Santa Barbara, North Carolina

I have mentioned in a couple of posts about the wonderful three days I spent recently in Santa Barbara, California. At church on Sunday morning while there I noticed a number of men wearing traditional Hawaiian-style shirts: loose, square tails worn out, open collars, and beautiful designs and patterns. I wasn't surprised—I've always loved some of these shirts I've seen over the years, especially black ones with huge, white and pink and red hibiscus-family flowers on them.

So Sunday afternoon, my friend Priscilla and I walked up and down the eclectic and charming State Street, Santa Barbara's "Main Street," looking at Hawaiian shirts. We stopped in The Territory Ahead's outlet store and retail store, as well as several smaller shops that had new and vintage shirts. We saw a number of interesting shirts—especially the "real" ones made out of rayon that drapes so nicely—but nothing really stood out. Besides, I was having a hard time convincing myself that I, back in Charlotte (okay, Stallings—even worse), North Carolina, needed a Hawaiian shirt. So I came home without one. No harm, no foul. Life moved on.

A couple of days after being back I came across a video interview with John Lasseter, the Oscar-winning head of Pixar Studios (Toy Story, Cars, etc.). Turns out he's a Hawaiian shirt freak, wearing a different one to work each day, matching the design on the shirt with what he would be working on that day at Pixar (e.g., a shirt with vintage cars on it when working on Cars). The video interview showed him in his house-sized closet at his home where he had 370 different Hawaiian shirts neatly hanging, organized by themes (with another 630 shirts in storage for lack of space in the closet—1,000 Hawaiian shirts total).

I was so turned off with this conspicuous consumption (okay, maybe that would be me if I had a zillion dollars like Lasseter) that I sent the video link to Priscilla with sort of a "see where this Hawaiian shirt thing could lead?" kind of attitude. Nonetheless, she did her research thing and sent me some links to online sources for Hawaiian shirts. "Nope," I wrote back. "I'm not buying a shirt. It's the last thing I need." Case close. Life moved on.

So today I ran an errand to Costco and was cutting through the men's clothing section on the way to get white vinegar when a table of beautiful Hawaiian shirts grabbed me by the tail of my T-shirt and pulled me over. Hawaiian shirts at a Costco in Charlotte? Was I wrong about these shirts being out of place in Charlotte? Apparently so! I caved.

$15 later (a bargain compared to Santa Barbara prices!) I was the colorful owner of my first (and hopefully last) Hawaiian shirt. Having gotten that out of my system, life can finally move on. (I am available for pool parties and vegan luaus within a 50-mile radius of Charlotte. Heck, make it 100.)

Epilogue: While standing in the check-out line at Costco with my shirt sitting protected in the cart's baby seat, there was a friendly looking guy standing behind me, a bit younger than me. I pointed at the shirt: "Think I can get away with wearing that in Charlotte?"

He studied the shirt and smiled: "Sure."

I told him I'd seen lots of guys wearing them in church in California a couple weeks earlier and finally decided to get one. "I guess if God doesn't mind seeing them in church, I shouldn't mind wearing one," I said.

"He doesn't care what we wear," the guy said, "as long as we're there."

Charlotte is one of the (few?) large cities in America where you don't hesitate to mention church to a stranger in the check-out line at Costco. I wasn't too sure about the shirt, but apparently God and Hawaiian shirts have bonded in my hometown. And I'm down.

Pass the pineapple, ya'll.

Rohan Designs: Taking Care of Customers

Quick props to Rohan Designs (LOTR fans have to love the name), a British maker of outdoor clothing that Aragorn and J.R.R. himself would have been proud to wear. They took care of a customer service request for me, at their expense, which they weren't obligated to do. The request was handled without objection—quickly and courteously.

Thanks to Emily, their stateside service rep, who solved the problem for me and who linked me up with her British counterpart to complete the transaction. Even though they could have said "No," they did their best for a customer. Why aren't all companies this eager to serve and win a loyal customer base? I'm happy to point out folks who go above and beyond in the line of duty.

Check out Rohan—they're even having a huge sale right now.

The Thrill of Victory, The Agony of Victory

Today's stage in the Tour de France was among the greatest in the history of the race, or so said the commentators. If you're not a Tour follower, the details will take too long to explain. But these pictures, as usual, are worth thousands of words:

The rarified heights of today's stage climb—the highest in the history of the Tour. There were places where the road literally clung to the side of a sheer mountainside:

This young man, Luxembourg's Andy Schleck, broke away from the pack and crossed the finish line alone, moving up to second place in the overall standings:

His father, Johnny Schleck, a former Tour rider himself, had to help Andy walk after he got off the bike:

The price these guys pay is unimaginable to us who haven't done it -- up to six hours a day on the bike for 21 days (w/ two rest days) riding and climbing from one end of France to the other:

But the rewards are sweet. Not only did Andy win today's stage (first pic), he also won the Most Aggressive Rider award for his solo breakaway (second pic):

This man, France's Thomas Voeckler, has been leading the Tour for the last 9 days, and he held on to the leader's (Yellow) jersey today by a mere 15 seconds after nearly three weeks of racing. He was cooked when he finished:

