Loveless Words, Inflated Egos

People, including me, have written a lot of words trying to explain why other people's ideas about politics, religion or even sports need adjusting.

Conservative pundits are forever detailing why liberal politics is destroying our country and corrupting our morals; liberal pundits are never at a loss for words to explain how conservative policies create so much death, destruction and tyranny.

I doubt there has ever been a period in history when more words were spent giving opinions about why other people's opinions are faulty.

I've come to believe commentary of this type is mostly an exercise in ego inflation. Pundits strut and bellow with self-importance and those in their audience who agree with them feel momentary satisfaction having their own points of view mirrored back. Folks with opposing viewpoints also get an ego boost because others are taking their positions so seriously.

All this opinion jousting ends up being fruitless. Minds are seldom if ever changed in a meaningful way. Hawks don't become doves, environmetalists don't start calling global warming a myth perpetuated by liberal media. To my knowledge Rush Limbaugh has never convinced a Bill Clinton voter to become a George W. Bush supporter.

Transformation is not something that can be instigated through logic, clever debate or heated argument. Transformation is not a mind thing, it's a heart thing. And the catalyst is always love. Spouting opinions not fueled with love doesn't transform much of anything.

Driveways and Gateways to the Dunes (Blog Version)

(Author's note: I've decided to provide two versions of a posting. Immediately below is my streamlined, internet savvy "Blog Version" of "Driveways and Gateways to the Dunes." Further below is my longer old school newspaper style version.)


Oceano and Guadalupe are squabbling over who has more right to use the marketing slogan "Gateway to the Dunes."

Anyone who visits Oceano's Pier Avenue on a holiday weekend and witnesses the blocks-long parade of RV's, travel trailers, and hopped-up pick-ups and SUV's crawling past the ranger kiosk on the way to play in the great piles of sand to the south may agree that Oceano should consider a fresher, perhaps more accurate slogan:

"Oceano, Driveway to the Dunes".

There's Magic in Those Dunes

The towns of Oceano and Guadalupe have gotten into a tiff this week when it became widely known that Guadalupe decided recently to adopt the exact same city slogan that Oceano has employed for more than a decade: "Gateway to the Dunes."

It seems more people are discovering what a treasure the dunes of the Central Coast are. Our dunes are much more awesome and varied than a lot of people realize. Most people, it seems, think of the dunes as just giant, barren piles of sand primarily used as a big sandbox for playing with dune buggies and all-terrain-vehicles.

But the off-road vehicle portion of the dunes --where vegetation and animal life has been pretty much wiped out under the assault of spinning wheels--is no longer the most magical part of the dunes. Outside of the off road vehicle area there remains lush areas of vegetation, where you can find trees, wild flowers, animals, even areas of fresh water if you know where to look. There is definitely much to explore and enjoy out there.

Have you heard of the Dunites? That was the name locals gave to people who lived in the dunes in the early to mid -20th century. Artists, poets, philosophers and hermits were drawn to the area and for a while turned it into a bohemian community of sorts, a sandy, rent-free utopia where they lived in shacks and cabins and tents. Some even published their own nationally distributed magazine, The Dune Forum.

The story of the Dunites is one of the most fascinating, mostly neglected aspects of California history. It was nearly buried in the sands of time until Oceano resident Norm Hammond wrote his classic local history book The Dunites. You can find copies on Amazon.com. I highly recommend this fascinating and charming book--it's great. After you read it, you will never think of our dunes the same way--I guarantee it.

And you'll gain a better understanding of why people are now arguing about what town gets to call itself "The Gateway to the Dunes."

David Ciaffardini

Nobody "Reads" Blogs

I'll keep this short. Why? I may be wrong, but I think most viewers might scan but don't fully read postings if they are more than 200 words long.

There's so much to see on the internet that reading seems to take forever. Who has the time?

Some of us are having fun writing our great essays, but, quality not withstanding, I think very few people are reading them all the way through. And that goes for my work as well.

How many of the postings on this site have you read from beginning to end? Get my point?

