Kim-Chee In The Grand Prix

Just as I suspected.....the truth has come out! This day, a new era dawns, what has long been treated as an also-ran will become recognized as the ten-strike white knight of our times.



Kimchee (Korean for "vegetables soaked in salt water"), the "chicken soup of Korea", is becoming the subject of serious research, following years of assurance by Koreans that this hunky bunch of pungent fermented cabbage with liberal quantities of hot chile pepper really does have fanciful, mystical potencies that ward off disease, long denied as an old wive's tale blended in with a bunch of mooshoo pork!



Ahhhhhh, still all dyed-in-the-wool, ehhhhh? Perhaps it'll intrigue you to know that last month at the Korea Atomic Energy Research Institute, South Korean scientists unfurled a new kimchi especially designed for astronauts to prevent them from getting constipated in space. Another study at Ewha Woman's University in Seoul reported that kimchi lowered the stress levels of caged mice by 30%. Yet another study at the Kimchi Research Institute in Busan has concluded that hairless mice fed kimchi were reported to develop fewer wrinkles, where, with a government grant of $500,000, the institute is developing all kinds of new products, from a special anti-aging kimchi that will be marketed later this year, as well as anti-cancer and anti-obesity kimchi.

The history of this phenomenon of cultural pride is said to date back as many as 1,300 years to the 7th century, when Jang Hee Yun recounts the legendary origins of kimchi in this way:



"A poor farmer carried several old heads of cabbage to the sea to wash and freshen them. He noticed that these rather meager heads seemed to grow bulkier after sitting in the salty water, and he decided he was onto something great. If a short washing in sea water made them a little heavier wouldn't an overnight soaking make them a lot heavier? His puny cabbages would become hearty and he would have more food for himself and his family. He left the cabbages to soak and returned expectantly the next morning, only to find that the pot he had left them in was half empty. He swore revenge on the cruel thief, not realizing that it was the salt in the water--and not a criminal--that had brought about the change in the contents of the pot. Perhaps driven by despair, the farmer tore off a leaf from the wilted cabbage heads and popped it in his mouth. Yummmmm! Kimchi was born, but without garlic or red peppers."



Many scholars believe that kimchi derived from Chinese pickles, brought into Korea during the Shilla (654-935 C.E) and Korea (918-1392 C.E) dynasties. Koreans then modified that recipe to suit their own quirky taste buds. However, it wasn't until the 16th century when the signature red pepper found its way into the recipe, when Portuguese traders from Japan foudn their way to Korea and spread the chili pepper to and fro. 1549 is the earliest documented year when the chili pepper found its way into Japan, and then Korea, yet the first documented use of red pepper in kimchee is cited in 1766. Chinese cabbage completed the recipe we know and love by the 19th century, and...voila...kim chee is on the Grand Prix! :)



Koreans sure take their kimchee seriously, just as I do! In fact, the Kimchi Field Museum in Seoul holds more than 2,000 books about kimchi and thousands more dissertations, including "A Kinetic Model for Lactic Acid Production in Kimchi". An average of 300 new theses are added each and every year there, and has documented a total of 187 different types of kimchee, including 62 made with radish, 25 types of baechu kimchee (Korean cabbage kimchee), 10 made with cucumber, and 21 made out of other vegetables. Kimchi varies by region, where in the colder north they use little salt and in the warmer south they use lots of salt. Kimchee also varies by season in the forms of "four-season kimchee" and "kimjang kimchee" (kimchee for winter) where in the spring, you get Nabak kimchee (watery radish kimchee), in the summer young radish kimchee and cucumber kimchee to ease the hot weather, ponytail kimchee and sesame leaf kimchi in the autumn, and more flavorful, uncut types of kimchee in the winter. If Vivaldi had a guilty pleasure, it all but certainly had to be kimchee methinks! :)



Holy Bolgogi! The dissenters have suddenly become mum in light of these revelations, who have claimed that consumption of radish kimchee have actually increased the risk of gastric cancer, such as one published June 2005 in the Beijing-based World Journal of Gastroenterology titled "Kimchi and Soybean Pastes Are Risk Factors of Gastric Cancer." (Rates of gastric cancer among Koreans and Japanese are 10 times higher than in the United States) who insist that kimchee is indeed a healthy food, but excessive consumption of it generates its own risks. In other words, too much of a good thing IS a good thing, but too much of a good thing can be its own kind of carcinogen! LOL!



Despite the mild critiques, U.S. magazine Health listed kimchi in its March issue as one of the world's five most healthful foods (Yogurt, olive oil, lentils and soy made the rest of the list) What may explain its popularity among health food advocates is that kimchi contains high levels of lactic acid bacteria that helps in digestion and, according to some researchers, boosts the immune system. As if that isn't enough, the vegetables in kimchee contain outstanding sources of vitamin C and antioxidants, which protect cells from carcinogens.

