Nudity

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

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?

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

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

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

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.