For years I have said that I choose to live in southwest Georgia. It is not perfect, but it beats anywhere else I have ever been. I like to compare our part of the world to other places I visit. This week I spent several days in Beverly Hills, my hotel just steps off Rodeo Drive.

As I had breakfast on the rooftop of the hotel, the first person I noticed was a lady that wore her pearls to breakfast. She was dressed to the nines. I couldn’t help wondering how early she must have had to get up to look like that.

Clothes are a big part of the scene in this part of southern California. The spiked heels seem an inch or two taller than those you see down here. There are boots of all designs, never the same. There are a lot of skinny people walking around, which I can understand because the food costs so much.

The skinny people all wear tight, tight jeans and shirts. The kind of tight that looks like it was just painted on. I doubt they even make them in my size. If they do, then they should be banned.

My favorite was the lady walking her dog in her full length mink coat while the temperature was in the high 60s. She is either very cold natured, or really loves showing off that coat.

There were a lot of dogs around, mostly inside the hotels and stores. None of them actually looked very happy. They didn’t jump around, bark or wag their tails. They were mostly frou-frou type dogs, with manicured nails and fancy hairdos.

One dog even sat patiently while her master showed her different doggy Christmas ornaments. I can see my Harry, my Jack Russell Terrorist, in a store like that.

The streets were different but I couldn’t really put my finger on it. Almost all the cars were black. There were a few of the extreme cars like a Bugatti, Lamborghini, or Ferrari. But mostly they were just your above-average model of a Mercedes, Lexus, BMW or Audi.

About mid-afternoon, it hit me about what was really different. There wasn’t a pickup truck in sight. From then on, I was on the lookout, but never saw the first truck of any type.

The food was over the top, in both quality and price. One night we ate at Wolfgang Puck’s flagship restaurant, Spago, where he personally greeted us at the door. I can’t really say too much about the menu, since I didn’t know what most of the things were. It is safe to say, however, that I didn’t eat the “Barely Cooked Octopus.” If we barely cook something, people call the local health department. In Beverly Hills, they advertise it on the menu.

If anyone actually eats at home, they don’t have to visit a grocery store. They can simply go to the local Rite-Aid, where the liquor is just across the aisle from the Rice Krispies. This location is truly a one-stop shop.

It will be good to eat a home-cooked meal tonight when I return home. Now if I can just talk Mary Lou into making some of that good seaweed butter.