Moreover, kimchee in recent years has ignited a halo effect among medical science students. In East Asia, the low number of Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome (SARS) cases in Korea has often been attributed to the Korean habit of eating large quantities of kimchi (though no definitive link between kimchi consumption and SARS resistance has yet been scientifically established) There is even some evidence that suggests kimchi can be used to treat avian influenza in birds, as scientists at Seoul National University say they fed samples of kimchi to 13 infected chickens - and a week later 11 of them began recovering. Its effects on humans have yet to be studied.



Forget beginning to argue that kimchee is the best thing since sliced bread in Korea; Koreans simply can't go anywhere without it! :) South Koreans are said to consume 77 pounds of it per capita annually, many even eating it with every single meal, they even introduced a new line of air conditioners in March that have an enzyme that comes from kimchee in the filters. Today your Glade Air Fresheners, tomorrow the Russian spacecraft Soyuz.....and the WORLD! :)



Whether you like it baechu, kkactugi, chonggak, dongchimi, paek, nabak, possam, kodleppegi, oi, pa.....or double-glazed in chocolate syrup, LOL, kimchee is here to stay, oh la la! Take me down to Pyung Yang Myundak, I'm having another nerdgasm, ha ha ha! :) Wan Shyang Hau!

XOXO,
Noah Eaton
(Mistletoe Angel)
(Emmanuel Endorphin)

Roto Rooters & Prune Whipped Pirate Ships

Here's some new poems, some absolutely new and some recent, to get you in the mood for the summer vacation prelude, yay! :) Don't forget to intone that Coppertone, don't want to be ol' Burnt Reynolds, no sir! :)

*

Promiscuous Planet
By: Noah Eaton
5/18/06

Betty Bajawaller’s,
got a case of the vapors,
on a hot dog budget,
with a coffee brick to taper,
went all kookabarn,
on a vaycay in Huahine, Tahiti,
laybacking peace treaties,
with the aquamarine graffiti.
She knew if everything’s under control,
she’s going way too slow,
she gave a charity throw of electric glow,
living with her toes on the nose.

Little Sally Saucer,
is there sitting in the water,
playing sharks and minnows,
with the river otters,
hailed a round trip,
around the edge of the folding lip,
a swivel-pinned mutton head,
on a prune whipped pirate ship.
She chased the bergwind,
swiftly down the frothy fall line,
re-alligning the high life…

Sapphire throne, impart your grateful heart,
a burning cathedral culinary art,
perfection of thought sheltered by carnauba palms,
flinching nourished with invincible balm…

Killer Dana’s,
in her zucchini bikini,
tanning on the hood,
of her yellow Lamborghini,
concierge of supernatural affairs,
licking a slab of miele biscotti,
migrates the years away,
between California and Kiribati.
She straddles the equator,
with a liquid cool aesthetic,
athletically unapologetic.

Sapphire throne, impart your grateful heart,
a burning cathedral culinary art,
perfection of thought sheltered by carnauba palms,
flinching nourished with invincible balm…

Alien love child,
hold your hands out as over a flame,
open to the sunshine,
the windows of all your veins,
fire in the sky,
may your phoenix lullaby flow,
from my toes to the plateau…

Promiscuous planet,
smolder the wide world over,
from the funny bone,
and beyond the picnic shoulder,
atchi katchi liberatchi,
take a peach, take a plum,
hey, go on, and take a piece
of cherry bubble gum.
Let’s make the starship blitz,
to the Rigil Kentaurus Ritz,
and Taos Hum like the Pleidans...

...surfing the universe like dreamy speed demons...

Sapphire throne, impart your grateful heart,
a burning cathedral culinary art,
perfection of thought sheltered by carnauba palms,
flinching nourished with invincible balm…
Sapphire throne, impart your grateful heart,
a burning cathedral culinary art,
perfection of thought sheltered by carnauba palms,
flinching nourished with invincible balm…

*

*

Holographic Lipstick
By: Noah Eaton
5/20/06

Subconscious sunburns,
discharging lemon Slush Puppie iridescence,
touches up her whimsical dimples,
where final fantasies are in attendance,
she’s a cookie tooth sleuth,
speckled with banana chip freckles,
bathing secret solstices away in Miriam’s Well,
with singing seahorses and the laughing gull.

Cotton candy unicorn getaways,
hightailing between soft-boiled wonderlands,
stardust spills from each sebaceous gland,
when she is queen of her motherland,
canary princes and flowering quinces,
loiter in her childlike wildlife,
she says the Blue Fairy has a sapphire castle,
in the southern pinwheel galaxy,
wants to fly there on the back of a Chinese dragon kite.

Kissing the sun,
with holographic lipstick,
she makes my heart frog kick,
double quick,
she’s a maid of the water’s daughter,
she’s the nymph of the Nixies,
she’s my itty-bitty,
dixie pixie gypsy…

Born to be the vixen of the Vardogls,
landing triple axels when the moon is full,
her altruism can inspire peace even within the Unseelie Court,
the valedictorian of her April Fools’ Choir School,
she’s a gossamer connoisseur of the Pacific silver firs,
giving the valleys a good dose of good karma,
stepping into the platter of this Fair Lady,
to taste of her lips poppy oil and sugar in the raw…

Kissing the sun,
with holographic lipstick,
she makes my heart frog kick,
double quick,
she’s a maid of the water’s daughter,
she’s the nymph of the Nixies,
she’s my itty-bitty,
dixie pixie gypsy…

Gypsy butterfly,
slowly and sweetly,
pirouette on my tongue,
indiscreetly, completely,
and I’ll rest your blithesome body,
upon my brightest magnellanic cloud,
glass blowing cocoa plum kingdoms,
having our romantic imaginations think out loud.

