Santa Barbara Quotes

I got shagged in Santa Barbara, and all I got was this fantastic orgasm.

People are afraid to merge on freeways in Los Angeles. This is the first thing I hear when I come back to the city. Blair picks me up from LAX and mutters this under her breath as she drives up the onramp. She says, "People are afraid to merge on freeways in Los Angeles." Though that sentence shouldn't bother me, it stays in my mind for an uncomfortably long time. Nothing else seems to matter. Not the fact that I'm eighteen and it's December and the ride on the plane had been rough and the couple from Santa Barbara, who were sitting across from me in first class, had gotten pretty drunk. Not the mud that had splattered on the legs of my jeans, which felt kind of cold and loose, earlier that day at an airport in New Hampshire. Not the stain on the arm of the wrinkled, damp shirt I wear, a shirt which looked fresh and clean this morning. Not the tear on the neck of my gray argyle vest, which seems vaguely more eastern than before, especially next to Blair's clean tight jeans and her pale-blue shirt. All of this seems irrelevant next to that one sentence. It seems easier to hear that people are afraid to merge than "I'm pretty sure Muriel is anorexic" or the singer on the radio crying out about magnetic waves. Nothing else seems to matter to me but those ten words. Not the warm winds, which seem to propel the car down the empty asphalt freeway, or the faded smell of marijuana which still faintly permeates Blaire's car. All it comes down to is the fact that I'm a boy coming home for a month and meeting someone whom I haven't seen for four months and people are afraid to merge.

Like kids who only ever get socks for Christmas, but still believe with all their hearts in Santa.

In Santa Barbara they stopped at a fish restaurant in what seemed to be a converted warehouse. Fenchurch had red mullet and said it was delicious. Arthur had a swordfish steak and said it made him angry. He grabbed a passing waitress by the arm and berated her. "Why's this fish so bloody good?" he demanded, angrily. "Please excuse my friend," said Fenchurch to the startled waitress. "I think he's having a nice day at last.

History repeated itself. The 'don't do the things I did' mantra was tiresome pish. The best way to make sure your children don't grow up as cunts is not to be one yourself - or not to let them SEE you being one. This is easier as a sober artist in Santa Barbara than as an alcoholic jailbird in Leith.

The director mentions the whispers about Clifton's sexual orientation, a supposed gig on a porn site years ago, a rumor about a very famous actor and a tryst in Santa Barbara and Clifton's denial in a Rolling Stone cover story about the very famous actor's new movie which Clifton had a small part in: 'We're so into girls it's ridiculous.

I use to believe in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and Tom Cruise too.

Sailors approaching the coast in a fog can recognize the Santa Barbara Channel by the smell of bitumen which floats on the water.

If you think I won’t burn the whole world down to get you back, you really weren’t paying attention.

raised in Santa Barbara. My home is where my daughter is. The longer I’ve been here I realize that it’s not California I miss, but rather the people I left behind.

Hopping a freight out of Los Angeles at high noon one day in late September 1955 I got on a gondola and lay down with my duffel bag under my head and my knees crossed and contemplated the clouds as we rolled north to Santa Barbara.

«Mettiti il casco. È tardi!» le ordinò senza guardarla in viso mentre le porgeva il copricapo. Asia non disse una parola. Il sole era già scomparso ed era consapevole che con l’oscurità il Male avrebbe potuto fare capolino da un momento all’altro. Il cimitero del Wawel distava pochi minuti dal suo appartamento, ma lei conosceva bene il Venator e sapeva perché si spostava comunque in moto. Le sacche laterali della sua cavalcatura erano piene zeppe di armi, una vera e propria santa barbara sempre pronta all’uso. Mentre si issava con accuratezza dietro di lui cercò di trattenere il respiro. L’idea di sfiorare di nuovo, dopo quasi due anni, il suo corpo la faceva sentire come una bambina il primo giorno di scuola: tensione a mille, ansia, batticuore e la sensazione che di lì a poco sarebbe morta di infarto. Ma quel momento magico fu bruscamente distrutto, e le acide parole inzuppate nel veleno che uscirono dalle labbra di Bor la scaraventarono con una forza dolorosa nella realtà di quel pomeriggio. «Aggrappati alle manigliette laterali, non a me. E reggiti forte, non mi va di dovermi fermare a raccogliere i tuoi pezzetti.» Asia si sentì morire ma mai, per nessuna ragione al mondo, gli avrebbe dato soddisfazione. «Certo, non temere, non ti accorgerai nemmeno di me», disse a denti stretti mentre la bocca le si seccava per la delusione di essere stata respinta così in malo modo.

