Merry Disgruntled Christmas!!

And Happy Holidays to everyone!

$30 Million

So the Mitchell Report, aka The Oogety Boogety Steroid Report, came out yesterday. I've already addressed my feelings on steroid "investigations" in baseball, so I'm not going to get into that again. Suffice to say, I think this whole brouhaha is stupid, hypocritical and, ultimately, irrelevant. But, hey, it's good to see George Mitchell finding some work, right?

There were three things, however, that caught my eye when I looked at the report:

1.) The sheer uselessness of steroids. My friend Mike, aka The Disgruntled Sports Fan (so-called because he follows Baltimore sports and Angelos could disgruntle an orgasm), noted that there were 13 (13!!) current or former Baltimore Orioles players on the list. No one doubted Brady Anderson's inclusion (50 home runs is clearly the anomoly on the back of his baseball cards), but some of the other names (Gibbons, Grimsley, Jerry Hairston, little Brian Roberts??) were a surprise. You would think that with that much extra "juice" they could have put together a winning season at some point.

From my Nats, I was amused to see fragile Nook Logan on the list. I would have been less surprised to find Robert Fick on the list than Nook. Also, Mike Stanton's steroids sure seemed to help opposing batters hit off of him while he was in Washington. Jesus, steroids don't help for shit!

2.) Steroids are expensive...

3.) ...but not as expensive, apparently, as THE MITCHELL REPORT! $30 million dollars. 30 MILLION FUCKING DOLLARS?!!?! And just in case you were wondering, yes, that's $30 million in taxpayer funds. And to produce, what, a paparazzi outing list intended solely to sully careers?? Look, I don't condone steroid use, I think it's pathetic, but what is really going to come of all of this? Selig says he'll punish the players, but as several legal experts have pointed out, he'd lose any punishment on appeal, since a.) most of this is hearsay, which is not specifically covered in the list of punishable offenses, and b.) the report was not a result of collective bargaining, so the players union is going to appeal ANY punishment doled out. Playing the percentages, I think the union is going to come out ahead on this one.

Do I think these players named used performance enhancing drugs? Yeah, probably. Do I care? Not at all. Again, the players on the list who were mediocre at best is more numerous than the Miguel Tejadas, Andy Pettites, and Roger Clemenses.

Speaking of Roger Clemens, the worst sports website on the internet has a poll on its front page, asking "Sports Nation" voters, "Would Roger Clemens get your vote for the Hall of Fame?" I'm not a huge Clemens fan, but, I mean, seriously, how is that even in question? As has been pointed out a million times before, if you left all "cheaters" out of the Hall, it would be about half the size it is now. President Bush remarked that the Mitchell Report means that "we can jump to this conclusion: that steroids have sullied the game." 60 players or so is such a small percentage that I think that's a bit extreme.

I don't know, I just think this was an enormous waste of time. There were no real bombshells (seriously, not even Clemens), nothing is really going to come of this, and now all you have is a bunch of pissed off players with high priced lawyers. And you know what that means.

Blah blah blah, you know what? I like watching towering home runs and pitchers who can hit 100 MPH. It's a sport, a game. If 60 senators were found to be tripping balls during Congressional sessions, that would require a Congressional investigation. For a game? Please. As my boss pointed out, there are 30 million better ways to spend our taxpayer dollars.

Steroids are bad, mm-kay, but if you're concerned about its proliferation, TEST EVERYONE. It's not rocket science.

Bang-kok!

From Breitbart TV...

"Sometimes they chop into pieces. In those cases we cannot put it back."

Violated

It's a dark day for the Disgruntled Investor, as The Shadow Disgruntled Girlfriend, Jessica Alba, has apparently been impregnated by someone named "Cash". And no, that's not his last name. I can't help but think that if I only had a little more cash of my own, this would not have happened. This is even worse news than when Katie Holmes was implanted by her Scientology handlers with an alien baby. (Note to DG: No, Tom Cruise did not stick his wee-wee in her hoo-hah. Argument over.)