Writing for a blog is not the same as writing for a newspaper or magazine. Writing 500- or even 300-word essays, I'm sorry to say, is hopelessly old school.

I'm guessing most of the folks posting on Central Coast News Mission are middle age or better. (Their postings sure make them look that way.) They grew up with newspapers and magazines and are writing in that style. But blogging is a significantly different medium and it's time for more of us to get hip to it.

Am I wrong? What do you think? I welcome your feedback--short or long.

All Over The Map

I'm all over the map. This blogging thing has really got me going. First I write about what a great place I'm living in, then before long I'm complaining about ugly architecture along the freeway. I write about not wanting to use this blog to complain and whine, soon I'm railing against "Conservative Bob." Then I write about Bill Benica, a friend with whom I find it "good sport" to find fault with.

Blogging for me is an experiment. And so far results indicate I feel more at peace keeping my words upbeat, seeing the cup half-full instead of half-empty. But it takes discipline to maintain that positive approach. Negativity strokes the ego. Negativity feeds the adrenaline addiction. Negativity is contagious.

Being negative is a way to gain attention. I'm more likely to get impassioned reader feedback if I go off on somebody or some thing. As they say, people love to watch a fight. And that creates the illusion that I am important, that I am doing something worthwhile. Seeing Dave Congalton absolutely blow a fuse and go on a cursing tear because of something I wrote (See comments for my posting "Unmask Irresponsible Commentator") gave me a moment of joy, it's sad to say. (Actually, more than a few moments.) But then I think, isn't that kind of sadistic?

I say I want peace in the world, but can I find peace in myself? Should I be using this blog to change the world, or change myself?

It strikes me that being at peace is as contagious as being negative; that transforming myself may not draw attention or ego strokes or adrenaline rushes, but it will be the most efficient way to transform my world; that being master of the blogging world, or master of the entire world is not nearly as crucial or ultimately satisfying as being master of myself.

It's lazy to spend my days looking out at my world, casting judgments, seeing problems, making mental notes of the things that aren't exactly the way I would like, thinking I'm actually doing something worthwhile by telling others how things ought to be.

Turning that gaze back at myself is a greater challenge.

Legoland Infects Central Coast

Driving north on Highway 101 through Santa Maria to San Luis Obispo, I look at the interlocking succession of pre-fabricated and formula buildings along the highway and I am struck by a one-word epiphany: Legoland.

On our precious Central Coast, on display for miles and miles, we have a perfect example of uniformly unimaginative, hollow-soul, box-with-a-smiley-face-facade commercial architecture infecting communities throughout California.

Whatever happened to architects who dreamed of expressing their unique and personal imprint on our land, designing buildings that are beautiful, functional and inspiring to look at and work within? Are there so few business owners who want their buildings to speak for the singular character and superior quality of their businesses?

Instead, we are living in a grownups' Legoland that we've been inoculated for since childhood. But instead of the traditional Legoland red and white as the dominant color schemes, adult Legoland allows us the exciting adult's only option of substituting various shades of beige and brown.

At one time sandboxes were common in the United States and children were encouraged to practice rudimentary building skills free-form fashion among the billions and billions of forever-malleable granules of sand. In the sandbox there are no pre-fabricated parts that by their nature limit the need for imagination, creativity, and personal style.

By the 1960s the now ubiquitous, tiny , interlocking building blocks called Lego took over as children's building material of choice. The switch-over to pre-fab was eagerly supported by parents who preferred the neatness and predictability of the plastic blocks compared to the sand-in-the-eyes, sand-in-the-hair, sand-tracked-across-the-carpet uncontrollability of the sandbox.

So now we live with the Lego legacy: Instead of architects and builders extrapolating on their personal, idiosyncratic, anything-goes, castle-building dreams of their youth, far too many are content to simply requisition generic building parts and choose which of the handful of formulaic ways they should be snapped together to achieve a boxy building most remarkable for being unremarkable.

