I Love Capsaicin

I would like to continue the discussion about food that I began on Monday. Spicy foods also trip my trigger. One of the greatest food products ever conceived is hot pepper sauce. The pepper sauce of choice is, of course, Tabasco brand. There are no foods that do not benefit from an extra blast of spicy ground pepper and vinegar (the main ingredients of pepper sauces). There is actually a physiological benefit associated with the use of spicy foods products in one’s diet.

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Capsaicin is the molecule that makes spicy foods taste and feel hot. There are some related molecules, like the menthol found in mint, that affect the nerves in similar ways. The interesting thing about capsaicin is that it does not actually burn the tissues, but it rather affects the nerves in a way that heat does. Therefore, capsaicin chemically induces the sensation of burning without causing any real damage (it is possible to become poisoned by an excessive consumption of capsaicin, though, but it has nothing to do with the ‘heat’ of it).

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The physiological benefit: the capsaicin molecule has been shown to fight and even prevent some types of cancer. The chemical can also stimulate nerves in ways that cause the body to ‘ignore’ other pain signals (so, drink some hot sauce when you have a backache – or, better yet, apply it directly to your back until it starts to burn, then wipe it off). I would call myself a pepper enthusiast, and I even have several family members who are constantly searching for new products to ‘burn’ my palate. There are actually quite a few ‘hot food’ fans in the world; this is probably because of another side effect of capsaicin: a euphoric sensation. Commonly called a ‘capsaicin high,’ theories indicate that the body releases endorphins (feel-good pain-killing polypeptides) in response to the ‘pain’ elicited by capsaicin, causing a temporary euphoric sensation. Thank you Mr. McIlhenny!

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For more information on capsaicin and other hot stuff:
Tabasco Brand Sauce
Wikipedia Article: 'Capsaicin'
Wikipedia Article: 'Scoville scale'

A Distinct Diet

Concerning food there are many things that trip my trigger. As a child I was known to make various food products out of Play-doh and mud. Perhaps such behavior is not all that uncommon. But eating insects is less common…I think. My mom once ate an ant, which was swimming in her cereal, by accident. I, too, once ate an ant, but this ant was cooked in boiling water in a leaf over a candle, on purpose. To this day we both agree that ants are bitter tasting. But I know that they aren’t quite as bitter as birch tree leaves, though.

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I once ate an earthworm, in my adolescence, in front of a group of girls who, I am convinced, are still impressed to this day. My grandfather once willingly grilled a grasshopper for me to eat, but I chickened out. I consumed an uncooked grasshopper later that same day, in the field, because I felt that I had to reclaim manhood from my cowardly state. Chapulines (fried grasshoppers; see picture at left) are an Oaxacan (Southern Mexican) treat that I once had the opportunity to enjoy, they are very salty, but have a texture that is hard to match. Did you know that dandelions are edible?

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I have eaten insects and plants because I, in my youth, dreamed of living in the rainforest. And one must know how to eat what is around him in any environment. For some reason I still cannot get myself to eat Menudo (cow stomach soup), though.

The Things We Give Up for Food

Two weeks ago I was driving down a side street and saw something strange. A man in a powered wheelchair was sitting at the end of his driveway rocking back and forth. The first moment I saw him, I assumed that he was there on purpose, but I slowed down to see what was happening. I looked at his surroundings: there was a trash can lying in the street directly in front of him, his wheelchair was in a sand-filled rut that was the meeting point between his pitched driveway and the tapered street, and he looked sweaty and frustrated. I immediately changed my assumption: he must be stuck.
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By the time I came to this realization, I had passed his street and was on a median-divided thoroughfare. Turning around would be hard, time-consuming, and my stomach was growling for food. I pulled into the parking lot of the gyro restaurant and thought for a moment. Putting that old man in a wheelchair out of my mind would take no time at all, and I would probably never remember that moment. But something bothered me about this thought: what is the right thing to do?
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All of this thought had allowed me enough time to be in the restaurant already, ordering a gyro and a sweet Greek salad with kalamata olives in it, but for some reason I was still sitting in my truck. Thinking. I began driving back to the scene that I really could not forget. I pulled up and spoke, “Do you need any help, sir?”
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“Yes, I am stuck. Can you push me?”
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I parked, got out and pushed the man out of the rut he had found himself in and offered additional help. “You can put that trash can up by the house for me, thank you,” he replied. That ‘thank you’ was, in fact, one of the most memorable things I have ever heard. Doing the right thing (even if it is a little inconvenient) can sometimes change insignificant situations into momentous memories.

Maybe I Can be a Msimangu

Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply. Let him not laugh too gladly when the water runs through his fingers, nor stand too silent when the setting sun makes red the veld with fire. Let him not be too moved when the birds of his land are singing, nor give too much of his heart to a mountain or a valley. For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much.

Cry, The Beloved Country by Alan Paton (1948, Schribner Press)
Chapter 12

I have been reading Cry, The Beloved Country by Alan Paton for the last couple of weeks for my literature class. If you have read my profile, you will notice that this is on my list of favorite books. The reason it is there is because it is a simple story which, in its telling, gives you a broad and saddening view of apartheid South Africa. Paton was not an author by trade, but wrote this story based on what he knew of South Africa. He was born and lived there his whole life.
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I wonder what Alan Paton was like. He was obviously a man of wisdom and had an ability to think plot-wise about life. I would tend to believe that God gifted him so that he could write this book to show others the state of the racism and inequality in South Africa. South Africa has changed a lot sense Paton wrote Cry, The Beloved Country, but I think that it is still far from being the nation it ought to be (neither is the United States of America, though).
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With these acknowledgements, I wonder what my role, as a Christian, is in this world of mine. Paton wrote a story, but he did much more than that: he ran schools and reformatories that helped the people like the unfortunate characters in his book. Just like Absalom Kumalo, who has chosen a wrong path in this story (and will eventually die because of it), I know of people who have tied themselves in knots; Knots that cannot be untied through their own effort. At one time I was such a person: addicted, sad and sinful, but unsure of what choices to make in order to be repaired. My situation was changed by God through people, perhaps I can now be such a person for another, one through whom God works.