Stinky Tofu

When we first met the Chinese businessmen, it was at a “Welcome to Shanghai” dinner held in our honor at a corporate retreat compound on the outskirts of the city. Our study abroad group had landed in Shanghai the previous day after two weeks of playing tourist in Beijing and Xian. I was battling the effects of undercooked meat from a hot-pot dinner in Xian and had not yet discovered the benefits of the colon-cleansing drug Cipro. We arrived at the compound via tour bus, expecting a polite introduction to the movers and shakers of Shanghai business and government. There was even a promise (or threat) of a karaoke machine. The choice between the dinner and recovering in my dorm room was closer than one might think, but I reluctantly went along thinking that maybe they would offer us a cold beer or two to calm the rumbling abyss that was my stomach.

The first surprise of the night came when we found out that we were to be randomly placed at tables with four classmates paired with four or five of our hosts. I was seated with Ricky, Saul, and Margie from our group. Our Chinese hosts at the table were Kerry, George, Jen, and Sunshine/Mr. Lee (the Chinese often take English names when conducting business with Westerners, and Sunshine/Mr. Lee picked two). Our hosts welcomed us graciously and, in a bit of foreshadowing of things to come, made us chug a beer before we even sat down.

Laid out before us, family-style, was a cornucopia of Chinese dishes. Kung-pao chicken, sautéed prawns, beef and broccoli, various noodle dishes, various tofu dishes, a whole fish (head attached), rice (of course) and several other rich-smelling foods were spread on the dolly, awaiting their turn in front of our plates. All of the food turned out to be delicious, particularly the prawns, but we soon learned that the night was not to be about the food.

Glancing around during the night, it became obvious that some tables were getting along better than others. At some tables, quiet and reserved American students were seated with quiet and reserved Chinese bureaucrats. You could hear the chewing at these tables, and the aura of awkward hung high above them. Other tables appeared to be more congenial, and pleasant conversations ensued. Our table turned out to be the drunkards’ table. They had, completely by accident, paired four of the most notorious partiers from the “Summer in Shanghai” group with four of the wildest Chinese revelers. With coquettish but aggressive waitresses refusing to allow our wine glasses and beer mugs (everyone at the table had both a wine glass and a beer mug) to sink even to three-quarters full, our table quickly accomplished the dual goals of making asses of ourselves and becoming the envy of every other table in the room.

In Chinese, ganbei literally means “empty glass.” Every time anyone yelled “ganbei!” to someone, both the yeller and the yellee became instantly immersed in a chugging contest. Inevitably, someone else at the table felt left out, so you were then forced to ganbei with them. After clinking glasses (trying to clink lower on the other person’s glass to prove yourself more humble than the other) one opened one’s gullet and gulped either the plum wine or the pijou (mainly Tsingtao or Suntory beer) down, eliciting cheers from the rest of the table. Needless to say, everyone at the table quickly became he jiu (or, roughly translated, piss-ass drunk). By the end of the night, I had tried my hand at karaoke (which I hate), had abandoned my boxer shorts in the bathroom (damn that hot-pot and its ill effects on the ass!) and, along with the other Americans at the table, had made new Chinese friends to show us the finer points of Shanghai’s swinging nightlife.

Our hangovers had barely had time to subside when we received a call from Kerry the next day. America’s Independence Day was coming up soon, and he and his friends wanted to take me, Ricky, Saul, and Margie out to celebrate. Falling on a Thursday, this 4th of July night on the town would mean another rough morning of Chinese classes the next day. Despite that, we quickly accepted, though Margie was somewhat concerned about their insistence on the presence of the “pretty blonde girl.” We also invited our fellow classmate Eric, because he had the craziest dance moves anyone had ever seen, and we knew that would be much appreciated by our Chinese hosts.

As our other classmates rolled their eyes and my roommate prepared himself for my imminent drunken return, the four of us left for the front gates of East China Normal University, where Kerry and Sunshine/Mr. Lee met us with a waiting car. We drove along the crowded streets of Shanghai, narrowly avoiding the multitude of cars, buses, and bicyclists, some of whom had so many parcels loaded onto their backs that it seemed to defy the very laws of physics. Finally, we arrived in one of the ritzier areas of the city, and were led into a restaurant that appeared at first to have no patrons. As we weaved through the hallways, we soon realized that instead of one large dining area, the place was set up with several large private rooms, each equipped with a large table and attendants in each corner. The rooms were filled with pieces of Chinese art (both framed and on scrolls) and gentle Chinese classical music came from an unseen speaker. Our Chinese friends had brought their boss along, a dignified gentleman named “Ark.” As in, Noah’s Ark.

