Blame It On Kimchee

When I was attending language school, I was so immersed in Chinese culture that it barely registered that any other Asian culture existed. Several weeks into the total immersion method of acquiring a language along with some of the culture, my friend Jeff suggested we go out for some dinner. Jeff was studying Korean language and culture. He said that he knew a place near Fort Ord, on the north side of Monterey that served excellent, authentic Korean food. I had eaten Chinese food, and had eaten Japanese Sushi, but at that point, I had never sampled anything Korean or anything that was from any other Asian culture.

Kimchee is a staple of the Korean diet. In fact, every meal seems to involve kimchee and rice. Some of the guys at school had already warned me about the potency of kimchee, but they hastened to say how good it was. So, I was looking forward to trying it.

I had never paid any attention to Korean culture at all. I was studying Chinese and had more than enough to learn about their 4000 year history and culture. To that point, it had always seems to me that Korea was of lesser interest as it was a relatively smaller country than China, had much fewer people and it did not have the extensive history and culture that China boasted.

I accepted the invitation because I had heard that Korean food was pretty damned tasty, if a bit on the hot side. I liked spicy food.

We drove to a alley on the north side of town, and my friend parked his car. We walked for five minutes down a series of streets and then finally turning down one alley and then another until we arrived at a place adorned with a sign bearing only Korean writing. Once we were inside, I realized that if three or even four couples came in at one time the place would have a line. As it was, we were the only ones there, but it was early in the evening. My friend assured me that he had been there when there was a line of people patiently waiting to be served.

My friend spoke to the owners in broken Korean, but as I did not understand any Korean, I was fairly impressed. At the time, I was about ten weeks into learning Chinese. I had already tried and failed to carry on a conversation with a native speaker. I was certain that if I were in a Chinese restaurant, I would not be unable to order a meal. What my friend was doing in Korean was beyond what I could do in the language that I was learning.

The waitress brought out bowls of rice and several small dishes bearing different types of kimchee. Apparently, my friend knew the Korean names of each of the varieties of kimchee that we were served. He invited me to sample each, then explained to me how each was made.

There are over a hundred different types of kimchee. That night, I sampled but a few. Kimchee is usually made from Chinese cabbage, rutabagas, cucumbers, onions, or peppers - just about any raw sliced vegetable. There are some types of kimchee made from sliced watermellon rind. Often kimchee is made of a combination of vegetables. It is mixed together, wilted in rocksalt for a few days, then rinsed, drained and mixed with a several other ingredients, depending on the season. The most common varieties are winter kimchee. These are made with ground red pepper, minced garlic, MSG, and rice powder. After initial preparation, the contents are stuffed into a large jar or other container, sealed and either refrigerated or, more traditionally, burried in the ground until use. 

As fascinated as I was with the background, I rapidly acquired a taste for kimchee. In fact, I ate a lot of kimchee that evening. I was fearless, despite Jeff's admonitions about what was in it and dire predictions of later intenstinal discomfort. After I consumed several fairly small bowls of kimchee along with rice, I chased it down with cold diet soda. I did not realize that was a dangerous combination. I had assembled the components of a small nuclear reactor in my belly.

When we left the restaurant, I was full. An hour later, I was hungry again, as has always seemed to be the case with a westerner eating Asian food from any culture. I had an important examination on Tuesday. I needed to study for most of the weekend. So, I excused myself to my room where I stayed up for most of the evening and well into the wee hours of the next morning. Then, I went to sleep.

Late Saturday morning, I went to the dorm's common restroom for my shower. While I was shaving afterwards, Jeff entered and asked if I was feeling okay.

"I'm fine. Why?"

"It is just that usually kimchee gives you the fiery Hershey squirts the first time because of all the roughage and fermented raw vegetables and red pepers."

"Well, I grew up on a farm. I have eaten vegetables all of my life. Granted, the hot pepper, garlic and whatever else you said was mixed with kimchee is probably something I have never had before, but I feel fine.

Jeff shook his head in disbelief. "You ate enough kimchee to be in misery by now."

"Maybe I am immune."

Jeff smiled, "Yeah, well maybe it hasn't hit you yet."

* * * *

Chris, my roommate, was infatuated with Demi Moore. He wanted to go see her latest movie. As I would never decline the opportunity to see a pretty face in a movie, I decided to tag along. The movie was "Blame It On Rio". Despite the stellar cast of accomplished actors and actresses, the movie, in my unprofessional estimation, sucked. It might be due to the severe cramps I started to experience halfway through the film.

