A trip to the Golden Mountain

Anyone can testify: I’m addicted to my creature comforts. And yet, camping this weekend with my significant other and friends on California’s central coast was truly enjoyable, in spite of the fact that we forgot to bring: sleeping bags, flashlights, thermos, and water. I guess that’s the upside of civilization for air-heads like us – you can head out for 48 hours of off-the grid nature bliss and still pick up everything you forgot on your way there.

For those who’ve never been camping in California, here’s my recommendation: do it fast, before they pour cement all over and build exorbitant condos for stock market speculators who like a view on weekends. So maybe I’m exaggerating, but it feels like there are very few pristine places left throughout this country, and even though California has more than its fair share of it, the green zones are shrinking. Our 5-hour drive from San Francisco to the Montana de Oro State Park near St. Luis Obispo reinforced this impression with hundreds upon hundreds of miles of nondescript highways punctuated with identical-looking rest-stops and shopping malls. It is a hot, sad world of dust, discounted shopping and air conditioning. In brief, we’re paying for our oversized ice lattes with acres of trees.

But at the end of this sad ride along the temples of consumerism, lay one of the most spectacular views I’ve seen in this state: Spooner’s Cove in Montana de Oro (the Golden Mountain) in San Luis Obispo county. Our camp site was a half mile away from the beach, and was already heavily populated with campers of all ages and races, boasting all sorts of equipment, from the humble generic trailer to the Star Trek-looking shiny bullets of newer generations.

Courtesy of: Colin Chu

We had it all there: the hills surrounded the camping site, the beach was within walking distance, and biking/walking/horse riding trails galore. Thankfully, what we forgot in necessities we had more than made up for in luxuries: an inflatable mattress that filled the bottom third of our tent to cozy perfection, more food that we could even dream to eat, and plenty of folding chairs. The inflatable mattress proved to be a source of comfort as well as entertainment.  Our neighbors gleefully announced us in the morning that it had sounded like we were “molesting a balloon” at night.

We hiked through these splendid hills

And took in these unusual sights. My theory:
that tree is the center of the universe

I’ll end with just a few more words about the coast at Spooner’s Cove and surroundings:  a Portuguese explorer named Morro Bay’s landmark cliff “El Morro”and to this day there is some confusion whether he did it because that’s Spanish for crown-shaped hill or because it reminded him of the turban-clad head of a Moor. 

The Morro Rock is the last of the 'Nine Sisters', volcanic plugs that include nine peaks ranging from San Luis Obispo to Morro Bay. One of the more popular theories about their formation is that they erupted along old fault lines, leading to a hot spot deep within the earth, and they may have formed south of the region with their remnants moving along the San Andreas fault to their current positions.

Crawling up the coast along the San Andreas fault and folding on themselves would explain why parts of this spectacular, rocky beach look like the many upturned steps to a gigantic creamy temple sunk deep into the ground.

The steps were everywhere, ready for goats like us to climb them.

And sometimes they were covered in algae,
looking a little like giant mineral tigers.

Last, but not least: I have to give credit where credit is due and thank Janlee for feeding us elaborate, delicious feast-like meals worthy of royal banquets (carnitas, home-made granola, steaks with quinoa and mushrooms), Bob for being himself and lighting our fire, selecting incredible  folding furniture and keeping things together (two thumbs up to you, too, Bob), and to Colin for being the wonderful travel companion that he is, for taking a camera when nobody else did, for using it to take ah-mazing photos and promptly sharing them, and of course, to Ed, for being mine.

A Return to Tradition - Room for Debate - NYTimes.com

A Return to Tradition - Room for Debate - NYTimes.com

This is another reason why I really truly love the New York Times. Although their exceptionalism is sad per se and we could all use more publications that are as accessible and savvy, I do love the fact that, like none other, the Times is able to take the time and invest the resources to inspect a dusty corner of academia like philosophy and offer a platform for debate for some of the top-line thinkers who inhabit that narrow space.

I call it a "dusty corner" not as an insult, but as an observation of the fact that in the Western world, and in the US more than anywhere else, reflection and scolasticism for the sake of theoretical knowledge itself are shunned in favor of practicality and a hands-on problem-solving approach, which, while extremely productive, creates generations of people who are unable and unwilling to "sit and think."

Looks like traditional approaches to the discipline of philosophy (purely theoretical) will soon be entirely discarded in favor of a more pragmatic approach. In the end the empirical will prevail. Which, I guess, is better than discarding the whole discipline altogether.

Don’t call me “Consumer”

I have a confession to make: I HATE brands. There, I said it.

For someone who works in public relations, this may sound disingenuous, but hear me out. First, a little background: I started off as a public affairs practitioner in Washington D.C., so my work was really very far away from any brand names. I worked for trade and industry associations, embassies and foreign education institutions and I really enjoyed it. Then, I moved to San Francisco and, drum roll, the brands came tumbling my way. This is a long-winded way of saying, I didn’t really sign up for it from the very beginning, it sort of happened along the way.

Of course, all brands are not equal. Some, I have very warm feelings for, either because they remind me of happy, carefree times (Nutella, mmm…) or because I use them every day and they have demonstrated value (Zara, Puma, Trader Joe’s, etc). They also happen to be brands that advertise little, if at all. 

Courtesy of www.businesspundit.com

Most brands I’m indifferent to, as long as they leave me alone and don’t badger me with advertising. The list here is so long, I won’t even attempt to commit it to the pixels. And then there are the brands that I deeply, passionately despise. The brands that assault me with their annoying and mostly uninspired commercials and promotions at every turn, analog or digital. The great mass of unwashed brands that forced me to pull the plug on cable television, just so I could avoid exposing my few remaining brain cells to their incessant attacks.

Forced to watch my favorite shows online with a day of delay (first YouTube and now Hulu), I took comfort in the lack of commercials. That was in the beginning. Now, for every quarter of The Daily Show, I am forced to watch the same (THE SAME!) idiotic commercial, sometimes twice in a row.

Courtesy of: www.businesspundit.com

 I also take issue with being called “a consumer.” Being the kind of person who removes visible tags from sweaters, I get very uncomfortable when I know that certain brands define me not by my social attributes (yuppie, San Franciscan, immigrant), or even my animal attributes (bipedal, mammalian) – which I’d be fine with – honest! – but by my ability to purchase their merchandise. This “c” word that I hear so often in brainstorms at work is really hitting a nerve, possibly because I feel that too many salespeople, brands and marketers are trying to part me from my hard-earned money, in return for stuff that I will only use once, if ever, derive no satisfaction from, and then pay more money to organize it, store it or get rid of it.

Like on a psychotherapists’ couch, we’re slowly peeling the onion of my frustrations here.  Last layer: the thing I treasure most these days is not, as I may have led you to think, my money or my self-esteem, but, really, my time. I can deal with the guilt of an unnecessary purchase. I cannot deal with the guilt of spending hours shopping instead of Skype-ing with my mother. I can deal with a cramped closet. I can’t deal with not having enough vacation to fly back home. The little free time I have is mostly spent with loved ones or in the pursuit of self-betterment. So I don’t appreciate it when marketers call me, email me or barrage me with ads. Especially if they’re peddling a product I don’t care about. Hear me, Newcastle Brown Ale? 

We humans can mind-meld too - life - 26 July 2010 - New Scientist

Three cheers to scientific research backing the concept that humans can actually communicate without language or, rather beyond language. I've experienced this many times with the people that are closest to me, like my mother. I'm looking forward to when they prove beyond doubt that thoughts can "modify" matter.

Here's the New Scientist piece: We humans can mind-meld too - life - 26 July 2010 - New Scientist