Santa Barbara, CA

Wednesday 8pm, Santa Barbara Brewery on State. Alone again, watching the Celtics game. Just had a nice drive through town, and I'm wondering, how does a town with so many great street names (Miramonte, De La Guerra, Pedregosa, etc) choose State for it's main drag? What to call the road that goes from the mountains to the harbor, past the Presidio and the Mission? Let's call it State. State. Same as Madison, which at least was the capital of one. So anyway. I'm a little disappointed by this. Okay, I'm over it. 

State Street's a beauty. Everywhere, palm trees-- tall skinny ones, short stubby ones, a dozen variations between. And then the cafes, the hotels, the courtyard restaurants, the tan women in serapes, the blonde surferkids with square jaws, little Laird Hamiltons. 

And then the architecture. White stucco buildings dotted with blue-yellow tiles. Even my hotel (not to brag, but yeah, I'm staying at the Holiday Inn on Haley) looks to have been designed purposefully. Mission Revival, says the concierge (receptionist). Interest piqued, I wiki that and pick up some facts. Look at that, a curved gable. Aha, now that's what you call an arcaded archway. Travel, learn.

So I'm drinking beer alone at this bar. Enter, 40-year-old woman in heels and no wedding ring, might have been a dame in her day. I'll have what he's having, she says, winking at me. I guess this is where I should ask a question, maybe turn my barstool. Nope, I just get super awkward and stare at the TV. Well, look at that. Ray Allen is having quite the game, isn't he. 

I rise early Thursday, like 7am early, and get this, I go jogging. I haven't been a model of healthy living these last two months, so I really dig in. Along the boardwalk, to the end of the pier and back, past some mexicans playing 27-on-27 soccer in a park with three balls and lacrosse nets for goals. And I just keep going. Past the Mission. Past some Spanish Colonial architecture (notice the projecting eaves). At least three miles this jog I do. So yeah, calorie-wise, I think I'm good for a while. 

After, I walk into a coffee shop on Figueroa. I am wearing Dri-FIT. I am wearing the hat of an eastcoast university. I am petting stranger's dogs. I am ordering the Fair Trade Blend. I am reading the LA Times. 

I am in Southern California, and this is what I do.