Cheap and Precious Talk Radio Lives on Central Coast

Have you ever had a friend who you frequently argue with, insult on occasion, fill his ears with whines and complaints day in and day out, and still, for some crazy but blessed reason, he still continues to treat you like a friend whether you deserve it or not?

I know someone who has made it his job to be that way. His name is Bill Benica and you can catch him hosting a radio talk show from 11 a.m. to noon weekdays on KXTY, 99.7 FM.

Bill calls his program "Talk is Cheap," broadcasting from a studio here on the Central Coast. Honest, homespun, all-local, commercial talk radio programs are an endangered species, but Bill shows us why we should treasure them.

Anyone can phone in to Bill's show and yap about anything short of something that might trigger a Federal Communications Commission indecency fine.

A sure sign of bravery in the line of fire, Bill--a Vietnam combat veteran--doesn't screen calls. You simply phone in and give your first name and location to whoever happens to be answering the phone that day. When it's your turn to speak on the show, it's really your turn. You can open your mouth and let it rip. (Yes, in many cases that is like handing automatic rifles to pre-schoolers. Fortunately it is usually more amusing than dangerous.)

What impresses me about Bill is that if you adamantly disagree with him about something--and because of a perverse personality flaw I find it great sport to continually find reason to do so--he lets you make your point in full. Unlike more-famous radio talk show hosts, Bill doesn't cut you off at critical points or use shrewd debate tactics and dishonesty to pull the rug out while snidely suggesting to listeners you are a pitiable fool let on the air because of the host's charitable desire to reeducate you to his more elevated way of thinking. Bill, thankfully, lets us make fools of ourselves single-handedly.

Equally as impressive, Bill routinely allows his callers--even the most argumentative--the final word. I know this firsthand because I've often been that troublesome caller, unloading a heaping ration of shinola over the phone lines and into his lap. And, bless him, Bill simply stands up, brushes it off and, with a chuckle, offers me the opportunity to elaborate.

Not that Bill won't defend his positions--he can be as stubborn and wrongheaded as the best of us--but he always does so with sportsmanship. Win or lose, Bill is gracious even when his caller is being a loud-mouthed, caustic, inflammatory, insulting bore. (Would you believe there are more than a few of us out there? )

Bill subtitles his show "The Friends and Neighbors Network" and that's an honest description of what you hear. The talk from Bill and his friends and neighbors is dished out as cheap as it gets, but the style remains precious.

U.S. Troops Are Government's Abused Children

Our United States military men and women waging war in Iraq are our government's abused children. They deserve our support and compassion. And their abusers deserve our reprimand.

Like horrible parents who continually abuse their offspring mentally and physically, the Bush administration lies to our troops and puts them in dreadful, unnecessary situations where those not being killed are being wounded or emotionally and mentally scarred. That so many of them will return home and sooner or later understand that they unwittingly played a hand in the unnecessary slaughter of thousands of innocent civilian men, women and children will be a mental burden that is incalculable but inevitable.

Like abused children who remain loyal to their parents, dutifully following even the most terrible and nonsensical orders, many United States military troops today remain blindly loyal to the Bush administration, not realizing the abuse they are forced to suffer under is neither natural or necessary, but the result of the abhorrent behavior and callous, bullying attitudes of their highest-ranking government officials. If these abused men and women question authority or make attempts to avoid or escape the abuse, they are threatened with severe punishment and shame.

Simply sending our troops "care packages" of cakes, cookies, magazines and toiletries might make the abuse temporarily more tolerable but it only affords a brief respite, not addressing the root cause of the problem.

So how do we best support our troops? Just as we would any abused children. We offer them as much love as we know how as we try with all our might to remove them as quickly as possible from their abusive environment. At the same time we find mental help and/or strict confinement for the abusive superiors. Then we continue to love our troops and create the most healing and nurturing environment possible. Then we teach them to see through the lies of our government officials hoping they are never again so horribly deceived by those they wanted so much to trust.

And all along we pray and pray again for peace to prevail in the world and in all our hearts.

