lines to corral many hundreds but there was only about 30-40 people in the joint. We basically walked right up to the Constitution.
Now photography boy here gets his camera out for a few snaps and sets it for low light. Turns out the light for the autofocus comes on. Oops. The guard looks at me menacingly and says "no flash." Now suddenly anxious I start to fumble around and my mind draws a blank. How do I get it to stop hunting for focus with the focus assist light? The guard is glaring. I'm pointing the camera to the floor and the damn light keeps coming on. I'm sweating.
"No flash sir. Don't make me say it again."
"It's not a flash. It's just focusing. See I'm not pointing it near the Constitution. I'm pointing it at the floor."
"Sir you don't want to do that again."
Holy crap. I'm going to miss my shot or light up the autofocus, forever erasing what little light sensitive pigment is left on the poor document and be body tackled by a Secret Service guard who will then show me what real probing is all about.
I'm resigned to walk away and go with the former when a little voice in my head says "You ideeeeot! Just switch the lens to full manual focus and use your focus ring!"
I do. It works. I snap and I turn waiting for the tackle to come but it doesn't because the focus assist light is now disabled in this mode.
"Mommy. Daddy got yelled at by the guard."
"Daddy's an ideeeeot honey."
actually she said
"Everything ok honey?"
"Fine, fine, fine."
We continue along ogling the Declaration, the Bill of Rights, etc.
I think I took pictures of them too.
We fled just as the SWAT team arrived.
Across the Constitution avenue is the National Art gallery. Oh yes we're going. The gallery has two wings. The first, our entry point, has the pre-20th century works. It's a gorgeous stroll through dozens of chambers with several beautiful central courts with low-key seating and relaxing, natural sky lighting. Very tranquil.
We make a bee line to the 19th century paintings. Monet, Cezanne, Van Gogh, Renoir, Gauguin. Wonderful.
We spend some time appreciating and remarking on some of the better pieces. Kelsey and Mitchell are fascinated by the characteristic styles of many of the artists. Memories of similar works seen in the Met in NY come flooding back. Van Gogh's work gets better every time I see it.
Now it seems like most visits to D.C. museums I run across a kid who's parents absolutely suck at setting limits. On our last trip several years ago we watched in horror as junior ran around setting off the alarms from room to room in the Hirschorn.
"Don't touch the statue junior."
Junior ignores mom and touches the Rodin. Alarms go off. Junior moves to the next room passing the guard coming in to see what happened.
"He went thataway."
Glare from guard who turns and stalks out. Sounds of scuffling in the next room.
I just want to slap parents like that.
Reminds me of a time at least 10 years ago. I'm having a Super Bowl party. Many friends. One with his own junior. I walk into the living room to find junior picking up pretzels, chips, carrots, plates and pets, tasting them and putting them back.
"Uh junior, don't do that."
"Joe [named changed to protect from embarrassment] can you please... Hey junior don't put that back in there!"
Junior has been masticating a Dorito and is now depositing the now dripping monstrosity back in the bowl.
"Uh junior, don't do that."
"Joe. Dude."
"Uh junior, c'mon now."
Visions of punting junior for a field goal dance in my head.
As it turns out I heard recently that junior is in fact a pretty disturbed kid these days. Very sad indeed but perhaps not completely surprising. Sorry Joe but kids need limits.
Sorry, back to our story.
Anyway there's junior de jour here with us in the National gallery who is lunging toward and a 1/2 inch from massaging a Manet directly in front of his mom. This damn kid is already about 7 or 8 years old. Well he's a lost cause.
"Hey lady!"
They both turn suddenly, take in the full blast of my glare and skirt off sullenly.
I swear I could just shake such kids and the parents need to be slapped. Now its not that my kids have been taught to heel but what the hell is with these parents!?
Me and the well-heeled family head across to the east-wing, 20th century art. This building is completely stunning. Designed by I.M. Pei, who also designed our old apartment building in NY, the east wing is just an incredible series of angles, layers, windows, ramps, light, shadows. http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gif
I could spend all day there just admiring the architecture inside.
I have to say this is the place heaven might look like to me. It is the most beautiful interior I have ever seen. Screw the art.
Actually some of the art is ok but Lichtenstein
Warhol
and such. Don't get me wrong, Picasso was a genius but a lot of the shit they have in there is just that.
