I had to fly down to Santa Barbara and back again today for work. I was checking out the amazing Dr. Seuss-meets-Gaudi work of architect Jeff Shelton for an upcoming story. If you don’t believe good design makes people happy, you should spend a day interviewing the residents of the Cota Street Studios. It’s like they’re all on ecstasy. Flowers and rainbows shoot from their eyes.
10 things Santa Barbara taught me:
Never trust the car rental girl to tell you where to eat, even if she is the manager.
If you are gadgetly-challenged to begin with, don’t fork over the extra $11 for the GPS.
Don’t eat at places where every single employee has white-man dreadlocks.
Ortega Street smells really strongly of pee.
Pretty people live in pretty towns.
If you happen to arrive on high school graduation day, you will find the streets of Santa Barbara clogged with teenagers dressed inappropriately.
In a pinch, the egg salad sandwich at Starbucks is pretty good (and definitely better than teriyaki chicken made by people with white-man dreadlocks).
Jacaranda trees bloom like purple pom-poms of joy in June.
You will feel uncharacteristically compelled by a self-proclaimed clairvoyant's declaration that you should move to Fairfax, CA.
Even after being burned in wildfires, the Santa Ynez mountains glow like gold at sunset.
A Thing I like
Four words: Self. Serve. Frozen. Yogurt. This, my friends, is my idea of a good time. I had Dutch chocolate and toasted coconut with mochi and chocolate syrup. And I’m a better person for it. Thank you, Yogurtland.
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