Impressions

Life

noreply@blogger.com (Michael Strickland) — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 15:57:00 +0000

Forrest Gump said life is like a box of chocolates. I say it's like a roll of toilet paper. Think about it. Sometimes you've got a full roll and it seems like you can pull off as much paper as you want. Other times, you get near the end of the roll and you have to be careful about how much you use. Occasionally, you have a seat before realizing the roll is empty, and you have to call for someone to bring you another. When the roll gets thin, sometimes you've got a dozen new rolls in the cupboard, other times you've got none left. The paper can be soft and thick, or it can be raspy and so flimsy you have to use big handfuls of it. And sometimes, when things get rough and you totally run out, you have to improvise and use Kleenex or paper towels. I can't think of a better metaphor for life and all its ups and downs, its tide-like surges, its waxing and waning. Sometimes there is no want, sometimes we need help to get by, sometimes things are rough. And when things are at their darkest, when we feel like we've used up the last metaphorical sheet, life reminds us that there's always a fresh new roll under the sink.

Snowdrift

noreply@blogger.com (Michael Strickland) — Sat, 03 May 2008 16:54:00 +0000

Spring is here, and the blossoms covering the trees have been magnificent. The trees are now leafing out robustly, so the blossoms are falling like snow and fading away. Walking down the street this morning, I came across a sight that I can only describe as a "spring snowdrift."

Selfish

noreply@blogger.com (Michael Strickland) — Thu, 01 May 2008 20:30:00 +0000

Earlier this week, I spent a day at the courthouse for jury duty. My name didn't get called, so it ended up being my only day of service. However, that was enough to make me think about the role of law in human society. And it boiled down to the simple conclusion that we humans as a race are selfish creatures by nature. Countless laws at the local, state and federal law exist to prescribe and proscribe what we can and can't do. Thousands of citizens across the country report for jury duty every day because there is a constant flow of criminal proceedings and civil disputes requiring prosecution and mediation. Why is there so much conflict, why are so many laws necessary? Because we humans are selfish; left to our own devices, we will always do whatever we can to get ahead; we will push the envelope as much as possible to take as much as we can for ourselves. So in a sense, we are more civilized than animals, because we have created a legal framework to protect ourselves from each others' selfish impulses. But one can also argue that, because such a framework is even necessary, we're no better than any other species of animal.

Spring

noreply@blogger.com (Michael Strickland) — Thu, 10 Apr 2008 19:56:00 +0000

Ah, spring is here at last. Not that this past winter was much of a winter—thank you, global warming—but even without snow, it was cold and crappy enough to earn the name "Winter." Today is our first day of 70-degree weather, and I'm loving it. Cassie had a brilliant idea, which you employers interested in boosting employee morale should consider: the first time the mercury goes over 70 each spring, give us the day off. Call it an "Anti-Snow Day." As I walked down the street at lunchtime and felt the sun on my face, I almost felt like I was back in southern California. Except for the honking horns. And the skyscrapers. And the hordes of people. Oh well, at least enough sunlight snuck down between the tall buildings to warm my face.

Nudity

noreply@blogger.com (Michael Strickland) — Tue, 26 Feb 2008 13:35:00 +0000

In the past three years, I have lived in southern California, northern Virginia and New York City. In all three places, I have regularly visited the gym. In so doing, I've made a curious observation that I don't understand. In SoCal and New York City, which are ostensibly more progressive and liberal than Virginia, men in the gym locker room are much more self-conscious and shy about nudity (and, conversely, they're more open and comfortable about it in Virginia). In New York, for example, most men wrap a towel around themselves before pulling off their pants. In the steam room, they wear shorts or wrap several towels around their bodies. If you are nude for any length of time while you're changing clothes, you can sense a vibe of discomfort from the men around you. By comparison, in Virginia, men walked from their locker to the jacuzzi fully naked, they stood around talking to one another totally nude, they even stood in front of the sink and shaved without a stitch of clothes on. They were completely at ease with their own nakedness and that of the men around them. It seems contradictory that men in a more conservative part of the country would be more liberal about locker room nudity, and vice versa. It's an observation for which I have no hypothesis. Would anyone care to venture one?

