Where I Get my Kicks

Mysterious, how seamlessly my interests emerge, crest and then slip away from the limelight. They come with fanfare and depart shyly, disappearing from the mist of my good intentions. Perhaps promiscuous in my passions, fluttering intensely in one thing and then discovering a more stimulating fetish. It is not like one substitutes or fits completely into the hole of the others. It is more as if I allow myself freedome to follow the hedonistic highs they bring.
I call these my kicks.

Two years ago, my first suggestion for quality time with my roommate as to plug in an episode from the first few seasons of 24. After a spiritua quest to a Korean women’s spa, I whipped up various of Red Tofu Soup at least 6 times a month to soothe my spirit and body’s cravings. When I was in high school, there was a period of adolescent angst pounded out through solely Beethoven on the piano.

I suppose my kicks could tire others out. They may find my interests always tedious, always thrusting forward, always geared for “something new.” True, the inclination can be intentional, born of boredom’s droll, but many of the time, my kicks are mused from mysterious sources. External in nature. In this area, I trust my desires, and give full permission to follow and see where the kicks take me, or land us. So…I love what I love, and when I love it, I want to LOVE it, you know? Then someday, a new itch has arrives, striking a switch in me, and the familiar resolve sharpens, fueling the sidestep, the jerking of the extremities, the inevitable punt of fascination.

This week my kick is homemade yogurt. I dreamt about it last night, and now feel in heaven as it dribbles over my keyboard, oozing wantonly with crushed flax and almonds and a sprinkle of cinnamon life. Last night poured in perky dollops on top of ravioli, at lunch with wheat germ and a swirl of salsa with corn chips, it satiates every time.

I guess this means I might have that addiction gene after all…
Do you get kicks? When? What? Where? And if you dare…Why?