I am the sort of person who will stay to the end of a crappy movie. Having paid to view something, I will be there for the duration, anticipating some last minute redemption that never seems to arrive. From my experience, if the first ten minutes of a movie are bad, the rest will be as well.

I watched all of it, fighting back the cramps until the very end. When the credits started to roll, I was off like a streak to find the restroom, as I was in urgent need.

For God knows what reason, the restrooms in that theater were on the first balcony. Chris needed to take a leak so he was right behind me as we ascended the steps, taking two at a time to reach the first balcony and the restroom. Jeff went to a urinal. I went to the farthest stall, the one against the wall and furthest from the door. I was expecting the worst.

Before I could finish unbuckling my jeans, it began. It seemed as if I was firing a retro-rocket as I sat down. I figure that I was four seconds into the burn for descent and hovering over the toilet before I started to monitor my wristwatch. Finally, I finished making a soft landing on the seat. Yet the butt blast continued, and I was watching the seconds tick away on my watch. I began to feel like I might spend the rest of my life there, farting. The gas leak lasted 25 measured seconds but had begun perhaps as many as five or six seconds before I started to time it. Gratefully, it subsided. For all the discomfort I endured through the movie, it was nothing but gas. Had Ripley's been there to document the moment, it might have set a world's record.

When I emerged from the stall, there was a gross absense of any other life in the restroom. That in itself was odd, as there were over two hundred people in the theater. I exited the restroom and descended the stairs. For whatever reason, everyone in the lobby was staring at me. I looked for Chris and finally found him distantly ready to exit. Once he saw me, he pushed against the door and was immediately outside.

I ran to catch up to Chris in the parking lot. He turned and focused on my eyes, "What the hell was that?"

I stepped back, honestly having no clue what he was talking about.

"You farted for like ten seconds."

"Twenty five actually. Maybe a bit longer, I don't know."

"You are proud of it then?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, actually, I am. So, I farted. Like you have never farted?"

"I have never farted for 25 seconds!"

"Well, eat kimchee and drink diet soda on top of it."

"You know there were people who needed to go to the restroom that heard that thing and turned around at the door and left.  I cut mine off short and hurried out for fear you'd say something to me, like, 'how was that?"

"I thought about it. But, well, it didn't even stink," I offered.

"How does that even matter?"

"Well, it matters to me."

"Does it, really?"

"Yes, it actually does."

"I'm not so sure I shouldn't just let you walk back to the dorm."

"I'm over and done with it. It is all out of me."

"How do I know that?"

"Dude, it lasted for better than 25 seconds. What else could I possibly have left in me?"

"You tell me?"

"Well, I think we are safe for the drive home."

"Roll your window down."

"You're serious."

"Hell, yes, I want to live and breathe."

"Chris, we are roommates."

"And I'm going to call you the 'gas man' from now on"

"It was harmless! It didn't stink."

"In your opinion. What a comfort that would be to all the people who might have been trapped in the theater with you had it erupted during the movie."

"I respectfully held it back and was in misery for my efforts."

"At least I lite mine when I have a fart fit."

I chuckled.

"Dude," Chris drew a deep breath before continuing. "I will admit that was an achievement."

"But I think it was a good thing that I didn't light it."

"The Chamber of Commerce for the City of Monterey and outlying areas thanks you."

Hollywood California

shining silver-screen stars
illusions inspiring intrusions
deleterious dogmatic disaster
hedonistic Hollywood heretical
cinematic California carcinomas

ribald raucous raunchy relevance
gregarious gargantuan grotesque
twinkling tinsel titillating travesties
expressive eloquence extroverted

beautiful burlesque buffoon backlash
frenetic fantastic fairyland fornication
marvelous mischievous malevolence
picturesque preposterous perversion

Prophecy Of The Cats - From Shattered Truce

A dark page in history
of all that are cat
has finally been turned
open to reveal.

As legends once uttered
grow potential in fulfillment,
the words of ancestors
have returned to us.

Guhl, fur of our fur,
blood of our blood,
Lord of the moonless dark,
foretold before he danced away
into the Eternity of Shadows.

Hear his words
that no longer will
seem an enigma!

