Highway 1 is a good place to stretch your legs and take in the pungent odor of elephant seals.
Highway 1 is not a good place for old men in recumbent bicycles to slowly pedal uphill and downhill while taking up precious lane space.
Hearst Castle is, as expected, ridonkulous. Though I am a California native, I had no idea you had to purchase tickets to get a tour of the mansion. Thankfully, Bill learned of this fact the day before we arrived, so unlike half of the people in line before us, we were not turned away.
Oh, to be exorbitantly wealthy. William Randolph Hearst did precisely what his mother predicted and got “carried away” with developing this dream of a place on ol’ “Camp Hill.” The words from someone with anything less than a degree in Art History and American figures of the 1920s would do no justice for this place. It is for this reason that I will not write much more about the Hearst Castle, and instead point you to just a small sampling of the types of things you’ll see in that place.
There was a funny moment that occurred while we were waiting to claim our tickets. A young South Asian American girl one line over approached the counter saying, “Hi, I’m here for the CCMA Awards, and we’re supposed to get a free tour while we’re here?” – I wasn’t so much attuned to the questioning inflection at the end of her statement as I was to the fact that she said “CCMA.”
In the spring quarter of my senior year at Santa Clara, I wrote a silly catty “clubbing column” that became my swan song in contributions to The Santa Clara. Arguably the most popular column was “I hate Studio 8,” a blatant rip on all things fake classy in that San Jose bank-turned-slutfest. The staff photographer was even afraid of approaching S8’s management to get art for the piece because he knew I had very few kind words for the establishment.
An entire year after I wrote that review, well after graduation, I was working at my first job when I got an email about having won a contest I had never personally entered. Turned out the then TSC staff had submitted “I hate Studio 8” to the California College Media Association, and it won second place in Arts & Entertainment Stories. I Googled the other top three winners, and First Place guy wanted a respectable internship at Rolling Stone while Third Place girl wrote about really obscure movies and sounded indie-er than thou. Meanwhile I had written about my typical Saturday night and beat out Indie Chick. Hah! I never did get to go to the CCMA Awards, which were held at Hearst Castle, but I did meet the girl who accepted the award on my behalf. I don’t remember her name. But I do remember that I did not get a free trip to the Hearst. And apparently I missed out on a free tour, too.