There I was, plopped on East Beach and watching the birds ― wondering how pelicans choose who among them leads their “V” formations ― when I heard engines rumble behind me.
Looking back and up at Bellosguardo ― Santa Barbara’s most nakedly corrupt institution ― I saw a line of party rental trucks snake their way from a large white tent on the south lawn to the iron gates below. It was the morning after yet another private event at the property, which is supposed to be operating as a public center for the arts but instead serves as a $85 million man-cave for an ex-mayor’s boyfriend, his buddies, and the rich and famous.
I tried to refocus my attention on the sparkling ocean in front of me, but my blood was already starting to simmer. I jumped in the water to cool off. It helped, but only a little. The umbrage train had already left the station.