Kissing the sun,
with holographic lipstick,
she makes my heart frog kick,
double quick,
she’s a maid of the water’s daughter,
she’s the nymph of the Nixies,
she’s my itty-bitty,
dixie pixie gypsy...

...with holographic lipstick...

...holographic lipstick...

...holographic lipstick...

...holographic lipstick...
.
.
.

*

*

Should I Bring My Clarinet? (I Could Practice In The Car)
By: Noah Eaton
3/31/06

*

...who's that,
playing with the drum machine?

(I don't know)

*

Should I bring my clarinet?
(I could practice in the car)
Should I bring my clarinet?
(I could practice in the car)

Blowing my piccolo to altissimo,
dropping the scone on the bishop’s throne.

Should I bring my clarinet?
(I could practice in the car)
Should I bring my clarinet?
(I could practice in the car)

Throwing from my long bow of cocobolo,
a frenzied Italian marching band soul.

Pitch me an acai bowl,
and a tray of wasabi peanuts,
and I shall foot patrol with the oboe,
swoon with the bassoons lickety cut,
the trumpeter exposes the theme,
and my mission is its embroidering,
so before you head to the auditor,
buy me a six-case of Piranha Outrageous energy drink.

Should I bring my clarinet?
(I could practice in the car)
Should I bring my clarinet?
(I could practice in the car)

Making summer haw of Artie Shaw,
shrieking like a Dixieland macaw.

Should I bring my clarinet?
(I could practice in the car)
Should I bring my clarinet?
(I could practice in the car)

Benny Goodman must be my conjoined twin,
Woody Herman must be my patrilineal kin.

Ever since my Tamagotchi lost its batteries,
and is left parched of digital thirst,
I’ve been opening these emotional floodgates,
letting my deepest feelings emerge,
bouncing on the backseat like a Mexican jumping bead,
with a shoebox of interjections interspersed,
so while you’re at the rotary,
I’ll be submersed in bebop’s jaw droppin’ verse...

This clarinet is like a clarinet to me
(And that’s all that truly matters)
This clarinet is like a clarinet to me
(I could cook it up in fritter batter)
This clarinet is like a clarinet to me
(I don’t wanna play spin the platter)
This clarinet is like a clarinet to me
(Your geologist buddy is quite a chatter)

*

...quit playing with the drum machine.

(Sorry...

...you gotta admit it's infectious!)

*

*

Concentrate (Be The Dotted Line)
By: Noah Eaton
3/15/06

I got my ValPak coupon booklet,
I’m examining it thoroughly,
looking for a clipping valid,
for one free home delivery of Sierra Springs.
I see a $30 discount,
off Roto Rooter draining and plumbing,
and The Fast Frame has an offer on the table,
for $40 off any custom framing,

Now comes the tricky part,
hope this won’t disrupt my flow chart,
simply clipping for a la carte,
could become an eternal struggle.

I must concentrate
(I must interrelate)
Become the dotted line
(Let the line and you intertwine)
Cut straight between the line
(It’s a doctrine I consign)
Become the dotted line
(Become the line and you‘ll be fine)

I love supporting Box Tops for Education,
I collect them in groups of fifty,
when using scissors I wear magnifying goggles,
and a headlight to keep Sunday paper spiffy,
if I was better acquainted with ethnic cuisine,
I’d peruse and prune the Wednesday food section in a jiffy,
but just the thought of nyotaimori,
gives me cold sweats and involuntary trembling.

I cried myself to sleep on my Davenport,
when my wrist shook and cut athwart,
one worth $100 off any hardwood floor,
alas, that golden ticket’s glory broke short.

I must concentrate
(I must interrelate)
Become the dotted line
(Let the line and you intertwine)
Cut straight between the line
(It’s a doctrine I consign)
Become the dotted line
(Become the line and you‘ll be fine)

If I worked on a weekly salary,
I’d rush down to Camino Rug Gallery,
and redeem free pick-up and delivery,
but I’m just a busy detective burning away calories,
but I’m a dapper scamper, suave on rebates,
for full-service dry cleaning from Merry Maids,
from the Golden State to my hot plate,
consider my triple play and hang-tag savvy au fait.

I must concentrate
(I must interrelate)
Become the dotted line
(Let the line and you intertwine)
Cut straight between the line
(It’s a doctrine I consign)
Become the dotted line
(Become the line and you‘ll be fine)
.
.
.
.
.
Ohhhh...
.
ohhhh geez...
.
...I just snipped this one,
good for a free Swiffer,
inward from the line,
at an eight degree acute angle...
.
...oh, the horror,
the horror...
.
.
.

