Monday, August 29, 2005

Nor Do the Wind, the Sun or the Rain

The hot weather gave way to a more hospitable climate. Today I drove around Santa Barbara like a happy, productive, errand-running member of society. And that’s a welcome change from hiding in my room, stuck in front of a computer monitor and feeling my pants collect with what I’d rather assume is ball sweat.

But wow — when the weather is perfect, this area seems too nice to be real. I’ve used the expression before, but I feel like Santa Barbara is the high school-slasher movie-town before the slashing begins. Back in the day — before movies and moviegoers alike became too self-aware — every slasher movie was set in a perfect little town, I’m guessing in an effort to make the ensuing violence seem all the more horrible. Haddonfield. Springwood. Crystal Lake. Even later-day settings like Woodsboro had that feeling to them, though I’d suppose anything made at the moment would try to go for something edgier, more urban. But that idea — that unspoiled corner of America where everything is too perfect and the streets are cleared of litter and people look happy just to be outside. It’s hyperbole, but it’s a staple of the genre that the soon-to-be terrorized town exists in a state of nearly tongue-in-cheek, puts-John Hughes-to-shame perfection.

Yesterday evening was especially nice. I decided to drive around until I saw something worth taking pictures of and somehow ended up at Santa Barbara High School.

It’s perfect, in my honest opinion.

Based on the way it looks, I’d say it’s the perfect median of beautiful and approachable — a nice building that’s not so fancy that it would intimidate. So I wandered around a while and took a few pictures. Nothing too spectacular, but I at least tried to capture what about this place drew my eye.

Eventually, I left, even though I’d imagine there are still nice areas on the campus. The thought of wandering around a high school just started to seem too weird. I don’t even go on my own campus anymore. This place never belonged to me, so I felt like too much of a stranger. Or maybe it’s just that the place felt too perfect, too ideal, and I didn’t want to be wander off alone.

Because you never know, you know?

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