The only thing missing from the Carsten Holler: Experience at the New Museum is the smell of corn dogs. Thank you Carsten Holler. You can literally slide through the museum starting on the fourth floor, have your retinas fried on the second by flickering lights and take off way more than your shoes on the third for an out-of-body experience in the sensory-deprivation pool entitled the Giant Psycho Tank. Even though the policy for the tank is one person at a time, a shower was mandatory, the water salt, I passed on this experience since sensory deprivation is said to lead to bizarre thoughts. And quite clearly, I do not need any more of those.
Three verifiable things about me. One. I am an only child. The concept of sharing, therefore, is foreign to me. Two. I am a Virgo. The sign regarded as a perfectionist. Three. My mother raised me to be meticulously clean; compulsively tidy. According to my mother, "You have taken this clean thing way too far." I disagree. Apologies to my mother.
Nature or nurture? Who knows? Who cares? I have not been diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Nor would I label myself a Cleanaholic. Or a Germaphobe. My world though, is definitely a unique place. One where doors open magically. Hotel mattresses are pristine. And estheticians never double dip.
I live in this world without a bubble or a honeycomb mask. About 15 years ago I got tired of catching the flu du jour and became ever more so hygienically vigilant -- perhaps obsessively so.
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