The last time I was in Florida I was puking.

On Tuesday I had the best Mexican food I’ve had in Michigan in Florida.  A conference for work brought me to the strange land I like to call Orlandio.  I haven’t been anywhere exotic lately so I survive on the thrills of extra “i’s,” the occasional “la” preface and rolled “r” for special effect. I asked my hotel clerk for a good restaurant within walking distance and she described something that sounded like an Applebees.  More excited for the walk than the food, I almost set foot out the door when she clarified that though it was technically with walking distance, I would have to cross a highway, four lanes in each direction.  Details.

I turned to my friend Yelp for some good Orlandoian cuisine recommendations.  Surely I’d find a hidden gem that I could brag about tomorrow.

When IHOP comes up in the top five restaurants in your area, it usually signals that it’s time for some self-reflection.  Instead, I decided to investigate the person that took the time to leave a thoughtful review of said IHOP.  Incidentally, Carlos took his family there on Christmas one year, and they all got candy canes.  He’s also rated several other IHOPs (many have food on par with each other) as well as an A&W (they have good root beer), a Ramada Inn (the jacuzzi is watched over like a hawk by the receptionist), and 94.9, the local radio station that hosts the Delilah show (she’s got all the lovers tuned in).  Carlos can you hear me? You are fascinating. I won’t find a place for dinner by reading your nearly 400 reviews, but I will find myself re-energized by humanity.

Halloween Mexican decor in Holland, MI. Note the healthy ceiling tiles.

In the depths of Yelpers lacking the texture of Carlos I found Garibaldi Mexican Cuisine, and thought it would be fun to go there alone, eat alone, and be the only person in the restaurant.  The self-reflection bit started to kick in and I was wishing Carlos had come along.  Driving back to the hotel I was struck with the state of Orlandio.  Crap stores shaped like giant shells selling crap.  Back to back overbuilt establishments hawking cheap plastic trinkets and 4/$5 tshirts suck up against one another form corridors of crap.  It’s daunting and disheartening but also reaffirming and recharging.  As designers we have a responsibility to make meaningful products out of quality materials. The crap parade has to end.  I’m surrounded by cheap signs flashing at me in the night with weird emo songs coming from the radio.  If I was in a movie this would be the opening scene. I’m a stranger, lonely in a run down city at night.  And then, “PLEASE TAKE A RIGHT TURN, FOLLOWED BY A…CONTINUE TO FOLLOW THE ROAD.”

Hertzina (I call her that because my dad calls her that) is the GPS.  She talks to him.  Tonight she’s talking to me. The voice that jars the rest of us out of our self-stardom fantasies soothes my dad.  He’s liked computer voices for as long as I can remember.  “Good morning, Paul,” says his laptop in a warm tone only a robot can deliver. “Good morning,” he replies.

The rows of strip malls remind me of an overworked field that needs to lay fallow for a year or more to regain some nutrients.  Naturally, this brought me to stop at a Friendly’s.  The smell inside was almost unbearable, but I had a black raspberry cone anyway. I was living the life.

In 2004 I was also in Florida, and also semi-detached from reality.  I arrived in the panhandle (that’s in the central time zone FYI) the day after Bush won re-election.  I didn’t understand how as I hadn’t moved to Michigan yet and didn’t realize that Republicans existed, and proceeded to probe the issue with the people that worked the Navy base that we were using to set up our equipment.  Post-election probing doesn’t work.  I went to sea on our research boat and deployed instruments that took microscopic pictures of the sand on the bottom of the sea bed.  The waves picked up and I started puking over the edge.

I bet Carlos was at IHOP.