Unmask Irresponsible Local Commentator

We've got an unfortunate and unprecedented breech of ethics seriously infecting both the print and broadcast media on our dear Central Coast.

The problem can be found regularly at a local radio station and local newspaper where a mysterious person is allowed week in and week out to hide behind a pseudonym and spout opinions that many people find destructive to the well-being of our community.

But the problem isn't the opinions. Being allowed to express opinions--even the most wrong-headed-- is one of the sacred freedoms we are afforded in the United States. The problem is the anonymous nature of this local commentator who hides behind the nickname of "Conservative Bob."

This mystery person is a frequently featured guest and guest host on The Dave Congalton radio program on KVEC 920 AM and writes a regularly appearing column in the Coast News. The powers that be at these media outlets have inexplicably freed this commentator from the responsibility of attaching his true identity to his words. (On the Dave Congalton show, all we are told is that he is from Atascadero, as if that is explanation enough.)

Who is Conservative Bob and why won't he stand behind his words with his true identity? Why can't we "Google" his (or her?) real name like we can other local columnists and radio personalities?

Anonymity seems to breed meanness and violence. Big cities, where it is easy to be just another face in a crowd, are notorious for being less than friendly places.

Rudeness on our roadways is rampant, where drivers, identities obscured within their rolling walls of steel and plastic, frequently exhibit aggressiveness they would never allow themselves in face-to-face situations.

Can you imagine a supermarket aisle where shoppers routinely curse at each other, give the middle finger salute, or ram their shopping carts into others who have slowed them down on their journey through the aisles? That behavior would be a wild aberration even among the most harried and frustrated shoppers.

On the internet meanness and anonymity go hand-in-hand, where it is a cyberspace custom to obscure true identity behind various nicknames and spout off the most ill-thought opinions and caustic attacks against others whose identities are not hidden. Traditional media such as radio and newspapers have for the most part, thankfully, resisted descending to this level.

When others can see and know who we are, we are naturally more thoughtful and, more often then not, check our anger and meanness, not wanting it associated with our good name and reputations.

But now on the Central Coast we have "Conservative Bob" and at least two prominent media outlets continue to help him mask his identity and avoid responsibility for his frequent comments that burn the friends and neighbors we know by name and face.

It is time people demand that Conservative Bob remove the mask if he or she is to continue as a local, regularly featured media pundit. Otherwise he or she should step back and let the privilege be awarded people unafraid to attach their true name and reputation to their words.

The Smell of Bloggers in the Morning

Once again I sit here in the morning, high atop a sand dune in Oceano, contemplating, wanting to contribute something worthy to this fine new Central Coast News Mission blog site.

My first inclination, as it is with many bloggers, is to complain about something, to cast judgment, to declare somebody or something not right and in need of fixing; to point out something that stinks and make sure everyone else knows it.

I'm reminded of a scene in a school yard of my youth, where a boy unscrews a thermos pulled from a lunch box that had been too long in the hot sun. The milk inside has turned to a sickening, nose-biting sourness.

"Oh, gross!," he proclaims, scrunching his face and drawing the attention of his school mates. "Here, smell this!" he says, passing the fouled chalice to his best friend who eagerly takes a whiff, contorts his face, makes his own exclamation attesting to the stench before him and passes it to another schoolmate. Soon there is a gathering of kids alert and buzzing from the gross-out they have all shared

Shouting our complaints and passing around our sourness is a ritual for which blogging seems tailor made. But I am trying to resist temptation. I want to put my head in a different, more uplifting space. For me that is a serious and difficult challenge.

Complaining is compelling and contagious. It's an easy way to draw attention. It's not hard work, but in can be prestigious and profitable The media is full of professional complainers. The biggest names in radio are the loudest complainers, on a daily basis passing around a reeking chalice of audio sourness from coast to coast. The blogging world is not much different, except that bloggers aren't getting paid for it. They are pretty much like most people: highly experienced amateur complainers and critics.