The establishment of the missions and presidios from San Diego and Los Angeles and Santa Barbara to Carmel, San Francisco, and Sonoma, traces the colonization of California's Indigenous nations. The five-hundred-mile road that connected the missions was called El Camino Real, the Royal Highway.

moving to Santa Barbara, California, where he died suddenly in 2001. After Douglas died, the movie of Hitchhiker moved out of development hell into the clear uplands of production, using much of Douglas’s original script and ideas. Douglas shares the writing credit for the movie with Karey Kirkpatrick.

December 16, 1846, the fifteen composing the "Forlorn Hope," left Donner Lake. January 17, 1847, as they reached Johnson's ranch; and February 5th Capt. Tucker's party started to the assistance of the emigrants. This first relief arrived February 19th at the cabins; the second relief, or Reed's party, arrived March 1st; the third, or Foster's, about the middle of March; and the fourth, or Fallon's, on the seventeenth of April. Upon the arrival of Capt. Fallon's company, the sight presented at the cabins beggars all description. Capt. R. P. Tucker, now of Goleta, Santa Barbara County, Cal., endeavors, in his correspondence, to give a slight idea of the scene.

Lunch had been at a McDonald’s in Santa Barbara. It had been so clean. It had smelled like food. It had sounded happy and alive. In the bathroom, the toilet flushed. Water ran in the sink. He had passed a trash can on the way back to his table and stopped just to look at it. It was full of food. Leftover burgers, the last few fries, smears of ketchup on cardboard. He’d had to hold back tears when he saw it. “Candy bar?” Vicky asked, and held a Snickers out to him. At that moment they slowed to turn off the highway and head cautiously, carefully, through recently bulldozed streets, toward the town plaza. That’s where the McDonald’s was. His McDonald’s. A candy bar. People had killed for less.

His laughter was loud and large and all-powerfull. It pulled at my body and soul. It drew me to him and lifted me off the ground until i hovered, suspended in the air, floating.

I would be as gay as a flower in may and adore his son for everyone to see. I would shatter those notions out og him every chance I got.

I was more than happy to follow. In fact, if this didn’t end with an explosion of sex and cum, I would be thoroughly disappointed and file a complaint wherever such things were done.

He had a white beard and twinkly blue eyes, and all in all gave the impression of what Santa Claus would look like if he'd converted to Christian and gone without a good meal sine last Christmas.

Do you mind? Just drape your arm around her shoulder. That's it. Yes this is good, Mr.Henshaw. Getting your picture taken with Daphne is a great way to introduce you to our set. Welcome to Santa Lucia!

Sam Temple was taken by helicopter to a hospital in Los Angeles, where there were specialists there in burn injuries. He wasn’t consulted: he was found on his knees, obviously in shock, extensively burned. EMTs took over. Astrid Ellison was taken to a hospital in Santa Barbara, as was Diana Ladris. Other kids were shared out among half a dozen hospitals. Some specialized in plastic surgery, others in the effects of starvation. Over the next week all were seen by psychiatrists once their immediate physical injuries were addressed. Lots of psychiatrists. And when they weren’t being seen by psychiatrists, they were being seen by FBI agents, and California Highway Patrol investigators, and lawyers from the district attorney’s office. The consensus seemed to be that a number of the Perdido survivors, as they were now known, would be prosecuted for crimes ranging from simple assault to murder. First on that list was Sam Temple.

