LIFESTYLE

I’ve been very remiss about the Balcony of late. No urge to write in the past month or so, even though there are plenty of outrageous things happening in the world. It’s the end of summer here on the Platinum Coast, land of red tile roofs and chic restaurants. Seems as if the foodies are taking over, fighting tooth and nail with yoga studios and wealth managers for retail space downtown. The rich and beautiful people who call SB home need to be in tip-top physical shape in order to fully enjoy the fabled “Santa Barbara” lifestyle, whatever the hell that is. I’m just a working-stiff with a full-time job, no trust fund, and no BMW in the driveway; on the rare occasions when I flip through the glossy pages of Santa Barbara magazine in my doctor or dentist’s office, I get the feeling that I’m looking at a foreign country. Where are the brown people, the homeless, the loons, the panhandlers, the street musicians, the grizzled surf rats? Look in vain, boy, look in vain; you won’t find any trace of misfits in the sanitized pages of Santa Barbara magazine.

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Hot yoga, baby: that’s the newest way to physical beauty and spiritual clarity. Rev up the heat to 99 degrees and strike the downward dog pose. Hold it, hold it, feel the burn, the fat melt away as the stress of trying to decide which trendy SB restaurant to have dinner in flees your neck and forehead. Count the sacred drops of sweat tumbling from the bridge of your surgically sculptured nose. This is the good life and you are now untouchable; you’re drinking fine wine produced by your new best friend, and eating organically grown vegetables blessed by a Tibetan monk. No doubt about it, you are a chosen one -- you will live to be 110, without a wrinkle on your face, without experiencing erectile dysfunction or menopause, psoriasis or toenail fungus. SB is magical – if you’ve got the coin.

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The new iPhone 5S is out – stop the presses and hold back the dawn. Nerds were lined up outside the Apple store early this morning, slurping coffee from Starbuck’s and hoping their bladders hold out until they get through the door and to the front of the line. Apple dangles the cheese and the mice lose their minds, run headlong into plate-glass windows and cinder-block walls.

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Another mass killing in the US of A, this time right in the belly of our nation’s capitol. President Obama will take another star turn as commiserator-in-chief, bemoan how easy it is for mentally ill Americans to obtain Glock’s and go on a killing spree; Obama will say Americans are better than this, more compassionate, and it will sound great and be totally meaningless by the next morning. If only Congress would do the right thing and approve some mild reforms…but no…the NRA and the gun-happy Right has nothing to fear. The 2^nd Amendment is a sacred cow, like Prop 13 in California, perpetual foreign wars and the War on Drugs. How many days will it be until the next big killing? Some kook is stockpiling ammo this very minute; the manifesto is written and ready for posting; his few friends don’t suspect a thing.

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Life is the number 1 killer of people. Life breaks bones and hearts.