Yeah, I know I don't really have to time write. Especially with finals knocking down my door, but I've had this blog brewing in the back of my head for a few days. I know, I really should be doing work right now-but I need a little calm before this storm rears its ugly head.
It was last week sometime that I first saw mention, on the twitter-vine, of the topic "vanilla fetish." I think, maybe, it was SliverDayDreams? (I think one thing I love most about twitter is that complete strangers can seep into my brain and mentally stimulate me when I least expect it) At the moment, I had all these witty comebacks that came to mind, but none of them were really me. Then I spent a few days traveling, and after much time on the road the vanilla fetish topic popped back in my head.
At first, I thought it was radio. Give me a few hours of Garrison Keillor's rich baritone, smooth talking me from antidote to antic. The stimulation of my mind and the titillation of my imagination. I'll admit it, when I can find good radio I will listen intently for hours. I’ll settle for the news, but it won’t arouse me like a good aural adventure. I have no desires for some chatty imbecile with an FX box and a CD player; you don't even want to get me started on how repugnant I find a majority of them. So yes, perhaps I fetishize good radio, but good radio is so rare that I eventually will have to spice it up with some good ol' fashioned kink.
As I kept contemplating this, it dawned on me that my true vanilla fetish is a tourist trap. I could go without actual sexual gratification for unknown amounts of times if you keep feeding me shiny lights and kitschy souvenirs until I collapse into a happy, exhausted, and content puddle on the floor. Keep dumping caffeine in me while I fill every hour with anything and everything I have ever been told about in a ten mile radius. MY GAWD! Give me a roadtrip with roadside attractions and I'll be content for a month. Well, maybe not a month, I mean really, I'm not dead. Tide me over with mystery spots and magical wonders - both natural and man-made - and if you can find me a cardboard cut-out where I can place my face where another's should be, be prepared to take control of my camera before you take your turn.
Now I fancy myself a bit of a wadering gypsy, and have been lucky to check so many tourist destinations off my list. But there are a few tourist daydreams that get my panties moist...
I want to walk through the Hollywood Walk of Fame and take pictures with the faux-stars (especially Superman!!). I want to go to Pikes Peak and sleep in the lodge that inspired Stephen King to write The Shining. I want to go to Florida and be up before the tide come in, so I can comb the beach for shells - especially the little ones with natural holes so I can make myself a bracelet. I want to visit the holy lands and all the ancient religious sites. I want to go to Moscow... the Great Wall... the Leaning Tower... And I will probably buy a tshirt, or a cheesy photo, or a snow globe... and I will place them next to the singing camel, the photo of a dino eating me, my mini Arc de Triumph, and all the other tourist kitsch I've collected through the years.
What can I say? I’m a sucker, and I’m ok with that.
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