That Thursday afternoon, August 26, Vince Nasco drove to Johnny The Wire Santini’s place in San Clemente to pick up the past week’s report, which was when he learned of the murder of Ted Hockney in Santa Barbara the previous evening. The condition of the corpse, especially the missing eyes, linked it to The Outsider. Johnny had also ascertained that the NSA had quietly assumed jurisdiction in the case, which convinced Vince it was related to the Banodyne fugitives

PBNP was Perdido Beach Nuclear Power. The power plant was just ten miles from the school. No one in the town thought about it much anymore, but a long time ago, in the nineties, there had been an accident. A freak accident, they called it. A once-in-a-million-years coincidence. Nothing to worry about. People said that’s why Perdido Beach was still a small town, why it hadn’t ever gotten really big like Santa Barbara down the coast. The nickname for Perdido Beach was Fallout Alley. Not very many people wanted to move to a place called Fallout Alley, even though all the radioactive fallout had been cleaned up.

I hear you. I understand you. And I'm going to get you. I know you think it would never work. And you think we'd never be a good fit. And you think we'll be happy fucking around, but you're wrong. You don't think you can be wrong, but I'll show it to you. I'll show you how very right I am. You, Jayden, are going to be mine. You'll be mine.

The bold, black masked pup goes to a surgeon in Santa Barara with two young daughters. The surgeon’s wife, Jill, takes one look at the pup’s confident gait and names him “Brag.” He’s a handsome fellow with over-sized paws and a serious disposition. The official name for his coloring is sable, which means he has as much black on him as he does brown. Brag grows deeply attached to his new family, never straying far from the little girls and always with one eye on Jill, whom he adores. Before Brag is a year old, Jill’s husband – an amateur pilot – hops in his plain and flies to Bakersfield for business. On his way home later that night, with two friends seated behind him, he miscalculates his position and flies into a mountain north of Santa Barbara. The plan disintegrates on impact. No one survives

However, Jim Hartle of the University of California, Santa Barbara, and I realised there was a third possibility. Maybe the universe has no boundary in space and time. At first sight, this seems to be in direct contradiction to the geometrical theorems that I mentioned earlier. These showed that the universe must have had a beginning, a boundary in time. However, in order to make Feynman’s techniques mathematically well defined, the mathematicians developed a concept called imaginary time. It isn’t anything to do with the real time that we experience. It is a mathematical trick to make the calculations work and it replaces the real time we experience. Our idea was to say that there was no boundary in imaginary time. That did away with trying to invent boundary conditions. We called this the no-boundary proposal.

prisons, and through Mark Vermilion, who ran Baez’s human rights foundation Humanitas. When Jobs donated some computers to them, he asked if he could meet Baez. A few weeks later he and Baez had lunch in Cupertino. “I wasn’t expecting a lot, but she was really smart and funny,” he recalled. At the time, he was nearing the end of his relationship with Barbara Jasinski. They had vacationed in Hawaii, shared a house in the Santa

But all of that is mostly invisible to me, an enchanting landscape painted on a see-through curtain in front of a stage where scenes of unspeakable horror play out. I can go for weeks without even seeing the beach, kept busy by emergency calls: fights, stabbings, shootings, burglaries, robberies, rapes, drunks, domestics, suicides. I spend more time in run-down housing projects and trailer parks than I do admiring sunsets. But they don’t pay me to enjoy the view

Hannity & Colmes was another management challenge. Despite its bipartisan billing, the show was a vehicle for Sean Hannity’s right-wing politics. An Irish Catholic from Long Island, Hannity came of age as two revolutions, Reagan conservatism and right-wing talk radio, sent the country on a new course. He harbored dreams of becoming the next Bob Grant, the caustic New York City radio commentator who provided an outlet for incendiary views on blacks, Hispanics, and gays. Radio personalities like Grant, Hannity said, “taught me early on that a passionate argument could make a difference.” In his twenties, Hannity drifted. He tried college three times but dropped out. By the late 1980s, he was living in southern California working as a house painter. In his spare time, he called in to KCSB, the UC Santa Barbara college station, to inveigh against liberals and to defend the actions of his hero Colonel Oliver North in the Iran-Contra affair. His combative commentaries impressed the station management. Though he was not a student, Hannity was soon given an hour-long morning call-in show, which he titled The Pursuit of Happiness, a reference to Reagan’s 1986 Independence Day speech.