*

*

Ebenezer Caesar, Expert Parking Meter Reader & Carpet Beater
By: Noah Eaton
2/25/06

(Say, you remember our good buddy Ebenezer, right,
y’know, that lil’ teaser that lived in his freezer?
Well, I gather you’re curious how he’s been since,
so here’s a sequel that’ll warm up each square meter...)

In a well-mannered way,
he moved into a yurt on Biscayne Bay,
developing a wicked game of armadillo croquet,
mopping the green at the Chokoloskee Invitational.
He’s let his upright freezer salt away,
stays up til four indulged in single crochet,
treats Craft Corner Deathmatch like a second grade field day,
or drama queen improvisational.
Loves an afternoon river raft ride on his cafeteria tray,
aspiring to upgrade to a manta ray cabriolet,
and make it to Narragansett Bay by the break of day,
for the 117th annual shadow play congregational.

Presenting a whole new Ebenezer Caesar,
did I mention he’s a flirtatious parking meter reader,
he balances two paid jobs as a Polyneux Elementary intercom reader,
and your friendly neighborhood carpet beater,
he can be quite quirky, quite the lotus eater,
but he has more warmth than a kerosene heater,
raise that blue peter,
in honor of a newly-improved Ebenezer Caesar.

He’s made a couple close friends,
that live in a gulch buried in a magnolia bend,
they’re as tight as a frozen fisherman’s bend,
ah yes, his life’s real kosher.
One by the name of Cuddly Studley Dudley,
who founded a convention show on battling dust bunnies,
thus piqued Ebenezer’s interest in this easy money,
with a lust for life like an oven stuffer roaster.
Then there’s Pahayokee Phil,
lanky with a nose like a crane’s bill,
who customized a space station from a cider mill,
hunting for extraterrestrial roller-coasters.

Presenting a whole new Ebenezer Caesar,
did I mention he’s a flirtatious parking meter reader,
he balances two paid jobs as a Polyneux Elementary intercom reader,
and your friendly neighborhood carpet beater.
He can be quite quirky, quite the lotus eater,
but he has more warmth than a kerosene heater,
raise that blue peter,
in honor of a newly-improved Ebenezer Caesar.

Nails each quintuple lutz in lilypad figure skating,
something about his nimbleness is reinstating,
with him around there’s never any muckraking…

Presenting a whole new Ebenezer Caesar,
did I mention he’s a flirtatious parking meter reader,
he balances two paid jobs as a Polyneux Elementary intercom reader,
and your friendly neighborhood carpet beater.
He can be quite quirky, quite the lotus eater,
but he has more warmth than a kerosene heater,
raise that blue peter,
in honor of a newly-improved Ebenezer Caesar.

He beats that eyebrow tweezer by and large,
forget the Groove Jet’s cover charge,
send all your fond regards,
to our friend of former Frigidaire residence.

Presenting a whole new Ebenezer Caesar,
did I mention he’s a flirtatious parking meter reader,
he balances two paid jobs as a Polyneux Elementary intercom reader,
and your friendly neighborhood carpet beater.
He can be quite quirky, quite the lotus eater,
but he has more warmth than a kerosene heater,
raise that blue peter,
in honor of a newly-improved Ebenezer Caesar.

(Did I mention he’s dating the flying purple people eater,
hee hee hee,
he’s quite the zebra cake,
ah-ha ha ha ha ha!)

*

XOXO,
Noah Eaton
(Mistletoe Angel)
(Emmanuel Endorphin)

Holding To The Prayers Of Our Mothers

There is a Jewish proverb which reads, “God could not be everywhere and therefore he made mothers.” Beyond this Mother’s Day alone, I always love to hug my mother before I go to bed, and if indeed I had a single flower for every time I think and celebrate her, my sauntering in my garden would be endless and vibrant, for mothers truly are the glorious gardeners of the world. Through my mother I have inherited so much I value wholeheartedly, including my hair color, smaller hands and feet, cheeks, and certainly those bubbly, sassy giggles! (giggles) Yep, my mother is quite the quintessential Libra (born October 15th) and Libras indeed are charming, harmonious individuals who are most sensitive to the needs of others and often have a naturally psychic ability to understand the emotional needs of their loved ones and determined to fulfill them through their deep-welled optimism. Often you may hear the saying, "They always make you feel better for having been with them." and Libras are exactly the kind of people that saying is centered around. I believe it’s no accident why Libra is the only sign in the zodiac that is characterized by an inanimate object, the scales, because ever so many desire to seek this sort of synchronicity, to cooperate and compromise from conflict, and in having a friendship with any Libran, you’ll feel empathy and understanding that is literally unmatched, for Libras are that very balance that they continually seek in themselves and their lives. Of course Libras have a tendency to gossip a lot, but that’s all good! (giggles) So there is indeed a little Libra in all of us I believe, and I believe it’s through my mother that I’ve become a Scorpio who aspires to fuse my deep emotions and passions into seeking that conviviality, to be the Dove of Peace kind of Scorpio.