Like our “Welcome to Shanghai” dinner before, a cornucopia of dishes appeared on the dolly and the attendants made sure we remained permanently soused. Unlike that dinner, however, a new dish with a pungent stench made an appearance. I would say that it was an unwelcome surprise, but our Chinese hosts could not get enough of this treat and practically climbed over each other to snag a piece. Meanwhile, the dish sat on the dolly, looking at us. Ricky and I looked at each other with trepidation, fully aware that at some point in the night, we were going to have to eat a bit of the chou doufu, or “stinky tofu.”

Stinky tofu had gained somewhat of an urban legend mythology among those of us on this trip. While a few others on the trip had actually tried it (and one guy actually liked it), most of us had been exposed to stinky tofu only through the rotten milk smell we noticed occasionally while walking the streets of Shanghai. Often described to us as the “national dish” of China, stinky tofu is made by frying squares of baked tofu and then leaving those squares outside until mold has accumulated on them. The mold is then scraped off, a spicy red sauce covers the squares, and the stinky tofu is then, I’m told, ready for human consumption. Describing the smell as “rotten milk” actually does this dish no justice. The actual smell is far more complex. Mixed in with the rotten milk aroma is a hint of human, or possibly animal depending on the region, excrement. Like a fine wine, stinky tofu’s flavor increases with age and may contain sediments, possibly from the normal dirt and grime of the city. Shanghai appeared to be the Napa Valley of stinky tofu.

The night that America celebrated her independence from England, Ricky and I were frantically trying to come up with ways to divest ourselves from our obligation to try everything at the table. Whenever the dolly would present the stinky tofu plate in front of us, we would quickly twirl the dolly around, as the smell alone was turning our stomachs. Meanwhile, we stuffed ourselves with noodles, green beans, shrimp, and non-stinky tofu squares. Many ganbei’s commenced, with toasts to us, to them, to Russia, to Mao, to George Washington, to Margie (several times), and to each of us individually. The dolly kept its clockwise spin, providing us with the finest food Shanghai had to offer. All the while, our Chinese hosts mumbled conspiratorially to each other while looking in our direction. Finally, Judgment Day arrived.

“You have not tried the chou doufu.”

“Are you sure? I thought I had.” Nice. Clever.

“Oh, no, we have been waiting for you to eat it. It is delicious dish.”

“Thanks, but I think I’m getting pretty full, what about you Ricky?”

“Yeah, me too, but thanks.”

“We have saying in China," Kerry noted, "until you eat chou doufu, you are not a man.”

Now wait just a cotton-picking minute here! They had clearly crossed the line. I was pretty sure whether or not we ate moldy bean curd had no bearing on our manhoods. But, then again, the Chinese were an ancient, wise people. And, as Ricky and I were quite drunk at this point, they had managed to push the right button.

“Well then, I guess we’re just going to have to become men then, huh?” This elicited great cheers at the table. Kerry swiveled the dolly until the foul, vile dish appeared in front of us. The stinky tofu laughed - an evil, sinister laugh. We tentatively fidgeted our chopsticks over the plate as sweat droplets appeared on our foreheads. Finally, we broke off a piece and drenched it in the spicy sauce. Everyone at the table grew quiet and leaned forward in anticipation. Those bastards knew exactly what was going to happen, but, like a frat hazing, we had little choice. We closed our eyes and shoved the piece of stinky tofu into our mouths.

During my stay in China, I tried all manners of strange foods. I ate roasted bug larvae, roasted scorpion (not bad, like a French fry), rattlesnake, pigeon, cow stomach, and some things that I had no idea what they were. I managed to gulp each of these down with a laugh and a smile, and was actually surprised at the edibility of several of these delicacies. This was not the case with the stinky tofu. From the moment that bite entered my open mouth, my body was screaming, “bad idea!” The palate-wrecking sourness of this single bite still haunts me. Adding to the rotten milk/excrement taste was the incredibly spicy sauce that, far from complimenting the tofu, only enhanced its unique taste characteristics. Ricky started gagging, and I quickly swallowed, hoping the evil would leave my mouth upon the absence of the stinky tofu. I was mistaken in that belief. I grabbed for my glass of beer, and tried to drown the taste out. Instead I created a new lingering taste – rotten milk/shit/spicy red sauce/beer – which made it worse. I was near panic. However, my brain decided to kick in at this point (where were you a minute ago, jackass?). I grabbed the first non-stinky tofu plate I could see, and began shoving prawns, beef and broccoli, and anything else I could find into my mouth to mask the taste. This method, thankfully, lessened the blow somewhat. Our Chinese hosts fell out of their chairs laughing at us. But, at least for now, we were men.