Criticizing can be a lifestyle, a career even. Having earned money writing opinions on art, entertainment and social issues, I know what it is like to be a journeyman complainer--a person who pulls a paycheck for viewing the cup half-empty instead of half-full and trying to get the rest of the world to see things the same way. I was a bit of a natural at it, but I've come to believe it is not something to be proud of.

Like many things that our society promotes--like eating junk food, drinking alcohol, buying superfluous items we can ill afford--complaining and criticizing can provide momentary pleasure. But its positive benefits are generally exaggerated and the consequences to our emotional, physical and spiritual health and that of those around us can be more debilitating than we are inclined to admit.

Some of you reading this might be feeling a bit of self-satisfaction right now, concluding that I have just spent several hundred ironic words complaining about complaining. So, right now I am going to do what I think many bloggers should consider doing : lift my hands from the keyboard and not put them back until I have something positive and uplifting to contribute.

Oceano, Eucalyptus and Lost Fortunes

This is David Ciaffardini reporting from high atop a sand dune in Oceano, a beautiful location I've been living in since 1992.

Looking out from my balcony, I've got majestic eucalyptus trees to my left, an avocado orchard to my right, a green-striped farm field in the distance, leading toward undeveloped sand dunes where, peeking through their fleshy curves, is a spot of blue Pacific Ocean. I feel very blessed to be living here.

Speaking of eucalyptus trees, I love them. My friend Bill Denneen can't stand them and wants to see them all yanked out by their roots because they are a "non-native" species.

It's true that 200 years ago you wouldn't have found a eucalyptus tree within 1,000 miles of here. Then in the 1800's Californians began importing these "instant trees" from Australia. Because they grow so fast, they were a great source of shade for residents who longed for respite from California's renowned sunshine in the days before air-conditioning.

Their unique fragrance keeps bugs away and the oil in their leaves makes a great all-natural mosquito repellent. Come to think of it, I can't recall seeing any mosquitoes around my home over the years.

Famous writer Jack London, like many Californians in the 1800's, hoped to make a fortune from eucalyptus. He imported thousands of eucalyptus saplings, having been sold on the idea that he could within a few years harvest lumber from the trees and sell them to the rapidly expanding railroad industry to be used as railroad ties.

Turns out that eucalyptus lumber, with its tendency to crack and split, is wholly unsuited for railroad ties. Eucalyptus trees would not be exploited in accord with the get-rich-quick plans of big business men. Jack, like many, lost a small fortune on this ill-advised scheme.

Eucalyptus trees are now ubiquitous in California and I savor their beauty and tenacity. Dozens of varieties of the species can be found throughout the state and I love how they stand so tall, their branches gently swaying; creatures of majestic grace that, like a painter's perfect highlighting brush stroke, add depth and perspective and vitality to the rolling, golden hills.

California is a state with a tradition of nurturing non-natives, where non-natives contribute so much with their sweat, blood and love. Where non-native roots grow fast and deep. It is here where non-natives grow strong and contribute in so many vital and beautiful ways that are too often overlooked or taken for granted. Where over the years labels like "non-native" or "foreigners" or "immigrants" have helped hone the axes of those who want to exploit or extract those that they don't appreciate or understand.

Eucalyptus trees are more native than I am. But they have never turned me away, never refused to let me walk within their groves, inhaling their scent, cooling in their shade, admiring their magnificence. To me, they are essential in defining what is so beautiful and compelling about the landscape of California. Thank you so much!

Our Newest Blogger Signs In

Our newest blogger, David Ciaffardini, could also be called the "Book Man" from Oceano. Dave has been a SLO county resident for a number of years.

Ciaffardini's media experience spans print and radio: professional reporter, editor and photographer, working for the Los Angeles Times, The Santa Maria Times, The Telegram-Tribune, The Times Press Recorder, The Five Cities Gazette and KVEC AM 920 radio.

David's freelance work has appeared in nationally-distributed publications. In addition he is a book dealer, buying and selling quality used and rare books. Welcome to our blog, O Curator of colophons!