Phoneless, boothless

By default, people tend to think that State is the best street in Santa Barbara. It is actually the street with the most novelty t-shirt stores. If you want to see the city at its most interesting, you go Haley Street — or, as an eccentric resident we recently met called it, "skid row" — every time. Needless to say, you'll want to keep an eye on its tag.

I can think of no better image than the above with which to celebrate this real best street in Santa Barbara. It's no secret that cellphones have pretty much killed the payphonic star; even UCSB is dismantling its wall of pay phones, which in happier days positively teemed with foreign students. But there's something so distinctively sad about this pair of phoneless shells that I hope it never occurs to anybody to pull them up. These twins stand, Shining-like, in front of Haley's similarly hobbled Mac's Grog & Groc. Mac (or whomever) doesn't even bother trying to mask the fact that the place was clearly designed to be a gas station. Something must have gone terribly wrong along the way, since instead of gas pumps, there is usually just a fat Indian dude.

This is what I love to see in a city: the anachronistic, the unwelcome, the decayed, the partially removed and ignored. There's a lot of that on Haley.

The Stacked House

Like a wise old concrete beast for whom the passage of decades is as inconsequential as the sea breeze it faces, the Stacked House sits at the end of Del Playa Drive. Other than that it is the most fabulous example of concrete midcentury architecture in Goleta or Santa Barbara — let alone Isla Vista proper — I know nothing about it. Rumor has it that an architect lives there, sleeping on the upper tier and breakfasting on the lower. That would make a certain amount of sense.

Perhaps such a strikingly unconventional home echoes Le Corbusier's Villa Savoye, which looks and sounds like the world's greatest machine for living but is actually a pain in the ass and an inadvertent toxic mold grow-op to boot. But having passed by the Stacked House and stared at it a creepy number of times, I can tell you that nothing seems amiss. It may really be the next step in residential evolution, albeit one the world seems to have ignored. You park below it, you climb one tier up and you kick back in your Eames chair, then you climb another tier up and enter the magical mysteries of the (perpetually curtain-enclosed) bedroom. Perfection.

But like any embodiment of perfection, the Stacked House has imperfections. The most basic objection: where do the bookshelves go? When all your walls are made of glass, you can't very well build them in. The owner seems to have solved this problem with free-standing shelves, though that puts a lowish cap on one's library size. Maybe that's healthy; I only really want to own the best 100 or 200 books in my collection, anyway. Another issue, this one dealbreaking for a type like me: the damned place is a half-hour walk even from UCSB, which is itself way out in the boonies. Location, location, location, I guess.

Bus Stop Closed

"A man who, beyond the age of 26, finds himself on a bus can count himself as a failure."

- apocryphal, but routinely attributed to Margaret Thatcher

The Santa Barbara Metropolitan Transit District recently put up a swank new web site, but all things considered, I really would've preferred to see that money go elsewhere. Into, uh, the transit, for instance. While I don't like to get on the soapbox — and, despite riding the bus and nothing else on a daily basis, "bus riders" is just about the last group I want to be affiliated with — none of Santa Barbara's many public transit issues had to do with an insufficiently impressive net presence.

I submit this three-point test for determining whether or not a city has acceptable public transportation in place:

• Can you "just go" somewhere on it, spontaneously, without having to consult a map or timetable?
• Can you show up to a stop and expect your means of conveyance to show up within the next fifteen minutes?
• Can you use it to get back home from late-night goings-on?

Alas, the Santa Barbara bus system flubs all three. If you decide to "just go" somewhere, you can't be sure you're going to get there, and you really can't be sure you won't waste hours of your time waiting around in the process. And you'd better hope you're not trying to do any of this after 11:30, because you'll be waiting at least five hours for any bus at all. Or you'll pay, say, the $35 cab fare from the Mercury Lounge back downtown.

So despite the fact that I use Santa Barbara buses all the time, I can partially sympathize with all the people here who say to me, "Wow, how great that you can ride the bus! I so wish I could do that, but it'd just be impossible for me." (They're too important, you see.) I'd throw in with the cause of inconvenienced public transit-users, but I have sought for nearly eight years now to escape their ranks as soon as possible. (It's taking longer than I thought.)

Everyone wants to personalize!

People usually do a lot to personalize their vehicle to display individuality, but if you practically (or actually) live out of your car, you should go a step further and decorate it like a room in your home.

Cars are also useful if you are obsessive-compulsive, because sooner or later you run out of room in your home.

The motorhomes of Laguna Street

Just east of downtown, Laguna Street has been a popular place to park one's motorhome. That is to say, the motorhome in which one lives. Primarily. What Santa Barbaran jogger hasn't felt that shiver of fear — of excitement? — passing one of these shuttered, banged-up, often garbage-filled sleeping beasts? Periodic relocations to avoid Parking Enforcement aside, the unchanging nature of these mainstay recreational vehicles makes them all the more threatening, like a dormant volcano.

Nevertheless, I have long entertained fantasies of life within small, sometimes mobile enclosures. I don't quite want to know what deep-seated psychological compulsion had me dreaming of setting up house in trucks, attics, and fallout shelters throughout childhood, but I still get the occasional impulse to this day. (This now manifests, with reasonable health, in my purchases of books like Mini House and The Very Small Home. UCSB's Container Project a few years back was, naturally, fetish material for me.) When I run by the motorhomes of Garden Street, I think that it actually must be pretty cool to be able to listen to albums, read in bed, or watch a movie ensconced in your compact habitat while you are also in a vehicle parked on the road.

But then I remember that most of these don't look equipped with showers.

Ken Porter. AUCTIONEER

In any city you'll hear endless bemoaning of the sad, inevitable closures of beloved mom & pop stores. Downtown Santa Barbara, in particular State St., has been rapidly losing these businesses, especially given that both giant booksellers are barely hanging on to their precious real estate. However, here is some evidence of home-grown businesses past (and a pretty specialized one at that):

Garden St.

Ken Porter reminds me of another business I've seen downtown but is harder to track down: a bright yellow van (i.e. a rapemobile) with a giant printed sign in the window stating "NOTARY."

Parking Enforcement

Santa Barbara is small enough (90,000 city, 200,000 metro) that its parking situation isn't particularly dire. I don't actually own a car, so I lack first-hand knowledge of this, but it certainly seems acceptable. Nevertheless, you can spot these little half-track-looking things zipping around town all day long. The term "meter maids" is not, alas, unwarranted: most of the Parking Enforcement officers who emerge from them appear to be middle-aged women.

Is it their very efforts that make the place so parkingly available, or are they effectively just for show? These are the heated chicken-and-egg discussions being hashed out in the Santa Barbara City Council even as we speak. If you don't believe me, just watch City TV 18. Watch it, for I am unable; I addition to lacking a car, I lack a television. (Got a rice cooker, though.)