With hints of chou doufu still on our breath, we finished our meal and headed out to a bar in the new and trendy Xin Tian Di neighborhood to continue the 4th of July celebration. It was the beginning of monsoon season in Shanghai, and as we stepped outside to our waiting car the rain was blowing sideways, though not all that hard. We drove to a classy bar full of Chinese and American patrons, and seated ourselves at a large table overlooking the dance floor. On the stage, a rock cover band from America was playing. We ordered tall glasses of beers and shandys. After a few beers and a dozen failed explanations of how in America if a girl is pretty we say she is “hot” (or "re" in Chinese), repeatedly using Margie as a reference, we decided to head for the dance floor to check out the band. This would also (as Ricky, Margie, Saul and I knew) provide an opportunity for our Chinese hosts to witness Eric’s “trance” dancing.

As he had explained to us numerous times, when the music is pumping and he enters the dance floor, Eric loses all control of himself. He develops a vision of falling through the sky while trying to juggle a large orb (his words). As it turns out, this is exactly what he looks like while dancing. Completely unaware of his surroundings, Eric flails his arms, legs, and head around in what can best be described as a faster version of Elaine Bennis’ dance moves from Seinfeld. It is both the most hilarious and most astounding sight any of us had ever witnessed (and we had watched this numerous times while in China). We couldn’t wait to see the reaction of our Chinese hosts.

Eric entered the dance floor and quickly cleared it, as the other astounded patrons expected that his moves would morph into an old-school breakdance show. This, of course, did not happen. Moving completely oblivious to the actual beat of the music, Eric began flailing and twitching with a vacant look in his eyes. As we started simultaneously shaking our heads and laughing, our Chinese hosts leapt onto the dance floor, and began dancing exactly like Eric. Perhaps they thought this was the latest American dance craze. Perhaps they wanted to lessen his embarrassment. For whatever reason, the result was electric. Everyone else commenced dancing, all mimicking our friend Eric. We looked at each other, shrugged, and joined in on the “trance” dancing, the lot of us resembling a pack of zombies being electrocuted. Oh well, when in Shanghai…

After that night, we caught up with our new Chinese friends a couple of other times (including once in Morgantown, West Virginia, where they had gone to study business English at West Virginia University), and were always shown the best time Shanghai had to offer. We definitely experienced true Shanghainese hospitality each time. However, years later, I swear I can still taste that awful stinky tofu, no matter what I try to wash it down with.

BASICly The Best *

Normally, if I add a link to my "Sites That Make Me Less Disgruntled" it happens with little to no fanfare. However, I just found a site (thanks to this CNN article) that I think deserves special mention.

C64 is a website devoted to the greatest of great computers, the Commodore 64. Every one of us who grew up in the 80's either had or knew someone who had this computer. Boasting a whopping 64 KB of RAM (not enough for 1 MP3 song now), this computer set the standard for all gaming devices that would follow it. I learned (and have subsequently forgotten) BASIC programming on this computer, often spending my nerdish youth creating my own games. And, speaking of games, there were hundreds of them available on durable floppy disk. We used to go down to the Quantico PX and get them off a rack for $5 each.

Anyway, this site has, among other features, an emulator for playing most, if not all, of the awesome games the C64 had to offer, so, I'd highly recommend checking it out. It'll be at the top of the Disgruntled Sites section for a while.

By the way, the picture above is of the single hardest game (but also one of the most fun) I had on the C64, "Transformers."



*Give me a break, it's been a long week, and that's the best I could come up with...

Happy Hamukah!!

The Great Blizzard

Here in the DC-Metro area, it's the first snow of the winter. Initial forecasts of one inch have ballooned up to at least 3 inches, and from the looks of things it might be even more than that. I am, of course, stuck here at work, but my large office window affords me nice views of the white barrage.

I always like looking out at a snowstorm in progress, especially as it always reminds me of my first winter in Fredericksburg, VA. In early January 1996, the area experienced what has come to be known as "The Great Blizzard of '96." Since that snow melted, the event has taken on steadily growing mythical proportions. It even has its own Wikipedia page!