Honk

noreply@blogger.com (Michael Strickland) — Mon, 25 Feb 2008 13:39:00 +0000

One aspect of life in New York City that I have not yet adjusted to (and might never) is the constant horn honking by New York drivers. They honk at anything, anytime, for any reason. At traffic lights, they have lightning-fast reflexes: the instant the light turns green, their hand reaches the horn faster than the foot of the driver in front of them can reach the accelerator. Car service drivers picking up a fare sit in front of apartment buildings and honk, instead of calling the customer on their cell phone to let them know they're waiting (despite the fact that every one of these drivers has a Borg implant Bluetooth device in his ear and talks incessantly on the phone while driving). And then there's the second on my list of annoyances, the double-parker, who engenders no small amount of honking himself from passing cars. Occasionally, you'll see a "Don't Honk Horn - $350 Penalty" sign, but that has about as much effect as the "Speed Limit 65 mph Maximum" sign on California freeways. To the native New Yorker, perhaps the horn honking sounds like birdsong. But to this beach bum, it's as enjoyable as bird crap.

Contact?

noreply@blogger.com (Michael Strickland) — Thu, 14 Feb 2008 02:32:00 +0000

I happened to be browsing our great country from space, thanks to the wonderful satellite view technology of Google Maps, and on a whim I zoomed in on Pike's Peak. As I then browsed the surrounding country, I came across a very interestingly shaped lake to the west of Colorado Springs. The shape of Big Tooth Reservoir would merit little more than a passing glance to the average person, but to a Star Trek fan like me, the lake leaped off my computer screen. To illustrate what I mean, take a close look at the image comparison below. Coincidence? Or is it a deliberate mark left by Starfleet Command to signal imminent first contact?

[Click image to enlarge]

Death

noreply@blogger.com (Michael Strickland) — Tue, 12 Feb 2008 16:06:00 +0000

There's been no shortage of celebrity deaths recently (Suzanne Pleshette, Heath Ledger, and most recently, Roy Scheider). In fact, celebrities die all the time, just like the rest of us. Why do we care so much? Why do their deaths captivate us? For some reason, Scheider's death sent me into a more introspective mood than the typical celebrity passing, and made me ponder those questions in greater depth. I don't have definitive answers, but I think maybe the deaths of celebrities remind us of our own mortality. We put these people on pedestals, and they sometimes take on a larger-than-life persona. When they die, it shows that death comes for us all, sooner or later. And, when an actor has a strong tie to a specific time in your life, their passing can make you take greater notice of the passage of time in your own life. I, for example, have childhood memories of seeing "Jaws" for the first time. Scheider, whose famous line "We're gonna need a bigger boat" became an indelible piece of pop culture, epitomized that movie in many ways. So to hear of his death, I can't help but look back at my life, most of which has been lived in a post-"Jaws" world, and see that nothing—and no one—lasts forever.

Canyons

noreply@blogger.com (Michael Strickland) — Wed, 06 Feb 2008 23:53:00 +0000

Yesterday's news was full of reports about the ticker tape victory parade up Broadway for the New York Giants. It was the first time I'd heard Broadway referred to by the nickname "Canyon of Heroes." The word "canyon," applied to a Manhattan street, is interesting, because the impression I had the first time I walked these city streets was certainly reminiscent of walking in a deep crevasse, with high walls enclosing me on either side. It's a mildly claustrophobic feeling I still get to this day, particularly on clear and sunny days, when you can walk around most of the day without feeling direct sunlight. The skyline seen from the Manhattan Bridge, driving from Brooklyn to Manhattan, has a similarly geological resemblance to a natural landscape. As you look uptown from the Manhattan side of the span, the buildings grow taller and taller, creating the illusion of a mountainscape, with smaller foothills giving way to taller mountains in the further distance. What testament to the monumental size of these giant works created by humans, that they can mimic the works of nature by their sheer scale.