Indeed, often I believe many of us overlook the true origin of this day of hallmark importance. I absolutely believe it’s super-cool to give flowers and bake that annual red velvet Tuppakaka on this day. But the genuine birth of this holiday is based in 1870 America, when social activist Julia Ward Howe, a prominent American abolitionist, poet and pacifist, wrote the Mother’s Day Proclamation in a call for peace and disarmament. Her efforts were inspired most of all by community activist Anna Reeves Jarvis, who as early as 1858 organized Mothers' Works Days in West Virginia, with the primary goal of improving sanitation in Appalachian communities, where during the Civil War, Jarvis inspired women to go and care for the wounded in war, and called for men as well to bury the hatchets and peacefully settle their differences. And, through her brave spirit, she made her proclamation known to the public, especially in 1872, when she called for an annual Mother’s Day for Peace:

*



“Arise, then, women of this day! Arise all women who have hearts,
whether our baptism be that of water or of fears!

Say firmly: "We will not have great questions decided by
irrelevant agencies. Our husbands shall not come to us, reeking
with carnage, for caresses and applause. Our sons shall not be
taken from us to unlearn all that we have been able to teach
them of charity, mercy and patience.

We women of one country will be too tender of those of another
country to allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs. From
the bosom of the devastated earth a voice goes up with our own.
It says "Disarm, Disarm! The sword of murder is not the balance
of justice."

Blood does not wipe our dishonor nor violence indicate possession.
As men have often forsaken the plow and the anvil at the summons
of war, let women now leave all that may be left of home for a
great and earnest day of counsel. Let them meet first, as women,
to bewail and commemorate the dead.

Let them then solemnly take counsel with each other as to the
means whereby the great human family can live in peace, each
bearing after their own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar,
but of God.

In the name of womanhood and of humanity, I earnestly ask that a
general congress of women without limit of nationality may be
appointed and held at some place deemed most convenient and at
the earliest period consistent with its objects, to promote the
alliance of the different nationalities, the amicable settlement
of international questions, the great and general interests of
peace."

Julia Ward Howe
Boston
1870



*

Howe also wrote, “Our husbands shall not come to us reeking with carnage... Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn all that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience. We women of one country will be too tender of
those of another country to allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs". Her message inspired and reached many more Americans, and for thirty years after her public vision was shared, many women followed her in many noble causes, including calling for an end to lynching once and for all, to end slavery, better children’s care and public health, welfare assistance to the poor, and indeed held faith true to heart that America could become as civilized as ever in realizing their vision to care for the casualties of our dear nation, that indeed motherhood is a gentle yet empowering force that gardens the fullest promise of America and the justice and liberty it indoctrinates.



Sadly, as with many of the holidays in which we cherish dearly, Mother’s Day has become entangled in consumer culture in modern times, and ever too much now have women become re-defined as consumers to the family, as have the visions that made this day possible been ignored. Indeed flowers can bring a smile to any woman’s heart, but there are millions of women worldwide who still need and lack access to basic, essential qualities to life including health care, living wages and child care for their children. It’s in the integrity, the intuitiveness beating deep in the hearts of Howe and her believers, that can still make this munificent dream most possible. My optimism is most bright in that I absolutely believe voices of this generation are continuing to pass Howe’s tenderhearted torch forward, for as Albert Schweitzer said, “In everyone's life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit.” It’s not just mothers either who are doing so, it’s many men as well, for as my dear poet friend Sharon (Mysteria) says, Happy Mother’s Day is for “all those that "Mother", including caregivers, pet lovers, and single dads out there.”



In other parts of the world, Mother’s Day takes on other meanings and are held on different days. For instance, in the United Kingdom, Mother’s Day is also known as “Mothering Sunday”, and is celebrated on the fourth Sunday of Lent, often believed to have originated from the Christian practice of visiting ones mother church every year, in that families would be reunited on this day, and it’s even widely believed that young apprentices and young women in servitude were released by their masters on this weekend so that they could go and visit their families.



Indeed, as y’all can tell following along with my Serotonin Sandbox, I believe there is no thing more polarizing and poisonous than politics in our world, thus that’s why I refuse to talk about politics as much as possible and wish to harness an alternative blog atmosphere here that centers around the harmony, altruism and laughter that will always continue to tintinnabulate as we find our way through the adversities thick and thin. However, I also believe that war is the deadliest force, always driven by some political influence, that tears families, environments and hearts apart, thus occasionally I believe it’s in my true consciousness as a citizen, a human being and, truly, as a son to God’s universal family and sibling to Earth‘s global family, to speak of these issues here in a most diplomatic and non-partisan, yet serious and truthful manner. I believe everything about the ongoing war in Iraq is morally wrong and as with any war, it will always be a lose-lose situation for mankind, and further de-harmonizes cultures and peoples far and wide. I also believe it’s through the imagination and intuition of “gardeners” like Lowe that we can find redress to the humanitarian crisis in Sudan, among other situations facing our global community today.



I believe I obtained my deep innate sense of justice through my mother, much of this sort of spiritual activist blood was transmitted deep from her aorta. And for that I am most thankful in that I’ve become a far more better, compassionate, empathetic individual through her unconditional belief in universal liberty. And that, to me, is motherhood in its most purest form.