I have a theory that as art appreciation exploded in the 60's and 70's the so-called modern art got completely over valuated and is now being curated by many of those who were part of the movement. It's the chickens watching their own hen house. Like having Jerry Garcia program your radio. There'd be nothing but Summer of Love crap blaring all day.
(What did the Deadhead say at the concert when he ran out of pot? What the hell is this crappy music!?)
Perhaps in another generation or so we'll finally have a backlash and a reconsideration of these collections.
We need to scamper to the graduation soon and everybody's hungry. I suggest the D.C. outlet of Les Halles, a sentimental favorite French bistro of mine from NY. We walk up Pennsylvania avenue. The sun is shining. All is good. As we approach I notice there's an outlet of Elephant and Castle, another favorite and more kid friendly. We opt for that.
Shoulda stuck with the first plan.
The snacks were a modest step above pub grub. Service was ok but the beer choices for a pub were lacking.
Les Halles was started by my former neighbor, Jose Marielles, and is famous for their TV personality chef, Anthony Bourdain. They also have the best fries on the planet.
Not to be this day.
We head out to the garage, nab the vehicle, do a quick change of clothes between car and garage wall, make a quick monument stop and off to Georgetown.
Georgetown has become a lot like SoHo in NY without the galleries. Bars, snooty restaurants, upscale shops, Dean and DeLuca. It was hopping this Saturday afternoon. Traffic was a crawl. We skim out the edge of M street and head up to the smaller, tree-lined streets. The tiny homes here are beautiful. We find a spot to park just two blocks from the ceremony site.
The Georgetown campus is mobbed. We know where to go and make our way to seating. We're an hour early and thus can nab a dozen spots dead center. Jackie (Kat's sister), JJ and oldest brother John arrive shortly. Middle brother Williams shows a few minutes later. We're all convinced that Kat's parents are lost somewhere in the 7th circle of hell that is M Street but low and behold they arrive with Brian and 10 minutes to spare.
The ceremony is largely a snore with the modest exception of somewhat dated and frankly pompous commencement speech by Paul Volker, former chair of the federal reserve. Turns out Dan is graduating from the school of business. Volker is railing about Enron.
Enron?
When did he first give this speech?
Snaps are taken, hands shaken and snacks bakin' in the post commencement feast. Daniel and family are justly proud.
We all head off back to M street for dinner at Paparazzi's. Unfortunately average Italian fare but I got to pick the wine. Il Falcone Super Tuscan 2002. Nice. JJ ordered two more bottles.
Frivolity was made by all. The kids were thrilled to see their cousins. John, Will and Dan have been the closest peers Kelsey and Mitchell have had in the family and they are all very affectionate and miss each other very much. Kelsey smiled all evening.
We finally call it a night around 11pm and immediately get lost driving back to the hotel. I make a couple of judgment calls and as we're turning through suburban D.C. Mitchell announces he's found a shoe under his seat.
Do they even clean the cars at Hertz?
I find the highway and we're in bed shortly.
Day 3
We wake to another fine day. A very quick run at the snacks downstairs and we're off the Air and Space Museum.
Now I don't remember being so into the plane thing as a kid growing up. I did have an old poster of some F-15's flying over a carrier deck and some Shuttle memorabilia... and a burning desire to live on the moon... and space toys around my room... and...
These days I'm an old plane buff. Now I don't indulge much other than visits to museums but when I do I'm enraptured. The A/S outlet in Dulles is tremendous. There's planes of many stripes but my fav, the SR-71 Blackbird, sits dead center when you enter the main hall.
Swoon.
There's a new wing in the hall dedicated to the space shuttle Enterprise and related space paraphernalia.
Space Borscht (I kid you not)
Double swoon.
The place is simply heaven. I've had two such experiences in as many days. Cool.
See the silvery one on the right with the multi-windowed nose? That's the Enola Gay. THE Enola Gay. Holy crap.
Mitchell wants to go in the flight simulator.
After some cajoling, Kathleen relents. Mitch and I take a spin. It's actually very entertaining without being nauseating. Live action of flying in several eras worth of planes. Then we take Kelsey on the space flight simulator which was lame. A few more rounds with the flight simulator, Kathleen and Kelsey we're $70 shorter but much longer in appreciating life.
I snap a few gazillion more photos
After a quick spin in the gift shop it's time to go.
As designed the airport is minutes away and we are whisked through to our gates. We scarf down some Fuddrucker's burgers and board the flight.
The TV's were fine.