Pollyanna

noreply@blogger.com (Michael Strickland) — Wed, 06 Feb 2008 00:06:00 +0000

It's been more than half a year since I blogged here. Wow. I've become just another one of thousands of stale, outdated blogs cluttering up cyberspace. Have I nothing to say? No, I don't think that's it. I've never been one to lack an opinion, and I've recently blogged on my travel site. Have I not had any "impressions" worth recording in the past six months? That's hardly it either. A month after that last posting was published, I moved from northern Virginia to New York City, the country's largest and possibly most dynamic city. Two months after moving, I was laid off from AOL. So there has certainly been no shortage of "impressions" (both good and bad). If I sit here and think about it, I conclude that maybe I've just felt burned out. In earlier times, I felt inspired and motivated to offer commentary about political and social issues. But in recent years, I have felt increasingly cynical and disillusioned with the state of things, so when I consider commentating on this or that topic, I often ask myself "What's the point?" The web is littered with opinions of all shapes and sizes: well-reasoned and irrational, respectful and offensive, idealistic and jaded. What's one voice amidst the cacophony? What does one man's "impression" matter? I still feel that way, especially during this election season, but that doesn't mean this is my farewell posting. Rather, this posting is my farewell to all things political and social (with a flash of the middle finger instead of a tip of the hat). I will continue to offer up my impressions, but will instead focus on the lighter side of life: travel, recreation, leisure, sports, the great outdoors, the simple things in everyday life (but, in this new era of paparazzi-journalism-gone-mainstream, I will stay away from entertainment). Back in the 1990s, my friend David responded to some Clinton-era political controversy by calling himself a Pollyanna, telling me he preferred to focus on things like sports, "where all things are possible." Too bad it's taken me 10 years to come to that same wisdom myself.

Fireflies

noreply@blogger.com (Michael Strickland) — Tue, 03 Jul 2007 14:24:00 +0000

Those who have followed my ongoing cultural adjustment to the East Coast, whether through my infrequent blog postings or in-person commentary, know that I don't always have positive things to say. To avoid seeming too judgmental, I try to make a point of mentioning the good things whenever possible. Take, for instance, fireflies. I went my whole life without ever seeing one of these marvelous creatures until I came out to Virginia. I couldn't believe my eyes when I finally saw one. During my many dives, I have seen some amazing creatures underwater. But I think I can honestly say that the firefly is the most magical animal I have ever seen in my life. I feel like a child again every time I see one. Southern California may have some things that the East Coast lacks, but it ain't got fireflies!

Diversity

noreply@blogger.com (Michael Strickland) — Thu, 28 Jun 2007 20:31:00 +0000

The U.S. Supreme Court came out with a potentially landmark decision today, rejecting "diversity" programs at public schools. The core argument of the majority's opinion gave me hope that common sense is not completely extinct in our nation's capital. In ruling that school districts cannot use race as a factor in assigning children to schools, Chief Justice John Roberts wrote "The way to stop discrimination on the basis of race is to stop discriminating on the basis of race." This quote made an impression on me, because I have long felt the same way. Racism still exists in America today, 40 years after the civil rights movement, because race has become more emphasized than ever. Segregation is segregation, even if done for ostensibly altruistic reasons. The dictionary defines segregation as "the separation for special treatment or observation of individuals or items from a larger group." And that's just what affirmative action and other "diversity" programs do. Until we become truly colorblind as a society, racism will always exist in some form. Feel free to call me a racist; I already have.

Green

noreply@blogger.com (Michael Strickland) — Mon, 30 Apr 2007 18:55:00 +0000

I couldn't have timed my vacation better. I left behind cold weather and trees that were still mostly barren, and returned today to summer-like weather and trees that have leafed out. One major difference between life here and in SoCal is the ability to do outdoor activities year-round. Here, I've come to appreciate the warm weather, as it enables me to do things I can't do at other times of the year. Driving to work this morning, I looked at all the green trees lining the highway and thought about all the fun times coming this summer: camping, inner-tubing, bike riding, hiking and much more. I miss being able to do these things year-round, but I enjoy them all the more now.

Disgust

noreply@blogger.com (Michael Strickland) — Thu, 19 Apr 2007 15:21:00 +0000

Appalling. Shameful. Disgusting. That's what I think of NBC News and all the other news organizations spewing out the audio, video and photographs of the Virginia Tech shooter. The pain that the killer inflicted is not enough. Now the news media spits in the faces of the victims and their families by broadcasting this animal's rants, just like he wanted them to do. The lack of respect, the utter greed disgusts me. The impression I get is the news organizations as rabid zombies, hunching over the bodies of the dead and peering out with soulless eyes, faces covered in blood as they feed on the victims of this tragedy.

I blame the news media for contributing to America's culture of violence, which bred this killer in the first place. Let a mass murderer spew his vitriol on the air waves, show executions and dead bodies, prattle on incessantly about body counts in Iraq, but God forbid we see one nipple on television. Something is rotten when a culture finds nudity and sexual content so offensive, but allows all manner of violence to play out on its television and movie screens. In this way, at least, America really is the bloodthirsty, amoral cesspool that much of the rest of the world considers it.