How I Got That Name Marilyn Chin an essay on assimilation I am Marilyn Mei Ling Chin Oh, how I love the resoluteness of that first person singular followed by that stalwart indicative of “be," without the uncertain i-n-g of “becoming.” Of course, the name had been changed somewhere between Angel Island and the sea, when my father the paperson in the late 1950s obsessed with a bombshell blond transliterated “Mei Ling” to “Marilyn.” And nobody dared question his initial impulse—for we all know lust drove men to greatness, not goodness, not decency. And there I was, a wayward pink baby, named after some tragic white woman swollen with gin and Nembutal. My mother couldn’t pronounce the “r.” She dubbed me “Numba one female offshoot” for brevity: henceforth, she will live and die in sublime ignorance, flanked by loving children and the “kitchen deity.” While my father dithers, a tomcat in Hong Kong trash— a gambler, a petty thug, who bought a chain of chopsuey joints in Piss River, Oregon, with bootlegged Gucci cash. Nobody dared question his integrity given his nice, devout daughters and his bright, industrious sons as if filial piety were the standard by which all earthly men are measured. * Oh, how trustworthy our daughters, how thrifty our sons! How we’ve managed to fool the experts in education, statistic and demography— We’re not very creative but not adverse to rote-learning. Indeed, they can use us. But the “Model Minority” is a tease. We know you are watching now, so we refuse to give you any! Oh, bamboo shoots, bamboo shoots! The further west we go, we’ll hit east; the deeper down we dig, we’ll find China. History has turned its stomach on a black polluted beach— where life doesn’t hinge on that red, red wheelbarrow, but whether or not our new lover in the final episode of “Santa Barbara” will lean over a scented candle and call us a “bitch.” Oh God, where have we gone wrong? We have no inner resources! * Then, one redolent spring morning the Great Patriarch Chin peered down from his kiosk in heaven and saw that his descendants were ugly. One had a squarish head and a nose without a bridge Another’s profile—long and knobbed as a gourd. A third, the sad, brutish one may never, never marry. And I, his least favorite— “not quite boiled, not quite cooked," a plump pomfret simmering in my juices— too listless to fight for my people’s destiny. “To kill without resistance is not slaughter” says the proverb. So, I wait for imminent death. The fact that this death is also metaphorical is testament to my lethargy. * So here lies Marilyn Mei Ling Chin, married once, twice to so-and-so, a Lee and a Wong, granddaughter of Jack “the patriarch” and the brooding Suilin Fong, daughter of the virtuous Yuet Kuen Wong and G.G. Chin the infamous, sister of a dozen, cousin of a million, survived by everbody and forgotten by all. She was neither black nor white, neither cherished nor vanquished, just another squatter in her own bamboo grove minding her poetry— when one day heaven was unmerciful, and a chasm opened where she stood. Like the jowls of a mighty white whale, or the jaws of a metaphysical Godzilla, it swallowed her whole. She did not flinch nor writhe, nor fret about the afterlife, but stayed! Solid as wood, happily a little gnawed, tattered, mesmerized by all that was lavished upon her and all that was taken away!