I read less than I hoped but enjoyed the trip more than I expected.
We arrive in Oakland rather quickly around 6pm. On the drive home we plan a dinner stop at the Black Bear Diner in Gilroy but a Chevy's catches our eye. Good eats, less so the service but our spirits are still very high as our heads hit the pillows about an hour later.
Daniel Johnston is a sentimental favorite of mine. Daniel was "on the way" when I first met Kathleen so he represents a kind of time line to our relationship. He was a sweet and goofy kid, skinny with tons of blond curls. I remember taking him to the Bronx zoo with Kat. He loved bouncing down the steps in his carriage. There's a photo we have somewhere of his beaming smile as he experiments with the thrill of the sensation that we just might lose control of his conveyance. He laughed and laughed.
We used to play a game called hawk. I'd pick him up and whirl him around the back yard. He'd grab wayward bunnies in his talons and tear them to shreds. Later we spent hours working on his crawl and I would repel his gentle efforts to drown me. We moved on to football passes as he streaked across his grandparents back yard. Dan played hard and had great hands.
Now he's graduating from Georgetown.
Dan follows in the footsteps of his brothers as this is our third trip to that institution in five years. What's different about this trip is that it serves both as a celebration of Daniel's accomplishment and as a family reunion of sorts. We haven't seen Kat's family since last Thanksgiving and the kids were excited to see their cousins. I was too but held a special bit of baited breath for a repeat visit to the Udvar-Hazy wing of the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum.
We looped out of Carmel Valley at 8:30am Friday morning. They kids always appreciated a day where they get to skip school. So do I. The travel up to the airport was remarkably painless.
Jet Blue... oh excuse me I mean jetBlue (gotta get their geek branding capitalization correct), despite their recent woes with passengers waiting on the tarmac, was our transporter and transport us they did albeit with some minor hitches.
"Ladies and gentleman if you are seated in row 17 we're sorry but televisions are not working in that row. Perhaps you could take a moment before we board to get yourselves some extra reading material."
Our seats?
17C, 17D, 17E, 17F
I hustle to the counter.
"Can we switch seats?"
"Not unless you all want to sit in middle row seats all over the plane."
"Thanks, no."
This set off a minor panic (Good Lord, no TV!?) and Mitch and I zipped into the next door magazine/book/trail mix distributer.
There ain't a lot of kid friendly magazines or books at the airport.
We desperately and somewhat grumpily settled on "Easy Crosswords."
Back in line and on board. Well the short version is that they reseated us in the last row with working TV's. Mitchell resumed breathing.
Zip! Off to D.C.
After schlepping no less than a full mile through the Dulles airport (I'm not kidding, it was a ridiculously long series of tunnels, escalators, walkways and such) we waited interminably for the Hertz shuttle and finally landed in front of the little sign with my name on it.
"Dad... the back seat is covered with gum!"
"Is it sticky?... OK, OK... I'll get a new car."
Trudge.
"Sorry sir."
Bags are shuttled 20 slots down the row.
<- Click me
"Honey this car reeks of smoke!"
"Let's turn on the fan and see if it smells better... OK, OK... I'll get a new car."
Trudge.
"Sorry sir."
"Do you clean your cars?"
Shuttle bags 2 slots over.
Avanti!
The hotel is less than 10 minutes away. Hyatt Place is a new branded version of Hyatt hotels. I think they're supposed to be sort of less expensive, like Song or Ted.
Well our room was huge, comfy and cheap.
Bed.
Day 2
Well everyone was quite sleepy the next morning given the time change. We dragged ourselves out of bed at 9am and grabbed some free continental breakfast downstairs. Not bad. Good snacks. Starbucks. Nice seating.
We headed into the city and straight to the National Archives.
D.C. is a great town. Lot's to see. Free museums. Friendly people. Big, spread out streets. Great food and drink. Lot's of funky neighborhoods. It's the tops.
We circle the mall and park in a garage. It's a beautiful, sunny day following dire threats of the graduation being rained out as recently as yesterday.
We amble right into the archives building and after a brief probing for contraband head straight into the main viewing room for the Constitution and the Declaration. The place has roped lines to corral many hundreds but there was only about 30-40 people in the joint. We basically walked right up to the Constitution.