For more information on Cry, The Beloved Country:
Wikipedia Article: Cry, The Beloved Country

Me, My Wife and the Wii

I don’t know how I did it. My wife, approximately six months ago, notified me that she thought we needed to purchase the new Nintendo Game Console called Wii. I agreed. So, we made plans and decided that we would purchase one as soon as we found a store that wasn’t sold out of them. That took until early this month. Now, the thing I am not sure of is why she was convinced that we needed the most up-to-date piece of technology out there. Normally it would take two significant factors to coerce my wife into considering such a purchase: 1) I would have to beg her in a prostrate position, often with heartfelt tears and 2) I would have to do several out-of-the-ordinary things that would earn me what are commonly called ‘brownie points,’ causing my wife to feel obliged to cave in to my incessant entreaty. This time she decided, on her own, that it would be positive to own this new, groundbreaking game system.

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Now, having been the proud co-owner of a Wii for over two weeks, I feel it necessary to tell you the impact that such a purchase has had on my wife and me. The games are incredible. The ‘paddle’ is an intuitive remote control that has no binding wires to mess with. A sensor on the top of the television and the internal tilt sensors of the handheld remote tell the Wii exactly what we are doing. So, when you are sword-fighting, you swing the remote around as though you are using a sword (see Figure 1). My favorite game is boxing because the system is designed to read your punches and translate them into your on-screen character. So for boxing, you don’t push buttons; you simply punch the air. OK, the impact: we are addicted.

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My wife was addicted about one week prior to myself, because she played it daily after work. I just recently got sucked into the kingdom of Wii fanaticism. The symptoms of such an addiction are grave. I find myself holding the steering wheel of my Mazda B2300 like it is the Wii controller (i.e. on its side, see Figure 2). My reflexes have changed dramatically. Instead of hitting the brake in my truck, I now search my truck for a button labeled ‘1,’ which on the Wii controller corresponds to stop and reverse in the game ‘Need for Speed Carbon’. The effects of Wii addiction culminated to a financial loss last Saturday: I was driving my wife’s car, she was with me, and we were on our way to our church to help out at a youth retreat. We had stopped at the Taco Bell drive-thru for dinner and were eating as we traveled. My wife had just finished putting three packets of fire sauce on my meat and potato burrito, and she handed it to me. Just as she did this, traffic came to a sudden stop and she screamed “STOP!” at a decibel level high enough to make me momentarily deaf. Time stopped, I slammed on the brake on my perceived Wii controller, which was actually a saucy meat and potato burrito, and we collided rudely with the truck in front of us. Nintendo Wii: $250. Chevy S-10 Bumper for the truck I just hit: $500.

Ten Years of Solitude; Twenty-Four Years of Life

If I told you that there exists a man who has no family, would you believe me? What if I told you that he lives such a life that social interaction has not been a part of his life for over ten years? This character lives in Chicago, Illinois, one of the most intensely peopled geographic areas in the world. Yet he has not spoken a word to a living person for over ten years. Can this be possible? You decide.
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Now, what if I told you that I am who I am completely independent of any person’s influence? You shouldn’t believe me because one very essential fact remains in every person, no matter how lonely or independent: every person needs a family. The reason I am tossing out so many questions that seem unreasonable or foolish is because I want you to understand something that I realized just recently: people really need people. I need my mom, whose warm embrace and sense of humor made me capable of attending the ninth grade in spite of my fear. I need my dad, who taught me how to build things and how to be kind and strong. They both made me angry at times, and I even had phases of hatred, but God gave them to me to teach me to live. I need my sisters, who were there, experiencing life with me and providing commentary that would affect my choice of what to do with my life. Jules’ crying when I had screamed mean words at her taught me how to be compassionate. Shelby’s look of betrayal when she saw my worst side taught me how important integrity was.
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My wife taught me the importance of living. I live for her. She also showed me how necessary oneness is in marriage. I cannot be without her. My grandparents taught me how important it is to be unique; their kind laughter at my quirks encouraged me. My in-laws helped me to be confident in myself: ‘you are a gift to our family’ they told me; I didn’t think that was possible. My friends showed me how to live in adventure, no matter how painful it was! I don’t think that the Chicagoan I wrote about can exist. People are necessary for living. Jesus said, “By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another” (John 13:35 NIV).

Zoo vs. Pet Store

Pet stores are one of the most joyous places on earth (as long as the animals are well cared-for). You can enter without paying a fee and spend hours observing some of the most fascinating creatures on earth. Zoos, likewise, are fun to visit, but there is usually a long line to wait in (on the nice days), and you must pay to gain entrance. Some would argue that the scope of animal life represented at a zoo is more interesting than that of a pet store, but I am not sure I would agree.
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Pet stores give you the option of purchasing the cute puppy or kitten that has captured your heart. Zoos will not allow you to purchase that adorable newborn reticulated giraffe with the carefree cowlick of fur on its head, though. No matter how much you beg, wail at or cry for the zoologist, they will not cave into your anthropoid tantrum.

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Now, one may argue that visiting a pet store may be more expensive because one may purchase any animal in sight. I would refute with the simple fact that any expenditures made would only increase the payer’s joy because it would be rewarded with a real creature to call “Fluffy” or “Socks” each subsequent day. At the zoo, you are only tempted to take that six-foot-long Chinese alligator home – your desires cannot become a reality.