It always amuses me when this topic comes up around a mixed crowd of people who experienced it and newer arrivals to the area. The conversation usually goes something like this:

Guy 1: "I hear we're supposed to get like 5 inches of snow - that'd be a lot."
Guy 2: "Yeah, but nothing like '96."
Guy 1: "OH MAN - THAT WAS AMAZING, WE WERE OUT OF SCHOOL FOR TWO WEEKS STRAIGHT!!"
Guy 2: "I know, we had some wicked hills to sled down. I built a fort. Sweet."
Girl 1 [who wasn't there in '96]: (rolls her eyes and shakes her head, as this is the 5,624th time she's heard this exact conversation)

And heaven help that new arrival if he/she tries to compare that storm with any other snowstorm in the history of mankind. There's no comparison. The Great Blizzard of '96 beats all others. Seriously, two weeks straight off school. Forget about it.

Anyway, my memories of that time leave me pining as well. Despite having an ill-timed tooth-ache that made breathing in the cold air a painful endeavor, I was out in that snow every single day, either with my sled or snowboard. At the time, I was a sophomore in high school, and had been suddenly given the dual gifts of extended time off of school and several feet of winter wonderland snow.

"You know, they're probably just going to add this time on to the end of the school year," my mother pooh-poohingly noted. But, no matter, we lived for the moment, and the moment was pretty grand.

Our Shelty puppy, 3 months old and a snow virgin, lost his mind in the snow. One of the funniest memories I have of the Great Blizzard is our dog running down our porch steps, amazed we were letting him out leash-free, only to quickly find two feet of snow above his head. Confused as hell, he had to frog-leap his way around the yard, until finally he had enough and frog-leapt his way back to the porch. "Fuck that," he said, shook himself off, and went back inside, much to the consternation of my mother, who had just cleaned that floor, dammit.

Our house was situated on a cul-de-sac at the bottom of a large hill, which, unencumbered by car traffic due to the roads not being cleared yet, became a great, if slightly precarious, sledding/snowboarding hill for us. We would spend hours sliding down the hill, then slowly trudging up the hill, then sliding back down the hill. It was simple, cheap fun.

At least once a day, we would see a figure waddling towards us, a greasy looking guy in a ski cap made to resemble dred-locks. This was my next-door neighbor's 24 year old (at least physically) son Dave. He was, without a doubt, the single weirdest person I've ever met.

"Dudes!" he would exclaim as he approached, and we all prepared ourselves for the impending idiotic and annoying conversation.

"Dudes! I just found out how to make homemade L.S.D."

"Oh yeah, how about that...," we would dismissively answer.

"Yeah, it's real easy! Get a bottle, and put a banana peel and some aspirin inside. Then, just let it sit for a few days, and, DUDE, you got some strong L.S.D.!"

"That's great, Dave, you should go try that out."

"(laughing like Spicoli from "Fast Times") Dude, that's what I'm on my way to do!"

Then, he would give us a surfer's wave, and snowboard down the hill, wiping out at least five times on the way down. And we would move on to another hill, in case he decided to come back, all high on bananas and aspirin.

Yes, there will never be another time like The Great Blizzard of '96, but, who knows, it's still snowing pretty hard out there.

Diabolical!!!

The Disgruntled Investor has a new favorite TV show, Ninja Warrior, on G4. Combining the best elements of American Gladiator, Iron Chef, Street Fighter (the video game, not the movie), Street Fighter (the movie, not the video game), Jackass, and a costume party, Ninja Warrior is, simply, the greatest thing I have ever seen on a television screen. If you enjoy crazy Japanese announcers with incredibly translated subtitles, and contestants who play on every single stereotype you can think of, this is the show for you.

For those of you who haven't yet had a chance to experience this show, which contains numerous instances of awesomeness, hilarity, and awesomeness, I've included a clip below of the "Top 5 Ninja Warrior Wipeouts" that should have you running to your TV, weeknights at 6 and 10 PM, to bask in its glow.

Yes, Yes, Ya'll. We Don't Stop.

Yo, yo, yo, the Singapore Media Development Authoritay is in the hizzay, beotch! Step to us and we'll cane yo' ass, stank ass hiz-oh!

Happy Wednesday! Today we learn how to rhyme words like "R&D" with "cup of tea," drop dope lyrics such as, "like an LCD screen, you get a clear picture," and appreciate that Asians can not only fly and shoot fire out of their hands, they can also rap! All from the group that recently decided to ban a video game in Singapore for alien lesbian sex - fo' shizzle.