When the no moons have ended
these things will commence:

One will be as many in the flesh.
From the outworld another will come,
yet he will not know
the true place of origin.

A friend seems an enemy.
Many reunite with ancestors.
He will stand motionless
while all others war
against a common foe.

Unmoving he shall remain until
all that was hidden is revealed.
Cat beside wolf will battle
deadly forces at the will.

Puissant is the blood of the one.
A greater will,
the one made nameless,
keeper of the balance
merged in all.

As in the first times,
Gebo's red eyes glow
in impenetrable darkness
the void of nocturnal delusion.

From a mist green with envy
for the truth of blue,
the spirit compromises
arise to bind contradiction in nature,
wolf and cat are as one.

The peace to release tormented souls
usher the harmony
at the conclusion
of all things.

Interface

Horrific!
The word echoed within Andy's mind
as smothering panic overcame him.
He remembered an impression,
from some way station along
the course of his
mental meandering.

He'd returned to the nightmare
flame consuming all within,
the crumpled mass of steel;
inverted he had dangled,
unable to escape the burning.

Rescued at some point,
all he could do was surmise.
Him mind was elsewhere,
and else when
He wish to be anywhere else.

Awakening he was immersed
within oxygenated, healing
gelatinous goop.
His life depended upon it
but his instinctual response
was revulsion and gagging.

Lung scarred
from breaths of flame
He fought the fear
of suffocation;
the fear of drowning
while starving for air.

When he could not
hold his breath
any longer
he gave up,
fully expecting
that his heart
would lud-thump
and thud-lump until
the oxygen expired
and then thud-thump
and lud-lump harder
and at an accelerated pace in panic
until vital conduits burst
and his heart ruptured
as his lungs finally exploded,
contained only by his rib cage.

Amazingly, that did not happen.

He realized that he could breathe the goop.
There was air dissolved in it
that filled his lungs; he drew oxygen from it
and by it he survived.

With that revelation,
that he had always survived,
the ocean of madness
compelled him
toward the source,
the unifying identity
that was still tied into
the Ethosphere.

There was something
he needed to do and
he needed the resources
of the interface.

In Our Image

I was scared
to death really
if truth be known,
I died before he was born.
What did I know
about being a father?
I was thirty
going on three.

Responsibility,
a newborn life
cradled in my arms
the moment
I met my son. I realized it was
just as once
my father had held me.

Suddenly,
It was alright.
all made sense.
He squirmed a bit,
reddened in the face,
and prepared his audible protest.

Something about
the arrangement
was not to the liking
of my newborn prince.

I adjusted quickly,
Grateful,
his temper subsided.
So began the bonding
of father
and son.

Who would he
take after?
Who would
He resemble?
Asian mother or
American father?

In truth, it was both.
Sharing the best
of each image,
as in heritage,
he was born
a little god.

That first day
of July, 1986
he was
gifted in Seoul to
very proud parents.

We're mere mortals
in the grander
cosmic scheme.

Just Keep It

You've made me wonder
about some things.
Could I be as worthless
as you seem to think?
Am I the ticking time bomb for
others to maintain safe distance.

As you wait to unleash
jealous, venomous tirades,
self-righteous and sanctimonious
in your hypocrisy,
what is it in your safe harbor
that you fear so much?

In your conception of reality,
I am the full-grown prodigal orphan,
the only son of our dysfunctional clan
who is intent on leeching
everything you've squirreled.

You gave up your dream.
I found mine once again.
You continue pretense but to what end -
more of the same subservience
to the lord all-mighty greenback
and your various investments?

You worship daily,
trembling in fear of losing
everything you've saved.
I can't be like you,
walking in the shadow
of your empty example.

Without fear of poverty,
I know how to survive.
You could have just said no.
But you elaborated,
and pontificated,
forcing your advice.

The request for assistance,
not a grant and certainly
expecting no longwinded lecture
on self-reliance,
integrity and responsibility.
I needed none of that.

So, forget I called.
I'll ignore your questions.
What is holiest to thou,
I want you to keep.
Maintain close at hand
all your worthless paper.

The Seven After Dinner Farts

There are exactly seven of them. Who knew, right? But once someone explained them to me, I came up with brief descriptions of each type. You might think that I have an obsession with flatulence, but I don't. It's just that, as many people have said time and again, farts are funny. At times, they're rude and vulgar as well, but we all fart. If you claim that yours don't stink, you're mistaken, or self-deluded. At least I have always given a fair warning before delivering even the tiniest of butt burps.

