Donna and I visited Santa Barbara for a few days before Jack and Erin’s wedding to explore the coast town before relocating to the more remote resort where the wedding festivities would occur. Santa Barbara, which bills itself as “the American Riviera,” is not Columbia, Maryland. It is comprised exclusively of beautiful, tanned residents. The weather is required by law to be sunny, dry and warm (but not too warm) every day. The majestic Santa Ynez Mountains to the north and the Pacific Ocean to the south sandwich white mansions with stucco roofs nestled on irrigated, emerald-green lawns adorned with swaying palm trees. There are walking paths, biking paths, parks, and wine tasting rooms on every corner with fine restaurants in between. Unlike its neighbors, L.A. to the south and San Francisco to the north, the traffic is not bad. And everybody owns a Bentley, a Mercedes S class, a Range Rover, a Maserati, or a Ferrari. Most people own one of each. Nobody works. The thing ...