I have an inexplicable compulsion when I travel. I pick up brochures. That might not seem like much to you, but I take them home…and I file them.

I suppose somewhere in my child-like delusions, I like to think that maybe one day someone will be over for dinner or some other unclassified bonding activity and they’ll say “you know, I’ve been thinking about going to see Clon Mc Nois…” or “Bob and I were talking last night about visiting New Orleans…” and I’ll say with great enthusiasm “Oooooh! Hold that thought – I’ve got the thing right here…” and I’ll bust out a handy dandy, ratted up, yellowed, stanky old bent cornered brochure.

You know. Because it’s not like this information is available on the interwebs.