A Chinese proverb reads, “There is only one pretty child in the world, and every mother has it.” Indeed, our mothers all are children themselves, and it is through being reminded of this that we must celebrate our mothers beyond this day alone, for their mission is constant and spans far beyond a year’s cycle, even the cycle of a generation or a lifetime. So reach out, and give your mother a teddy bear hug, and just for good measure, give her a hug every time you visit her. (smiles)

“A man loves his sweetheart the most, his wife the best, but his mother the longest.”

Irish Proverb

XOXO,
Noah Eaton
(Mistletoe Angel)
(Emmanuel Endorphin)

"Check. Check 1. Sibilance. Sibilance. Check. Check 2. Sibilance. Sibilance."

*

“The waiting is the hardest part
Every day you see one more card
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part...”

*



Doo doo doo….doo doo doo doo doo…ohhhhh, hey there, I didn’t see you come in! LOL! While the scientific community is admirably engaged hook, line and sinker in cracking the worldwide dilemma of global warming, finding a cure to all cancer and perfecting stem cell research in the greatest hopes of curing a wide range of human disorders including ruptured spinal cords, cerebral palsy and Parkinson’s disease, one scientist has stepped into the cultural forefront to ponder “Rarely is the question asked, ‘Why do bands keep audiences waiting?’”



Richard Witts, a writer on music and society, a teacher at Goldsmiths’ College of the University of London, the University of Surrey and the University of Sussex, a regular personality on BBC radio and television, and a lifelong versatile musician from the Grimsby & District Symphony Orchestra to post-punk outfit The Passage, addresses this very question in his latest study, "I'm Waiting for the Band: Protraction and Provocation at Rock Concerts." which was published in Cambridge University's international academic journal Popular Music.



In extensive research and interviewing, he suggests that indeed equipment difficulties make up approximately half of lengthy delays, and most oftenly “the most common reason for a delay is still that the left or right channel of the PA system has, as they say, 'gone down'.” Also, he cites that there are “escalating manifestations of backstage rituals whereby the artists themselves 'focus their energies' through hand-holding, chants, candles and prayers.“ and in result of this, “tour managers claim that artists increasingly desire that this concrescence of energy should exist on the other side of the stage equally, and that it's in the interests of the event to invest in, and optimise, the congregational dynamic.” Yet, as Witts explains, “there is a curious, ill-defined period between the moment the technicians have finished their on-stage preparations so that the stage is fit for the artist - that pageant known as the 'roadie cabaret' - and the moment of the band's arrival, when it ultimately appears incorporate on stage.” Thus, he lays his thesis down:

*

“How long is that gap meant to be? This seemingly non-productive passage of time is unique to non-unionised music. Unlike classical concerts or recitals there's rarely a strict schedule, perhaps a hand-written notice pinned to a door with the tour manager's suggested order: '8.30pm support act, 10pm main band'. But, as one yellow-toothed tour manager told me, 'The main guys are a law unto themselves. Rock Around The Clock it ain't'. So for argument's sake let's call the gap - which occurs post-technician and preartist - the Expectant Void.”

*



In interviewing three prominent British promoters and two tour managers to investigate what exactly is going on within the “expectant void”, Witts found that they don’t believe the void is meant to arouse anticipation or suspense, but instead “classify - into four categories - what they call 'the irritating events' that fill it.”. Technical hold-ups (40%) and miscommunication (10%) make up two of the four categories. Yet, his respondents claimed that 20% of hold-ups “covered the unforeseen, the accidental or the 'cock-up'.” which include the most common example of it: “nip outside to buy a packet of cigarettes but leave their backstage pass in the dressing room and the stage door security won't let them inside, even when they point to their photos on the posters (this is why the press-stud wristband was introduced, itself now a caste status symbol)” He also claims these two particular incidences as supreme examples of the unforeseen:

*



1) “The Blind Boys of Alabama - being blind - walk in crocodile formation, one hand on the shoulder of the brother in front. At one British venue they were given a green room at stage level to save them walking far. As they were about to go on stage, one of them decided he wanted to go to the toilet. They agreed it would be best under the circumstances if they all went to the toilet. But the nearest toilet by now was at the side of the auditorium. So the first view the audience got of the Blind Boys of Alabama was not of them walking onto the stage but instead groping along the wall of the stalls in formation, disappearing one by one into the Gents (and eventually out again).”

2) “A cult band was going on stage in Manchester but the members suddenly noticed the singer had disappeared. The manager called the head of security who made a backstage search, only to find the singer halfway down a dark corridor being given a blow job by a dedicated fan. Thus in order to come on stage he had to come off-stage First.”