Now photography boy here gets his camera out for a few snaps and sets it for low light. Turns out the light for the autofocus comes on. Oops. The guard looks at me menacingly and says "no flash." Now suddenly anxious I start to fumble around and my mind draws a blank. How do I get it to stop hunting for focus with the focus assist light? The guard is glaring. I'm pointing the camera to the floor and the damn light keeps coming on. I'm sweating.
"No flash sir. Don't make me say it again."
"It's not a flash. It's just focusing. See I'm not pointing it near the Constitution. I'm pointing it at the floor."
"Sir you don't want to do that again."
Holy crap. I'm going to miss my shot or light up the autofocus, forever erasing what little light sensitive pigment is left on the poor document and be body tackled by a Secret Service guard who will then show me what real probing is all about.
I'm resigned to walk away and go with the former when a little voice in my head says "You ideeeeot! Just switch the lens to full manual focus and use your focus ring!"
I do. It works. I snap and I turn waiting for the tackle to come but it doesn't because the focus assist light is now disabled in this mode.
"Mommy. Daddy got yelled at by the guard."
"Daddy's an ideeeeot honey."
actually she said
"Everything ok honey?"
"Fine, fine, fine."
We continue along ogling the Declaration, the Bill of Rights, etc.
I think I took pictures of them too.
We fled just as the SWAT team arrived.
Across the Constitution avenue is the National Art gallery. Oh yes we're going. The gallery has two wings. The first, our entry point, has the pre-20th century works. It's a gorgeous stroll through dozens of chambers with several beautiful central courts with low-key seating and relaxing, natural sky lighting. Very tranquil.
We make a bee line to the 19th century paintings. Monet, Cezanne, Van Gogh, Renoir, Gauguin. Wonderful.
We spend some time appreciating and remarking on some of the better pieces. Kelsey and Mitchell are fascinated by the characteristic styles of many of the artists. Memories of similar works seen in the Met in NY come flooding back. Van Gogh's work gets better every time I see it.
Now it seems like most visits to D.C. museums I run across a kid who's parents absolutely suck at setting limits. On our last trip several years ago we watched in horror as junior ran around setting off the alarms from room to room in the Hirschorn.
"Don't touch the statue junior."
Junior ignores mom and touches the Rodin. Alarms go off. Junior moves to the next room passing the guard coming in to see what happened.
"He went thataway."
Glare from guard who turns and stalks out. Sounds of scuffling in the next room.
I just want to slap parents like that.
Reminds me of a time at least 10 years ago. I'm having a Super Bowl party. Many friends. One with his own junior. I walk into the living room to find junior picking up pretzels, chips, carrots, plates and pets, tasting them and putting them back.
"Uh junior, don't do that."
"Joe [named changed to protect from embarrassment] can you please... Hey junior don't put that back in there!"
Junior has been masticating a Dorito and is now depositing the now dripping monstrosity back in the bowl.
"Uh junior, don't do that."
"Joe. Dude."
"Uh junior, c'mon now."
Visions of punting junior for a field goal dance in my head.
As it turns out I heard recently that junior is in fact a pretty disturbed kid these days. Very sad indeed but perhaps not completely surprising. Sorry Joe but kids need limits.
Sorry, back to our story.
Anyway there's junior de jour here with us in the National gallery who is lunging toward and a 1/2 inch from massaging a Manet directly in front of his mom. This damn kid is already about 7 or 8 years old. Well he's a lost cause.
"Hey lady!"
They both turn suddenly, take in the full blast of my glare and skirt off sullenly.
I swear I could just shake such kids and the parents need to be slapped. Now its not that my kids have been taught to heel but what the hell is with these parents!?
Me and the well-heeled family head across to the east-wing, 20th century art. This building is completely stunning. Designed by I.M. Pei, who also designed our old apartment building in NY, the east wing is just an incredible series of angles, layers, windows, ramps, light, shadows. http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gif
I could spend all day there just admiring the architecture inside.
I have to say this is the place heaven might look like to me. It is the most beautiful interior I have ever seen. Screw the art.
Actually some of the art is ok but Lichtenstein
Warhol
and such. Don't get me wrong, Picasso was a genius but a lot of the shit they have in there is just that.
I have a theory that as art appreciation exploded in the 60's and 70's the so-called modern art got completely over valuated and is now being curated by many of those who were part of the movement. It's the chickens watching their own hen house. Like having Jerry Garcia program your radio. There'd be nothing but Summer of Love crap blaring all day.
(What did the Deadhead say at the concert when he ran out of pot? What the hell is this crappy music!?)