Voeckler couldn't even get off his bike at the end. He stayed in this position for a full minute, trying to get oxygen at 8,000 feet, while his team manager kept the press away—who stood respectfully quiet while Voeckler tried to recover:

But recover he did, to receive his tenth Yellow Jersey as leader of the Tour:

It was appropriate, after such a historic stage, that Belgium's Eddy Merckx (background, in blue shirt) was on the podium to congratulate Schleck and Voeckler. Merckx is considered the greatest professional bike rider in history, and was known as "The Cannibal" in his racing days for the way he chewed up opponents on the road:

ABC Sports' Jim McKay was well known for opening the Olympic games on ABC for decades by describing the "thrill of victory and the agony of defeat." Today's Tour stage showcased not only the thrill of victory, but the agony of victory as well.

Vive Le Tour!

Want to See Why Nobody Pays Attention to MSNBC?

Ha ha ha! Let's hear it for smart people who politely reveal the arrogance of some talking heads. Mo Brooks is the Republican Congressman from the fifth district of ALABAMA. (Alabama mamas taught their boys to say, "Yes, ma'am." Respect the skirt if not who's wearing it.)

(Thanks to Daniel for the link.)

Santa Barbara Beauty

A few more pics from my recent visit to Santa Barbara.

Part of the beach (at high tide) at the base of a high plateau on the north side of Santa Barbara called The Mesa. My friend, Priscilla, grew up on The Mesa and used to play on this beach as a child. I took this pic standing on a LONG set of stairs leading from the top of The Mesa to the beach -- affectionately called "the thousand steps":

A section of the thousand steps:

Near the bottom of the thousand steps:

Reportedly the largest fig tree in America. Notice the size of the roots compared to Priscilla sitting among them. (Disclaimer: we didn't see the "stay off the tree" sign until after taking the pic of Priscilla sitting on the roots.)

Thoughts for the Day 12.0

From Small Is the New Big by Seth Godin:

If your target audience isn't listening, it's not their fault, it's yours.

From Bruce Wilkinson's The 7 Laws of the Learner:

It's the teacher's responsibility to cause the students to learn.

Santa Barbara Courthouse

Recently in Santa Barbara, I was given a weekend tour of the area by a native who knows every nook and cranny—including the historic Santa Barbara County courthouse. For whatever reason, I have always pictured Santa Barbara as being farther north on the coast, but it sits just above Ventura County which is just above L.A. County—i.e., in the southern third of the state. This southern proximity accounts for the heavy Spanish Colonial influences in the architecture and history of the region as Spanish explorers, accompanied by Catholic missionaries, merged with the native Indian populations.

All that to say—the Santa Barbara courthouse is stunning. First built in the 1870s, the current courthouse was completed in 1929 after a 1925 earthquake destroyed much of the city. It just goes to show what a vision for blending art, architecture, and service can accomplish. This structure -- indeed, the entire Spanish Colonial feel of all Santa Barbara -- makes other modern cities feel a bit sterile by comparison.

The ceiling of the main entryway into the courthouse:

An interior hallway:

This room is the most famous -- the mural room -- where official city, civic, and community functions are held, including service as a courtroom. The murals depict various events and stages in the settlement of Santa Barbara. The pictures hardly do it justice:

Another shot of part of the interior of the courthouse:

These pictures came to mind when I found a jury summons in the mail upon my return from Santa Barbara. While Union County, NC's, historic courthouse still stands -- and it represents the traditional image of historic Southern courthouses -- my jury duty will take place in the bland, shiny, new courthouse that has replaced it for most county government work. I wouldn't mind reporting to and serving in the old courthouse -- walking on old wooden floors, sitting in old wooden chairs, smelling the history of Union County while I help decide the fate of a stranger (unless my ordained religious status causes me to be excused). That would make the wheels of legal tedium turn faster, for sure. If I lived in Santa Barbara County, I might volunteer for jury duty just to spend a week reveling in the beauty of what is possible when people really try. (Thanks to Priscilla for the grand tour.)

What Happens to Your Luggage?

Ever wonder what happens to your carry-on bag when it goes under the x-ray hood at the airport?

On a cross-country flight recently, I had to check one large bag. Arriving at my destination and opening that bag in my hotel room, I found a printed note from our friends at the TSA (paraphrasing): "Your luggage was selected for a random security search. If your bag was locked, we cut or broke the lock to gain entrance to your luggage. Sorry 'bout that."

Being the trusting sort, my bag wasn't locked (nor was there anything in that couldn't have been easily replaced if stolen). But I had mixed -- okay, negative -- feelings about this intrusion. I suppose I was warned about it in some cryptic TSA reg which I hadn't read. And I don't have a good answer for the trade-off between privacy and security.

What did cross my mind was the entertainment fodder this exercise must represent for the bag searchers. Think about the variety of surprising things the searchers much encounter as they explore the lives of ordinary Americans vis-a-vis their luggage: "Whoa! What the heck?" I can think of one thing in my bag that likely caused that reaction. And I smile even today at the thought that some handler is still wondering what I was doing with that. (Just like you are.) :-)