Homogenized and pasteurized for your safety

Orlando scares me. I've just come from a weekend there, where one of my best friends and her husband live. Coming back to NYC, I feel like doing what my dog does when I take her to Central Park. I want to hurtle myself onto the ground and roll around in the glorious trash and pee left behind by other New Yorkers. Home sweet home. It's a tonic.

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Orlando is so...Florida. South Florida, such as Miami and Fort Lauderdale, is a little more cosmopolitan and colorful. Orlando is so homogenous, it's scary. I couldn't tell where one town ended and another begins because of the residential developments. Residential developments scare me. Each one has a name. "The Crossings" or "Peninsula Landing" or "Shady Oaks". It's like an extrapolated version of retirement communities, housing the young and virile, counting off the time until they suck out your life's blood. Cocoon for the thirties set.

The food. Denny's, Chick-Fil-A, Uno's all were representin' in O-town. The scenic route in this neck of the woods is a blur of neon-lit fast food restaurants and chains. I'm a salt fiend and there was no need to add salt to anything I ate this weekend. I'm all puffed up from my inadvertent sodium intake, thanks to regular meals at fine establishments like Arby's and TGI Friday's.

Vacation photo of me in Orlando

My body feels like I've been slamming down beer and wings all weekend, neither of which have passed my lips, because I'm saving it for next weekend. At one point, I even felt a bit sad and weepy; I knew what Morgan Spurlock was talking about in Supersize Me. This stuff is so toxic; my body just felt polluted. When I had ravioli with homemade sauce cooked up by my friend's dad, I wanted to sob with relief at the dietary reprieve. The other redeeming thing about this trip was being able to get my much-loved Publix sub, with all the fixings. Now since coming home, I'm ready to commune with the hardcore vegans, their dirty toes, and mandal’ed feet, over at Whole Foods. I understand them.

Don't worry, this too will pass.

Next, the very popular concept of organized recreation. Organized recreation also scares me. The city is so Disney-fied, even non-Disney affiliated venues and organizations have adopted their clean, painted over version of reality. That's what visitors are here for; they just don't want to know. Tourism in Orlando is like being a rat in a maze, if you will. Things are such that you go to an air-conditioned mall, a theme park, outlet center, or some subset of that, as a recreational activity. Step outside the realm of those sanitized confines and you are greeted by the dichotomy of the state, the seedier side of Florida, the birthplace of Trailer Park Trash.

Don't be fooled by their PR campaign

Those who can't pay the parking charges at Universal Studios, to sit in a nice movie theater on Universal's property, are forced to settle for a dingy, second-run theater. There are the "good" malls with the "good" movie theaters, and the "bad" shopping centers with theirs. In the latter, you are forced to commingle with Hell's Angels types and Friends of Britney. Heaven forbid. Thus, most tourists who attempt to see the ‘real’ Orlando step out, blink in the bright sunlight, and beat a hasty retreat to the safety of the Magic Kingdom.

C is aware he would have to drag me kicking and screaming if his company relocated him to Orlando. Miami, yes. Orlando, no. As much as I love him and the idea of spending more time with my best friend, I don't think I could move to that part of Florida. Besides, Miami feels like a second home and we have friends there. And I grew up appreciating the possiblity of discovery in any corner you turn. Whether it was a small coffee shop, the flavors served up by an independently owned restaurant, or just the funky facade of someone's home, glorious in its individuality.

Now more than ever, I have come to appreciate the nuances of people, and their olfactory offenses, during a subway ride in the morning. The surliness of the counter guy at my deli when he serves up my coffee. The grime I have to wash off my face at the end of each day, after hitting the streets. I will never, ever complain again. "Never, ever" meaning for the next two weeks.