Perhaps in another generation or so we'll finally have a backlash and a reconsideration of these collections.
We need to scamper to the graduation soon and everybody's hungry. I suggest the D.C. outlet of Les Halles, a sentimental favorite French bistro of mine from NY. We walk up Pennsylvania avenue. The sun is shining. All is good. As we approach I notice there's an outlet of Elephant and Castle, another favorite and more kid friendly. We opt for that.
Shoulda stuck with the first plan.
The snacks were a modest step above pub grub. Service was ok but the beer choices for a pub were lacking.
Les Halles was started by my former neighbor, Jose Marielles, and is famous for their TV personality chef, Anthony Bourdain. They also have the best fries on the planet.
Not to be this day.
We head out to the garage, nab the vehicle, do a quick change of clothes between car and garage wall, make a quick monument stop and off to Georgetown.
Georgetown has become a lot like SoHo in NY without the galleries. Bars, snooty restaurants, upscale shops, Dean and DeLuca. It was hopping this Saturday afternoon. Traffic was a crawl. We skim out the edge of M street and head up to the smaller, tree-lined streets. The tiny homes here are beautiful. We find a spot to park just two blocks from the ceremony site.
The Georgetown campus is mobbed. We know where to go and make our way to seating. We're an hour early and thus can nab a dozen spots dead center. Jackie (Kat's sister), JJ and oldest brother John arrive shortly. Middle brother Williams shows a few minutes later. We're all convinced that Kat's parents are lost somewhere in the 7th circle of hell that is M Street but low and behold they arrive with Brian and 10 minutes to spare.
The ceremony is largely a snore with the modest exception of somewhat dated and frankly pompous commencement speech by Paul Volker, former chair of the federal reserve. Turns out Dan is graduating from the school of business. Volker is railing about Enron.
Enron?
When did he first give this speech?
Snaps are taken, hands shaken and snacks bakin' in the post commencement feast. Daniel and family are justly proud.
We all head off back to M street for dinner at Paparazzi's. Unfortunately average Italian fare but I got to pick the wine. Il Falcone Super Tuscan 2002. Nice. JJ ordered two more bottles.
Frivolity was made by all. The kids were thrilled to see their cousins. John, Will and Dan have been the closest peers Kelsey and Mitchell have had in the family and they are all very affectionate and miss each other very much. Kelsey smiled all evening.
We finally call it a night around 11pm and immediately get lost driving back to the hotel. I make a couple of judgment calls and as we're turning through suburban D.C. Mitchell announces he's found a shoe under his seat.
Do they even clean the cars at Hertz?
I find the highway and we're in bed shortly.
Day 3
We wake to another fine day. A very quick run at the snacks downstairs and we're off the Air and Space Museum.
Now I don't remember being so into the plane thing as a kid growing up. I did have an old poster of some F-15's flying over a carrier deck and some Shuttle memorabilia... and a burning desire to live on the moon... and space toys around my room... and...
These days I'm an old plane buff. Now I don't indulge much other than visits to museums but when I do I'm enraptured. The A/S outlet in Dulles is tremendous. There's planes of many stripes but my fav, the SR-71 Blackbird, sits dead center when you enter the main hall.
Swoon.
There's a new wing in the hall dedicated to the space shuttle Enterprise and related space paraphernalia.
Space Borscht (I kid you not)
Double swoon.
The place is simply heaven. I've had two such experiences in as many days. Cool.
See the silvery one on the right with the multi-windowed nose? That's the Enola Gay. THE Enola Gay. Holy crap.
Mitchell wants to go in the flight simulator.
After some cajoling, Kathleen relents. Mitch and I take a spin. It's actually very entertaining without being nauseating. Live action of flying in several eras worth of planes. Then we take Kelsey on the space flight simulator which was lame. A few more rounds with the flight simulator, Kathleen and Kelsey we're $70 shorter but much longer in appreciating life.
I snap a few gazillion more photos
After a quick spin in the gift shop it's time to go.
As designed the airport is minutes away and we are whisked through to our gates. We scarf down some Fuddrucker's burgers and board the flight.
The TV's were fine.
I read less than I hoped but enjoyed the trip more than I expected.
We arrive in Oakland rather quickly around 6pm. On the drive home we plan a dinner stop at the Black Bear Diner in Gilroy but a Chevy's catches our eye. Good eats, less so the service but our spirits are still very high as our heads hit the pillows about an hour later.
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