Me so efficient!

Sean Taylor and Michael Wilbon

Well, today has seen the tragic and infuriating end to the Sean Taylor shooting saga. As a Redskins fan and a Sean Taylor fan, it merely serves to extend what I referred to earlier as one of the worst weekends of sports in my memory.

Here's what nationally syndicated columnist and PTI host Michael Wilbon had to say in a chat about what he tastefully calls "the latest strange episode relating to Taylor"!

McLean, Va.: Will your opinion of Taylor change if this does not turn out to be a random incident (e.g. home invasion)?

Michael Wilbon: No ... people's opinions are shaped by the way they've grown up, the way they see the world, what they know about the world the person in question grew up in, etc. Sean Taylor isn't the only guy I know who fits his general profile. I've known guys like Taylor all my life, grew up with some. They still have shades of gray and shouldn't be painted in black and white...I know how I feel about Taylor, and this latest news isn't surprising in the least, not to me. Whether this incident is or isn't random, Taylor grew up in a violent world, embraced it, claimed it, loved to run in it and refused to divorce himself from it. He ain't the first and won't be the last. We have no idea what happened, or if what we know now will be revised later. It's sad, yes, but hardly surprising....Everybody's circumstance is different. But it always seemed to me that Sean Taylor loves his life and the way he's living and has no instinct to change...

Now, I'm far too lazy to scroll down in my blog and see if I've hit on this before, but I do not like Michael Wilbon. He's no Tony Kornheiser, and is on a very short list of the nation's top blowhards (I believe he resides just to the left of Lou Dobbs there). Wilbon tends to turn everything that happens, good or bad, into a broader societal issue. Sean Taylor certainly lived somewhat of a thuggish life early on, but all indications are that he had changed, and dramatically.

Wilbon's thought on that, however, was this:

Columbia, Md.: What makes you think that Taylor was still embracing his old ways? Everything we have heard from the Redskins and Portis is that this is a new Sean. Apparently the birth of his child really helped to straighten him out. Is this contrary to what you know?

Michael Wilbon: Sorry, but I'm not in the habit of having companies with their own public relations agenda tell me about black men and what they feel or don't feel. Pardon me if I'm not that easy.

Hahahaha, well, thank God he's not easy.

Now, I'm not suggesting that there aren't greater societal issues corresponding to this incident (for example, Jemele Hill of ESPN.com notes that this just adds to the statistic that the leading cause of death for African-American males aged 15 to 24 is homicide), I'm just saying this is not the right time to get into it, and Wilbon is certainly not the right person to do it. I've read Kornheiser and Wilbon's columns since I was about 11, and I've always noticed that Kornheiser has always been able to keep a sense of humor and perspective about him, while Wilbon tends to let his emotions get ahead of him. I certainly empathize with his concerns about the consequences of a thuggish lifestyle, but to suggest that Sean Taylor had it coming is not just insensitive, it's wrong. No one ever "has it coming" (outside of Muslim extremists and Michael Moore), but more importantly people certainly can change. For every Michael Vick who continues to hang out with his boys from home, there is a Sean Taylor who decides that his old life is not conducive to his success as a player, companion, and father. Sean Taylor did not have this coming, and it is a terrible tragedy that hopefully, one day, Michael Wilbon and his ilk can accept as something that was certainly not deserving.

R.I.P. #21

Why Don't You Make Like A Tree...

From The Telegraph...

Tree man 'who grew roots' may be cured
By Matthew Moore

An Indonesian fisherman who feared that he would be killed by tree-like growths covering his body has been given hope of recovery by an American doctor - and Vitamin A.

Dede, now 35, baffled medical experts when warty "roots" began growing out of his arms and feet after he cut his knee in a teenage accident.

The welts spread across his body unchecked and soon he was left unable to carry out everyday household tasks.

Sacked from his job and deserted by his wife, Dede has been raising his two children - now in their late teens - in poverty, resigned to the fact that local doctors had no cure for his condition.

To make ends meet he even joined a local "freak show", parading in front of a paying audience alongside victims of other peculiar diseases.

Although supported by his extended family, he was often a target of abuse and ridicule in his rural fishing village.

But now an American dermatology expert who flew out to Dede's home village south of the capital Jakarta claims to have identified his condition, and proposed a treatment that could transform his life.