Barbecued

noreply@blogger.com (Michael Strickland) — Tue, 03 Apr 2007 16:05:00 +0000

The global warming debate between my father and I may have heated up a bit, but we can both agree on the absurdity of Belgium's efforts to curb greenhouse gasses by taxing people who want to barbecue.

No, I am not kidding. I posted this on April 3, not April 1.

Beginning this summer, residents of Wallonia, Belgium, will have to pay €20 (or about $26) each time they throw something on the barbie. How will the Belgian authorities enforce this, you ask? With helicopter patrols using heat-detecting equipment, of course! C'mon, it's not like a helicopter emits more greenhouse gasses than a well-done hamburger.

Sprung

noreply@blogger.com (Michael Strickland) — Wed, 28 Mar 2007 03:25:00 +0000

Spring has sprung here on the East Coast. Most of the trees are still barren, but the "early risers" have exploded in riotous bursts of blossoms. I don't have any idea what most of them are (cherry trees, perhaps?), but they are gorgeous. And then there are the daffodils. The George Washington Parkway, a charming strip of road that follows the water on the Virginia side of the Potomac, is lined with thousands of daffodils, the lush green stems and brilliantly colorful flowers virtually screaming "Spring is here!" Last winter -- my first East Coast winter -- the starkly barren deciduous trees covering the Virginia landscape had a depressing impact on me, so used to evergreens as I was. This winter, I barely noticed. Maybe I'm finally getting used to things out here. I can't wait for them all to leaf out, though. If it's one thing Virginia has an abundance of, it's trees. And when they're all green, they are beautiful indeed.

Pigeons

noreply@blogger.com (Michael Strickland) — Mon, 19 Mar 2007 21:29:00 +0000

As I walked across the street for lunch today, I watched a large flock of pigeons fly in circles above the plaza in front of my office building. The weather was beautiful and sunny, just a slight chill in the air. Something about watching those birds against the backdrop of a bright blue sky made me think of seagulls flying above the sea, as if I were standing quayside on a harbor instead of curbside in a landlocked city. Let's be honest, pigeons look no more like seagulls than Arlington, Virginia looks like San Diego, California. But that perfect combination of birds flying through a vibrant, sunny sky and a bite in the air just-so, like a breeze coming off the ocean, brought subconscious impressions of the ocean to the surface. Though it's been more than a year since I moved, I guess deep down I still miss the blue Pacific. Something's going on in my subconscious, anyway, if a pigeon can make me think of a seagull!

Drivers

noreply@blogger.com (Michael Strickland) — Sat, 17 Mar 2007 00:35:00 +0000

Before moving away from southern California, I felt like a minority as a San Diego native. Most of the people I met were transplants, having moved to San Diego from other places (usually for the great weather and variety of things to do). During infrequent rainstorms, these people would invariably complain about how badly Californians drove in inclement weather. Such complaints gave me the impression that people from parts of the country that experienced winter climates were skilled drivers in bad weather. I thought it was a fair assumption; otherwise, why would all the transplants complain? Much to my chagrin, it was a faulty conclusion. Here in the metropolitan D.C. area anyway, rain and snow bring out the worst in drivers who aren't that skilled to begin with. They slow down to a snail's pace, they brake suddenly, they lose all capacity to merge... in short, they give this transplant much more cause to complain than California drivers do to non-native Californians. Fortunately, I now live close to a Metro station, so most of my commuting is by train these days. And that generally moves at the same pace, rain or shine.

Fever

noreply@blogger.com (Michael Strickland) — Wed, 21 Feb 2007 21:53:00 +0000

Last night, I went to bed with cold chills. Sure, the climate out here has been frigid, but a warming trend started yesterday... and besides, I had my heater going full blast. No, the cold was coming from within. My third illness this winter, a personal record. This time, the bug didn't mess around with sniffles or a scratchy throat. It made a full frontal assault on my system, and in no time, a full-scale battle raged.

Around midnight, I woke up sweating, with a head swimming in delirium. I took my temperature: 101.5. Popping some aspirin and downing a glass of water, I fell back into a fitful sleep. Around four in the morning, I woke up in a pool of sweat. The fever had broken, and I felt marginally better. I imagined myself as a battlefield after a major clash between the invading hordes of common cold virii and my defending antibodies, the field of battle drenched in sweat instead of blood.