Dr. Sperry, after detailed studies of split-brain patients, finally concluded that there could be two distinct minds operating in a single brain. He wrote that each hemisphere is “indeed a conscious system in its own right, perceiving, thinking, remembering, reasoning, willing, and emoting, all at a characteristically human level, and … both the left and right hemisphere may be conscious simultaneously in different, even in mutually conflicting, mental experiences that run along in parallel.” When I interviewed Dr. Michael Gazzaniga of the University of California, Santa Barbara, an authority on split-brain patients, I asked him how experiments can be done to test this theory. There are a variety of ways to communicate separately to each hemisphere without the knowledge of the other hemisphere. One can, for example, have the subject wear special glasses on which questions can be shown to each eye separately, so that directing questions to each hemisphere is easy. The hard part is trying to get an answer from each hemisphere. Since the right brain cannot speak (the speech centers are located only in the left brain), it is difficult to get answers from the right brain. Dr. Gazzaniga told me that to find out what the right brain was thinking, he created an experiment in which the (mute) right brain could “talk” by using Scrabble letters. He began by asking the patient’s left brain what he would do after graduation. The patient replied that he wanted to become a draftsman. But things got interesting when the (mute) right brain was asked the same question. The right brain spelled out the words: “automobile racer.” Unknown to the dominant left brain, the right brain secretly had a completely different agenda for the future. The right brain literally had a mind of its own. Rita Carter writes, “The possible implications of this are mind-boggling. It suggests that we might all be carrying around in our skulls a mute prisoner with a personality, ambition, and self-awareness quite different from the day-to-day entity we believe ourselves to be.” Perhaps there is truth to the oft-heard statement that “inside him, there is someone yearning to be free.” This means that the two hemispheres may even have different beliefs. For example, the neurologist V. S. Ramanchandran describes one split-brain patient who, when asked if he was a believer or not, said he was an atheist, but his right brain declared he was a believer. Apparently, it is possible to have two opposing religious beliefs residing in the same brain. Ramachandran continues: “If that person dies, what happens? Does one hemisphere go to heaven and the other go to hell? I don’t know the answer to that.

There’s a saying here in Russia,” she said. “—we don’t know anyone from the United States, but we know everyone from Santa Barbara.

He suspected in another decade or so the railroad might have laid track right into Santa Barbara. Everything would be connected soon, Wyn imagined with some sadness. Something would be lost when a man no longer had to ride his horse hundreds of miles across dangerous country to get to the next state, or territory. Already things were changing. Soon, men like Wyn would have to search for places still wild, where a man could holler in the morning and have no neighbors close enough to hear the echo.

A 24,000-year sequence recorded in a marine core from the Santa Barbara Basin, off the coast of California, exhibits the highest peak in biomass burning precisely at the onset of the Younger Dryas. ... This anomalously high peak correlates with intense biomass burning documented from the nearby Channel Islands. ... The peak also coincides with the extinction of pygmy mammoths on the islands and with the beginning of an apparent 600-800-year gap in the archaeological record, suggesting a sudden collapse in island human populations.

Ah, our facilitator,” Charlotte said. “Everyone, this is Helen.” I knew her. Helen Harland was my long-lost friend from seminary. One of the five other UUs in my class, she’d been my confidante there, my study partner, my ally. I hadn’t seen her in sixteen years. Unlike me, she’d finished her degree and been ordained. She’d then taken a job at a small church with an ingrown, hidebound congregation—no seasoned minister would have touched it! The two years she spent there were so difficult that when she left, she left ministry. For a while, she worked at a retreat center near Santa Barbara, and she planned to go to grad school again, this time to become a therapist. She called me the night before she left for a month-long silent meditation retreat. That was sixteen years ago and the last I ever heard from her.

I want to love you until the day I die. And even then, I want to go on loving you. I want to share my life with you. I want to be a part of your life for as long as you will let me.

Being poor does not make people homeless, but being very poor where housing is unaffordable does. By expanding the amount of affordable housing in our community we address a central root cause of homelessness. Only when our community has the amount of affordable housing we need will we come close to ending homelessness.

Santa Barbara,

And he wasn’t happy about that at all. Not that he would say so outright. Nothing was ever as simple as that. Nothing could ever be said in a few precise words if it could be said in many vague ones.

I never thought I would see the day we do more than what we always do. I never thought I would stand here, even as a joke, with you by my side. Whatever feelings might be coiling in my stomach, should stay exactly where they are because I will forever be happy to be your friend. You mean to me more than you could ever know.

You’re beautiful under the morning sunshine, I wanted to say. I couldn’t get the words over my lips. Physically, I could not speak. Emotionally, I had no clue where the line was. Telling him how beautiful he was — and not just in passing,

When true love happens, it doesn’t matter how old you are.