*



Finally, it is the artist him/herself who accounts for 30% of delays, where ego-feeding and fear of failure itself is the greatest blame behind it of all. Witts explains the longest-known length of time an artist kept the audience waiting, at two-and-a-half hours:

*

“In 1984 the ex-Velvet Underground chanteuse Nico toured Eastern Europe. In Prague it was only in her dressing room (just before she was due to go on stage) that Nico discovered she'd run out of heroin. She ordered a roadie to get some. In Prague. He went out of the venue and eventually, in Wenceslas Square, to his amazement, he found a dealer. He paid over the odds but he purchased for Nico a gram of smack. Nico, relieved, opened up the wrap, only to find it was a 'bum deal' of all-too-real brown sugar. 'You fools,' she groaned, 'You can't do anything right. I'll have to go out myself.' By now the audience had been waiting an hour and a half over time. She put on her coat, went outside and, eventually, she bought a deal. Returning to her dressing room, she opened it up - only to find that she'd been to the same man and now had two wraps of certified demerera. Her audience had by then been waiting two and a half hours, and she now had to go on stage to perform - without her fix, in a state of tortured withdrawal. Her first words were, 'Would anyone like some sugar?'.”

*



So remember, next time you’re stuck there in the pit salivating for Yngwie Malmsteen to snake-charm all 24 of his caprices from his 1972 blond Strat, “The Duck”, you can feel a little bit of comfort knowing that he’s probably just scratching through flavor after flavor of Harry Potter All-Flavor jelly beans, vowing not to rise until he tastes a Maui Wowie flavored one. And remember:

*



“Don’t let it kill you baby, don’t let it get to you
Don’t let ’em kill you baby, don’t let ’em get to you
I’ll be your breathin’ heart, I’ll be your cryin’ fool
Don’t let this go to far, don’t let it get to you…”

*

XOXO,
Noah Eaton
(Mistletoe Angel)
(Emmanuel Endorphin)

"...Which One Shall I Order First? I Just Can’t Choose. Kappa, Anakyu, Tekka. Sayori, Kazunoko. Ooo..."

Ever since 2:00 yesterday afternoon I've had this power pop punchbowl by Japanese duo Shonen Knife stuck in my head:

*

"Sushi, sushi, sushi bar!
Going to a sushi bar!
Sushi, sushi, sushi bar!
Going to a sushi bar!
Sushi, sushi, sushi bar!
Going to a sushi bar!
Sushi, sushi, sushi bar!
Going to a sushi bar!

I wanna go to a sushi bar.
I wanna go with you.
Hamachi, Ika, Ebi, Tako.
Maguro, Kaibashira..."

*



(giggles) That's because late afternoon yesterday I ambled on over to the Lloyd Center area sushi-go-round Marinepolis Sushi Land, located at 1409 NE Weidler Street to satisfy my proclivity for some nigiri! Indubitably, I took a lil' saunter with my family six blocks down lush, canopied Tillamook Street and saw all the grandmother trees lining the sidewalks, not to mention got a weekly peep of Peace Plaza and the chickens and roosters our 18th Street neighbors have mooching around their lil' back forty, up until we got to 15th Street, where we walked down across Broadway over to Weidler and, yare yare, Sushi Land awaits! :)



Marinepolis Sushi Land is a kaiten-zushi (or conveyor belt sushi restaurant) where the plates filled with all kinds of different sushi are placed on a rotating conveyor belt that winds all across the restaurant, cruising past every table and counter seat, sometimes even in the form of wooden sushi boats rowing down colorful canals. It’s like the automat meets The Outer Limits, everyone! J The plates at Marinepolis are also cooler-coded to indicate the price, with green worth $1.00 (jncluding cucumber rolls smoked salmon rolls and smelt roes), orange worth $1.50 (including shrimp tempura rolls, soy bean salads and yellowtail), blue worth $2.00 (including spicy tunas, albacore toros and salmon roe), and, if you’re a frog in the well that has a zazzle for knowing the ocean, purple plates are worth $3.00 (jncluding spider rolls, sea urchins and blue fin tuna toros). Specials are also available that can be specifically requested to the chef, all at their own various prices as well. By the end of your meal, the final bill is calculated based on the number and color of plates of the consumed sushi. And the best part of all is, you're treated with all the wasabi and picked ginger you can handle, with each table treated with communal containers loaded with the essentials, as well as soy sauce and teriyaki sauce.

To seek the origin of this harmonious haragei, look no further than Yoshiaki Shiraishi, the inventor of conveyor-belt sushi. You see, as you can expect from the typical small sushi bar manager's lament, it became difficult for him staffing his restaurant and even managing the restaurant single-handedly. So, as legend has it, he got the idea of conveyor-belt sushi after observing the brilliant quietude of a beer bottle meandering all around an Asahi brewery on a conveyor belt. And.....Mitsuketa, after five years of development on the conveyor belt and speed operations, Shiraishi opened the first conveyor belt sushi Mawaru Genroku Sushi in Osaka in 1958, where he went on to help create 240 eventually.



