State Street Scribe by Jeff Wing I moved to Santa Barbara in 1986 with a band. There, I said it. That was long ago and far away. In the interim […]
How to Make a Dutch Millionaire Weep
Plato’s Gymnasium
State Street Scribe by Jeff Wing [The management would like to introduce this week’s essay with a clarifying aside. The theme of the piece is “Jeff’s return to the gym […]
Caught by the Bus
State Street Scribe by Jeff Wing Some years ago our white Honda station wagon died. Well, not exactly. A mere 72 hours of curbside quiescence and she was expensively tagged […]
Hair Today
State Street Scribe by Jeff Wing Yeah, baby. You’ve probably seen me promenading about this American Riviera in my ill-advisedly tight black tee-shirt and ancient Chuck Taylors, strutting down State […]
My Name is Jeff, and I Use Unconscionably Oblique Verbiage
State Street Scribe by Jeff Wing “Writer’s Conference”. This horror-term is enough to break the spirit. Whisper these two little words to the most intransigent prisoner in the joint and […]
Califorbearance and You
State Street Scribe by Jeff Wing So I finally checked my privilege. What do you think happened? That’s right; they threw it onto the wrong plane and it ended up […]
Caroline, Yeah: A Concert Journal
State Street Scribe by Jeff Wing 6:30p – Brian Wilson, our own acid-washed Beethoven and an older man now, is touring his misbegotten Pet Sounds album for the last time. […]
There’s A Bright Golden Haze on the Meadow
State Street Scribe by Jeff Wing So I get a message from my pal Eddie. Our high school reunion is coming up in October. Did I get the e-mail announcement? […]
Where Were You in ‘82? An Oral History of Santa Barbara Clubland’s Age of Enlightenment
State Street Scribe by Jeff Wing Santa Barbara. The American Riviera. Selfie-by-the-Sea. Our natty little village goes by many names and has, over time, worn many guises, from Spanish colonial […]
War and Peace and Juliane
State Street Scribe by Jeff Wing When Juliane Heyman and her parents and brother walked up into the Pyrenees Mountains one night, the object was not a moonlit picnic in […]