I hung out in Santa Barbara for a week during the acquistion of Howard Rheingold’s Electric Minds. Lovely, scenic, and, underneath, a current of distrust. (This applies only to my own situation, not to the town). We got high on a rooftop. I started to whine. “Would you like some cheese with your whine?” We laughed and laughed. Then we climbed into a black BMW 720. I sat in the front. You know that winding coastline? he drove like a maniac. He was rich, but so what? I was gonna die. But I didn’t.