For your edification, the seven after dinner farts are (in order): fizz, fuzz, fizz/fuzz, foo, tele-foo, tear-ass, and rattler.

Allow me to explain each.

1) Fizz - Tight, compressed but rather distinct and unmistakable fart of relatively brief duration. There are many types of fizz farts, from the light and fluffy, nearly odorless popcorn fart to the particularly malodorous stench wrench. The fabled, useless 'fart in a whirlwind' was definitely a fizz.

2) Fuzz - A bit more fluid than a fizz, it is nevertheless an immediate attention-getter. The gas erupts like a power chord on a distorted rock guitar. Because of the relative wetness of this sort of fart, it is seldom without some bouquet that closely relates to whatever was consumed that lingered long enough in the bowels to generate a quantity of gas. Soup-bean farts are often associated with this category and frequently a fuzz leaves residue.

3) Fizz/fuzz - Rather than being a combination of the two distinct component parts, this fart takes on a nature all of its own. It may sound as an alarm oscillating between the fizz and fuzz sounds or it may be a single burst of consistently blubbering sound, accompanied by the most condensed reek of any fart. These sorts of farts are often associated with the consumption of roughage, such as the raw cabbage in cole slaw along with baked beans and greasy chicken, washed down with a cold diet soda or, even worse, beer. What happens within the bowels of anyone consuming such a volatile mixture is a chain reaction that is something just shy of becoming thermonuclear. American firecracker farts, the loud but brief in duration version of this category occur after picnics, especially on the Fourth of July. In some other countries the fizz/fuzz is considered a weapon of mass destruction and has been banned from public places - even where smoking is permitted, possibly due to the danger of ignition or spontaneous combustion.

4) Foo -  A fart that issues without much of a sound but usually has a stench associated with it. It almost never smells like 'your kind of fart' and has the singular reputation for being the one type that even embarrasses the dealer into a process of immediate denial and rapid assignment of blame to others. This category of fart has become legendary in such phrases as 'whoever first smelt it dealt it' and the proverbial 'silent but deadly' category. Although there is usually no residue, it sometimes prompts the dealer to change underwear - just in case the odor 'lingers in the linen'.

5) Tele-foo - A foo that is erupts in one room but is heard and smelt in another. It is a foo, nevertheless. Depending on the situation, it could be the source of mistaken identity in charging the blame for the foo. Always remember that some farts can penetrate walls or pass through closed doors and windows -and occasionally warp through time and space into the future or the past depending on the direction of the fart, the angular velocity and the alignment of the sun, moon and stars.

6) Tear-ass  -  A self-descriptive and mostly self-explanatory fart. Someone who delivers such a flatulent discharge may, at first, be greatly relived that the pressure on the sphincter is gone. It is the following burning sensation that leads to the unfounded concern that whatever emerged from deep within has also left a trail of blood, as if from a bleeding wound. Despite the name of this category of fart, rarely is there irreparable harm. Gratefully for the rest of us, they are somewhat rare.

7) Rattler - A fart that literally registers on the Richter scale. Not only does this category of fart produce the low rumbling sound associated with natural disasters like tornadoes, earthquakes and drive-by gangsta rap mobiles, it will almost always rattle doors and windows, hence its name. In the most extreme case, it make break glass and cause doors to shake loose from their locks and latches. Fortunately for most people and their property, a rattler is a once or maybe twice in a lifetime achievement.

The longest rattler ever recorded lasted for 25 seconds yet harmed nothing but reputations! Despite the boisterous bravado, rattlers are all about the noise but contain very little in the way of substance. They may wake sleeping dogs, cause cats to take cover under the bed or precipitate small children cowering behind their mothers for protection, but they really are not obnoxiously fragrant as a rule. As warning, many westerners produce rattlers after consuming copious quantities of an Asian delicacy called Kimchee, a tasty staple in the diet of the average Korean produced from raw vegetables to which garlic, red pepper and monosodium glutamate are added then allowed to ferment.

The preceding list may not be all-inclusive of every subcategory of flatulent discharge. It is also possible for individual variation within each category. It was compiled by a group of experts after extensive study in a college fraternity following several weeks consuming campus food and partying to excess every weekend during which much beer and soda were consumed, but no animals were harmed.