In the beginning, customers were seated in front of the conveyor belt, but ooohhhhh that was unpopular somehow. Sooooooooo, eventually tables were designed at right angels to the conveyor belt, which could seat as many as six each, to make it both more comfortable for each of the sushi senseis and reduce the length and costs of constructing the Union Tsubugai Railroad! (giggles) Apparently Shiraishi also experimented with sushi served by servant robots, but that didn’t go too kindly either, LOL! Also, some conveyor belt sushi restaurants have introduced this new touch screen monitor system, where the screen shows a virtual aquarium with all kinds of different fishes, and by touching a fish, you automatically order the sushi, and brought right your way via the Kitsune Express, which apparently is a very sustainable system in that it dramatically reduces the percentage of excess sushi not eaten!



So, there you have it, and indeed I was a spread eagle octopus stationed beside the conveyor belt, stoicly swaying like a willow in the wind awaiting the two halves of the cucumber, dressed in cheongsams of seaweed, rice vinegar and sesame, for my dining desire, gone in 8 centimeters per second! I ended up consuming three green plates of cucumber roll, one orange plate of veggie roll, and one orange plate of soy bean salad. Immediately after my meal I realized, “Hey, whenever I have a dollar and fifty cents lying in my pocket having a blanket drill, rather than spending it on a Charleston Chew or a twenty ounce can of Diet Black Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper, I could combat my orthorexia the healthy way by just double-dutchin’ on over to Marinepolis, order a green plate of fried bean curd, and show a gesture of goodwill by offering a 50% gratuity with my remaining fifty cents. :)



Hey, did you know Marinepolis also has a Plate Championship? Nope, that certainly is not the pickle radish talking, for you can become the next Rocky Shorey (the current grand champion who devoured 56 plates within ninety minutes), ask the manager, "Hey, can I be a plate champion?", then be prepared to consume at least 30 plates of sushi by yourself within an hour and a half. Finally, when you're finished, you can call the server to come on over, count the plates, get your name and address, and take a snapshot of you, where you will be inducted into the illustrious on-line plate champion record repository, handed the all-exclusive "Marinepolis Sushi Land PLate Champion T-Shirt", and have multiple chances to win all kinds of gift certificates. Whether I have the audacity to do it remains uncertain, but what I do know is I will always be far more certain to ever do this than to do a poor Marshmallow Peeps smack-lipped massacre! ;)

Uso! Dôzo, hitokire dôzo! But before you gear up those chopsticks, remember these four rules of sushi etiquette, my child:



1) If you see something you like, trust your instincts and make your move, for it may not come around again. Each piece is an imperial opportunity of a feast.

2) If you love a taste of danger and want to go full throttle for fugu sashimi, or perhaps you love going neurotic exotic and have a taste for the Bakudan Mali roll (something like crisp sweet shrimp with grilled pineapple, baby arugula topped with avocado, curried coconut and a fried yucca ragout) but can't find it on the conveyor, don't be shy, ask for it, for special requests can always be concocted!

3) Take a deep breath, relax, and pace yourself before leaping in head-first for the treats. This way you can analyze the items by low, medium, high and habanero high rotation, and pull right off the belt with 100% accuracy what tickles your fancy.

4) Give the sushi cook a tip, they deserve it. At least 10 to 15% would do quite nicely! :)



Subarashii!

*

"Which one shall I order first?
I just can't choose.
Kappa, Anakyu, Tekka. Sayori, Kazunoko.
Ooo, let's eat a healthy menu.
It's a famous Japanese meal.
Ooo, let's drink hot green tea
after a Japanese meal."

*



Anyway, today we also happen to be kicking off a whole new month. That's right, April gave us showers, and now we get to witness the marveling of May flowers. It's no mistake to me why May is said to be named after the Greek goddess Maia, who was identified with the Roman goddess of fertility, named Bona Dea. May is arguably my absolute favorite month of the year, the time of the year when Japanese children are stricken by the infectious May sickness and long to escape to their onsen ryokans and permeate the Pachinko parlors. Where the Finnish sow and sow and sow the lush days away in the high grasses with the bumblebees and the lily of the valley. And hey, you can't go wrong when every single Star Wars film ever made has so happened to have been released this mellifluous month! :)



May 1st also happens to be Mother Goose Day. :) Mother Goose Day was founded in 1987 by Gloria T. Delamar while publishing her book titled, "Mother Goose; From Nursery to Literature". The day's purpose is to re-celebrate all our favorite nursery rhymes, and, "either alone or in sharing, read childhood nursery favorites and feel the warmth of Mother Goose's embrace." Mother Goose Day is now listed in many calendars of events and celebrated from sea to shining sea, especially energizing kindergartens, libraries, and nursing homes.



So bring along your Mother Goose Rhyme books, gather with your friends, act out skits of different rhymes with them in the forms of pantomines and charades, light up a cozy lil' campfire and host a Mother Goose Sing-A-Thon, brew some wholesome Pease Porridge fondue, and go with the flow and improvise your own rhymes with the rhythm and patter banter. :) I'll start:

"A swarm of bees in May
Is worth a load of hay;
A swarm of bees in June
Is worth a silver spoon;
A swarm of bees in July
Is not worth a fly."



Zum gali gali gali gali! I dickery dickery dare ya! :)

XOXO,
Noah Eaton
(Mistletoe Angel)
(Emmanuel Endorphin)