I closed my eyes a moment before I heard Stefan turn his head to face me. He had no way of knowing that I had just spent a solid five minutes taking in his beauty. And I still needed more. A lifetime wouldn’t suffice. No matter how many times we were reborn and spent our lives together, I would always die needing a moment longer.

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Some 310,000 Indians lived within the boundaries of the present state in 1769. Approximately 60,000 lived in the coastal region between San Diego and San Francisco where Serra hoped to establish a series of missions.84 The Luiseño and then the Acjachemen resided to the immediate north of the Kumeyaay. The Gabrielino occupied the coastal plain of Los Angeles, the Chumash inhabited an expanse from Malibu to San Luis Obispo, the Yokuts lived in the Central Valley, and the Salinan and Ohlone settled the central coast between Santa Barbara and the Golden Gate. The Pomo, Coast Miwok, Wappo, Patwin, and Eastern Miwok lived in the regions immediately north and east of the San Francisco Bay Area.85 Although Alta California successfully supported a large human population, it was hardly disease-free. Even before the Spaniards arrived, a wide variety of infections were common, all of which led to high mortality

The week of the Reagan funeral, makeshift shrines of flowers and such sprung up at Eureka College and in Dixon, Illinois, at the presidential library in Simi Valley, at the Reagan Ranch Center in Santa Barbara, at the Reagan home in Bel Air, and in towns and villages across the nation. Memorials appeared, too, in Prague and Budapest and in cities and villages across the former “Captive Nations” of the Baltics, as well as in the former Warsaw Pact countries. Few, if any, were visible on the campus of Harvard or in the tony Georgetown section of Washington, nor in the Upper West Side of Manhattan or in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

February 15: Marilyn accompanies Kazan and Miller to Santa Barbara for a preview of A Streetcar Named Desire, directed by Kazan. Marilyn moves out of Natasha Lytess’s apartment and into another apartment with Shelley Winters.

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the AuThoRS Neal Lathia is a research associate in the Computer laboratory at the university of Cambridge. His research falls at the intersection of data mining, mobile systems, and personalization/recommender systems. lathia has a phD in computer science from the university College london. Contact him at neal.lathia@ cl.cam.ac.uk. Veljko Pejovic is a postdoctoral research fellow at the school of Computer science at the university of birmingham, uK. His research focuses on adaptive wireless technologies and their impact on society. pejovic received a phD in computer science from the university of California, santa barbara. Contact him at v.pejovic@cs.bham.ac.uk. Kiran K. Rachuri is a phD student in the Computer laboratory at the university of Cambridge. His research interests include smartphone sensing systems, energy efficient sensing, and sensor networks. rachuri received an ms in computer science from the Indian Institute of technology madras. Contact him at kiran.rachuri@cl.cam.ac.uk. Cecilia Mascolo is a reader in mobile systems in the Computer laboratory at the university of Cambridge. Her interests are in the area of mobility modeling, sensing, and social network analysis. mascolo has a phD in computer science from the university of bologna. Contact her at cecilia.mascolo@cl.cam.ac.uk. Mirco Musolesi is a senior lecturer in the school of Computer science at the university of birmingham, uK. His research interests include mobile sensing, large-scale data mining, and network science. musolesi has a phD in computer science from the university College london. Contact him at m.musolesi@ cs.bham.ac.uk. Peter J. Rentfrow is a senior lecturer in the psychology Department at the university of Cambridge. His research focuses on behavioral manifestations of personality and psychological processes. rentfrow earned a phD in psychology from the university of texas at Austin. Contact him at pjr39@cam.ac.uk.selected Cs articles and columns are also available for free at http

TRAITS THAT DEFINE GREAT WORK Creativity: Ira Glass, for example, is pushing the boundaries of radio, and winning armfuls of awards in the process. Impact: From the Apple II to the iPhone, Steve Jobs has changed the way we live our lives in the digital age. Control: No one tells Al Merrick when to wake up or what to wear. He’s not expected in an office from nine to five. Instead, his Channel Island Surfboards factory is located a block from the Santa Barbara beach, where Merrick still regularly spends time surfing.