Matt Mazza, Editor-in-Chief of the radical zine Santa Barbara Sentinel, has produced a trenchant essay on the class disparities in our city. Taking the form of a first-person narrative, the piece brilliantly parodies the tone-deafness of the wealthy and their ignorance of their own privilege, as well as touching on the problematic tendency of our media to serve as mouthpieces for local businesses.
Family trips and incessant summer barbecues and parties are the norm for our family in these wonderful warm months, and we always indulge and generally have a blast.
But come Labor Day, man, I’m straight burnt. Worn out. Beat down. Bushed. Bonked. Bagged. Zonked. Tuckered. Fried. Whipped. (I love my thesaurus.)
I’m typically looking forward to re-focusing on the office (gasp!) and putting some damned structure back into things. And the partying and vacationing and merrymaking is fun, very fun, but it’s also grueling. (Punishing. Debilitating. Told you I love my thesaurus.) And this year was no different.
In fact this year was particularly egregious.
Here’s the thing, though. Despite an absolutely crippling last couple of weeks that left me emotionally, mentally, and physically drained, I recently discovered a wonderful remedy that, when coupled with the aforementioned structure and focus, already has me reenergized and reinvigorated for the impending school year.
What’s the cure, you ask expectantly? What doctor is most likely to prescribe it?
Spoiler alert, folks: It’s not something you take, and there ain’t no doctor who an give it to you.
My cure is somewhere you go. Just for a night or two.
It’s simple, and it’s right here in our collective backyard.
Three(ish) words: Bacara Resort & Spa.
Read the rest at Santa Barbara Sentinel’s Issuu page (page 1, page 2, page 3, page 4, page 5).