Having been an avid sleeper for many years, I take on most sleep technologies head-on. I have a white noise generator, black-out curtains, and even an alarm clock that simulates the rising/setting sun via a 200 watt neodymium coated lamp. The greatest sleep accoutrement I have found is an herbal supplement called Melatonin. This is a natural compound which the body uses for circadian rhythm alignment, the use of 5-10 mg damn near guarantees extreme sleep and anymore up in the 20 mg range leads to massive REM sleep with vivid dreams. I on occasion use Melatonin to reset my sleep cycle, and whenever I do the dreams are rather noteworthy, or horrific in nature, they certainly tend to be memorable.
It has been a long tradition of mine to dream journal and I have been lax in that subject matter for sometime. While this Melatonin encounter with the ether world was a brief one, I was left with the classic awakening that Cartman (South Park) coined best as the "awwww I'm nobody" dream sequence. This dream was one of those awesome tales of reaching the pinnacle of win only to be awaken by a snoring dog back to the reality of schmuckdom. These are the dreams that we can only equate to the almost having had a great sneeze, but it just didn't fully come to climax. The worst.
In this tidy little dream sequence I find myself at a soiree, dressed rather Bondish, the food seems to be the center and focus of my anxiety. There is a live sushi affair going on around a massive table display of sashimi/nigri pieces, and chefs feverishly rolling this and that. Not much else is apparent, in the cloudy way that dreams are I approach the dining. Standard party fare is the only sushi available, a travesty of California rolls and other fakery, I'm disappointed as I take a long draw off my Kirin IchiBan. I schmooze forth to find a chefs ear...
Upon reaching the rolling station a young man looked surprised as I looked on, wondering if there a spare urchin might be. I started making orders for really exotic, original kinds of rolls, and fresh. Urchings and flying fish and giant surf clam oh my! The news of this mighty request must have made it the nether region of the main kitchen and oft in the distance a large man came, the master chef hath summoned forth to see what all the skullduggery was about.
When the lights adjusted and he came forth it was the grand master Iron Chef his majesty, the great and mighty Morimoto! Yes that Morimoto, the main Morimoto, The Morimoto whom I hope to one day finally put an end to the red-headed shitbag scourge of humanity-menace that is Bobby Flay. In a gruff and rather austere manner, he spoke to the young man whom I had bothered so with my amplitude of requests. He then came forward and squared me, we talked sushi/sashimi/nigri/bird's nests/quail eggs back in forth like we were the gods of all that is raw consumption. In dream my brain was filled with ancient knowledge of tactics and rolling, I was an idea man! A sultan of sushi technology!
My rolls theory was wild and so out of scope; I was mixing culture/ingredients, I was unfolding a new recipe every few seconds. My brain was on fire! A French maki roll with blue fin tuna and frog legs, topped with an oyster mayonnaise. That was the topper, and it stopped him, and the "argument" dead in it's tracks. It was then decided that I was to become the official Morimoto engineer of maki, the head roll wizard was I. My life was complete! Together Morimoto and I rode off into the sunset together, our heads filled with a zest for new sushi, and a burning new quest to hunt and kill Bobby Flay with primitive weapons! Ahhhh... Then I woke up, 35 years old with a dog slobber-farting on my pillow and no life at all, damn you dreamworld why do you taunt me so?!
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