After testing samples of the lesions and Dede's blood, Dr Anthony Gaspari of the University of Maryland concluded that his affliction is caused by the Human Papilloma Virus (HPV), a fairly common infection that usually causes small warts to develop on sufferers.

Dede's problem is that he has a rare genetic fault that impedes his immune system, meaning his body is unable to contain the warts.

The virus was therefore able to "hijack the cellular machinery of his skin cells", ordering them to produce massive amounts of the substance that caused the tree-like growths known as "cutaneous horns" on his hands and feet.

Dede's counts of a key type of white blood cell are so low that Dr Gaspari initially suspected he may have the Aids virus.

But tests showed he did not, and it became clear that Dede's immune condition was something far rarer and more mysterious.

Warts aside, he had enjoyed remarkable good health throughout his life - which would not be expected of someone with a suppressed immune system - and neither his parents nor his siblings have shown signs of developing lesions.

"The likelihood of having his deficiency is less than one in a million," Dr Gaspari told the Telegraph.

Dr Gaspari, who became involved in the case through a Discovery Channel documentary, believes that Dede's condition can be largely cleared up by a daily doses of a synthetic form of Vitamin A, which has been shown to arrest the growth of warts in severe cases of HPV.

"He won't have a perfectly normal body but the warts should reduce in size to the point where he could use his hands," Dr Gaspari said.

"Over the course of three to six months the warts should be come smaller and fewer in number. He will be living a more normal life."

The most resilient warts could then be frozen off and the growths on his hands and feet surgically removed.

Dr Gaspari hopes to get the necessary drugs free of charge from pharmaceutical firms. They would then be administered by Indonesian doctors under his supervision.

Still intrigued by the origins of Dede's peculiar immune condition, the doctor would like to fly him to the United States for further examination, but fears the financial and bureaucratic barriers would prove too difficult to overcome.

"I would like to bring him to the US to run tests on where his immune condition has come from, but I would need funding and to get him a visa as well as someone to cover the costs of the tests," he said.

"I've never seen anything like this in my entire career."

One Disgruntled Weekend

So, in the course of 24 hours, this is what I, as a Washington area sports fan, was subjected to:

Virginia Tech 33, Virginia 21 (football)
Seton Hall 74, Virginia 60 (basketball)
Memphis Grizzlies 124, Washington Wizards 118 [Also, Arenas out for 3 months]
Tampa Bay Bucaneers 19, Washington Redskins 13 [Also, Sean Taylor GOT SHOT IN THE GROIN...]

Virginia lost the football game primarily because, as the Washington Redskins of college football, our terrible secondary refuses to cover anybody, instead playing a light Cover-2 that allows unchecked 15 yard passes throughout the game. Also, Jameel Sewell, like Jason Campbell, far too often makes hasty passes when he should just use his natural running ability and scramble for a first down. But, what can you do? The Disgruntled Girlfriend yesterday remarked that, hey, 9-3 is a pretty good season. I quickly corrected her and said no, it's not. We lost to two horrible teams, and the only decent team we beat turned out to be Connecticut. It was at best a mediocre year. Sorry, I have low standards as a UVA fan, but this was pretty unbearable. Al Groh's not out of the woods with me yet. Of course, he'll probably get ACC coach of the year.

The UVA basketball loss to Seton is too terrible to even talk about. We can beat Arizona on the road but not Seton Hall on a neutral court.

Finally, the Wizards are the Wizards, and the Redskins are the Redskins. What can you do? Allow me to be among the first to suggest the unsuggestable - perhaps it's time for a coaching change for the Redskins. I hear Bill Cowher's available.

Anyway, so this weekend has me seriously considering a sports suicide - completely eschewing all sports watching, sports following, and sports caring. It's just getting too difficult to emotionally invest myself in these stupid games where these stupid teams make stupid mistakes and stupid lose. It drives me crazy that Boston-area fans right now are having an orgiastic feast while my teams, pretty much throughout my sporting life, have consistently let me down. Though I followed sports religiously through baseball and football cards throughout my 80's childhood, my loyalties were primarily directed towards individual players, as opposed to specific teams. My team loyalties, for some reason, emerged in 1991 - when, following a move down to Savannah, Georgia, I started following the Atlanta Braves, the Washington Redskins (the Falcons were, and always will be, utterly unloved in the state of Georgia), and the Washington Bullets.

