Posted by sbunseen on:
Just east of downtown, Laguna Street has been a popular place to park
one's motorhome. That is to say, the motorhome in which one lives.
Primarily. What Santa Barbaran jogger hasn't felt that shiver of fear —
of excitement? — passing one of these shuttered, banged-up, often
garbage-filled sleeping beasts? Periodic relocations to avoid Parking
Enforcement aside, the unchanging nature of these mainstay
recreational vehicles makes them all the more threatening, like a
Nevertheless, I have long entertained fantasies of life within small, sometimes mobile enclosures. I don't quite want to know what deep-seated psychological compulsion had me dreaming of setting up house in trucks, attics, and fallout shelters throughout childhood, but I still get the occasional impulse to this day. (This now manifests, with reasonable health, in my purchases of books like Mini House and The Very Small Home. UCSB's Container Project a few years back was, naturally, fetish material for me.) When I run by the motorhomes of Garden Street, I think that it actually must be pretty cool to be able to listen to albums, read in bed, or watch a movie ensconced in your compact habitat while you are also in a vehicle parked on the road.
But then I remember that most of these don't look equipped with showers.