Skirmishes are still popping up here and there in the "Kingdom of Strickland," but hopefully my body will win the war -- sooner rather than later, since I'm due to be scuba diving in Cozumel a week from today.

Vermin

noreply@blogger.com (Michael Strickland) — Tue, 13 Feb 2007 17:15:00 +0000

I sit at my desk here in my new apartment, typing away at my computer (I'm working from home today). Between me and the window are piles of boxes that I have yet to unpack. Suddenly, I hear little rattling, crackling sounds, like something rustling around in papers. I groan inwardly. With all the other challenges I've faced since moving in, do I also have a vermin problem to deal with? Am I hearing bugs or mice crawling around inside my boxes? I creep closer to the boxes to listen more closely, trying to remain stealthy so whatever is making the noise doesn't hear me. But the sound suddenly stops. Like a cricket that stops chirping at your approach, whatever it is must have heard me coming.

But there it is again. It's coming from near the window. Or the window sill itself? Maybe it's some kind of insect crawling around in the crack beneath the window and the sill? I move closer still, crane my neck to listen. A smile spreads across my face as sheepish recognition dawns on me. What I'm hearing is the sound of small hail pellets hitting the window! Duh!

Thankfully, no bug problem here -- at least not yet, not in wintertime. I've dealt with my share of vermin in the past.... There were the roof rats in Carmel Mountain; I killed ten of them over as many nights with traps before the problem finally went away. At my beach apartment in San Diego, scores of termites emerged from a hole they'd eaten through in the window sill. Coming home to find your window covered with winged insects is not a pleasant experience. And then there was my dorm room at USC... I scratched an itch on my face as I slept one night, and woke to find a dead cockroach in bed with me. So it wasn't an itch after all.

Hopefully this place will remain vermin-free when the weather warms up and the humidity rises.

Baja

noreply@blogger.com (Michael Strickland) — Sat, 10 Feb 2007 18:20:00 +0000

When I find myself enduring a particularly hectic workday or other stressful situation, my mind sometimes conjures up fanciful memories, unbidden, from my subconscious. They appear suddenly and explosively, like Molotov cocktail daydreams hurled by hidden revolutionaries in a mind occupied by an invading army of stress. Yesterday, as I sat at my desk at the end of a long week full of angst caused more by my new landlord than my boss, wayward images from Baja California kept popping into my head, distracting me from the present dull reality with colorful flashes from the past. Trips to Tijuana with friends, sucking down tequila shots before any of us were of legal drinking age in the U.S. Squinting through clouds of dust as I watched trophy trucks and buggies barrel down dirt roads during the Baja 500 race. Wolfing down 50-cent street tacos on a hot summer day and washing them down with an ice-cold Dos Equis. Riding horses down the sand of Rosarito Beach, passing a bottle of Sambuca back and forth. Diving on piedra ahogada ("drowned rock") at La Bufadora, a pinnacle rising from 100 feet to just below the surface. No matter the stress that everyday life may throw at me, I will always have fond memories of Baja to put a smile on my face (and I hope to create more Mexican memories when I go to Cozumel in three weeks).

Snow

noreply@blogger.com (Michael Strickland) — Thu, 08 Feb 2007 07:40:00 +0000

It finally snowed last night. Already February, and this is the first real snow, other than a minor dusting a couple of weeks ago. And yet my father still calls global warming a "theory." (But that's a whole other debate that goes beyond the scope of this blog.) As I walked to work today, the uncommon sight of sunshine glinting off fresh snow stirred up thoughts of skiing. For someone like me who didn't grow up with real winters, memories of snow are forever intertwined with memories of ski trips. No past experiences of commuting through ice and dirty slush, no episodes of trudging through snowbanks to get to school, just recollections of good times playing in the white stuff. So today, while countless drivers gritted their teeth against the painful commute, I walked on with a smile on my face.

Neoprene

noreply@blogger.com (Michael Strickland) — Wed, 07 Feb 2007 03:18:00 +0000

Recently, I drove with my wetsuits piled into the back of my SUV. As I went down the road, I suddenly caught a whiff of the neoprene. The scent had an immediate effect, taking me away in my mind to the deck of a dive boat, salty breeze blowing through my hair... to the tired satisfaction of wading through the surf after a dive well done, letting the swells push you toward shore... to the barks of sea lions, impatient for you to get in the water so they can play with you.... The smell of neoprene has become synonymous with the ocean and diving, so I need only catch a whiff to take a dive trip in my mind.