From 1991 on, this is what I've gotten:
-Exactly one good year from the Redskins (thanks to this guy)
-The best regular season team, and worst playoff team, in baseball
-The Washington Bullets/Wizards

My college years found me residing at my beloved University of Virginia, where despite regular NFL draft picks (Tiki and Ronde Barber, Thomas Jones, Heath Miller, Matt Schaub, Wali Lundy, Patrick Kerney, etc.), the football team has consistently underachieved. Then, of course, there was the Pete Gillen basketball era - which saw numerous police arrests, an utter breakdown in discipline, and zero NCAA tournament wins. Thankfully, Dave Leitao seems to have turned things around, but, then there's that Seton Hall loss.

I've never, ever, experienced the sheer joy of a dynasty. I've never, ever, felt like any of my teams was going to blow out an opponent. I've never, ever, felt confident in a championship run. I feel like the dealer is constantly hitting 21 against my hard 20's. It's utterly, completely frustrating.

So, as of now, consider me on sports suicide watch.

(P.S. This is, of course, not to belittle the enormity of actual suicides, which is of course a very serious matter. Just wanted to head that off at the pass...)

Turkey Lurkey Dickle

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!

Unless, of course, she's a Robo-Bitch...

Fellas, you ever want to just shut off that talkie girlfriend/wife/post-op transvestite lover of yours after you've given her a good rogerin'?

Ladies, you ever wish your man/butch lesbian girlfriend named Rosie would just pleasure you and then do some chores around the house?

Well, hope you can wait until 2050!!

So, This Isn't Really Funny, But...

With all of the ridiculous bullshit that's happened at and with my two rental houses, one thing had been conspicuously absent. That one thing happened this past week.

On Saturday, I met with the parents of one of my tenants, who, a few days before, had apparently tried to commit suicide in spectacular fashion - driving his car, sans seatbelt or identification, at full speed down the street into a busy intersection. He crashed the car, luckily not into someone else, totalling the car, but sparing himself physically. Evidently this was the second attempt he's made in the past year (once before he moved into my place, which was news to me), and he is now expected to stay six months in a mental health facility.

As he was paid up through the month, from a landlord perspective this isn't going to create any problems. I'll get someone else in his room (arguably the best of the rooms in the house), and that will be that. But, especially in a week in which someone else close to me apparently tried to slit their wrists, it's a bit of a drag. I'm glad that the tenant survived and is ok, at least physically, but this is all getting just a bit too ridiculous. I kind of feel like Jim Carrey in "Truman Show," when he realizes something is odd.

Anyway, sorry about the unfunny post.

Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, B, A, Select, Start

Have about 10 minutes to kill? Check out this Nintendo 8-bit system themed quiz!!

I scored 13 out of 25 (average score, according to the site, is 45%). I'm most proud of answering the question about Super Mario Bros. correct.

Because YOU'RE my number one

Have you noticed that TV commercials are really bad lately? I have, and I've noticed that they seem to fit into four general categories:

1.) Elitist (aka "You can't afford this, so we'll make you feel bad about it")
Remember the Grey Poupon commercials? What made this commercial work was that it presented this gourmet dijon mustard as a product for elite tastes, but when you got to the supermarket, you learned that you, yes you middle-classer!, could afford it. Maybe one day YOU would be the one saying, "But of course" to mustard! Not to mention it's some damn good mustard.

But lately, I've noticed the opposite has occurred. First of all, I'm not sure why Mercedes and Cadillac and BMW are even advertising, much less during reruns of Seinfeld at 7:38 PM on a weekday. But clearly it's to rub their balls in our face. Except for a brief stretch of Tiki Barber driving over the Brooklyn Bridge in his Escalade, the drivers of these cars in these commercials ("When you turn your car on, does it return the favor") are all clearly upper-class white pricks. Also, they're smugly driving at a speed that betrays their lack of concern for anything else on "their" road. I happen to live in an area with a lot of Mercedes and Beamers driving around, and they are, by far, the second worst group of drivers around.

2.) You're a Bad Person Because...
a.) You pay for items with cash instead of a Visa card
b.) You don't drive a Hybrid
c.) You didn't get her jewelry from Jared's
d.) You got caught by "To Catch a Predator"

3.) Insult to Our Intelligence
The best, number one, example of this is the set of Apple IPhone commercials. First, we get the pilot (or flight attendent?) who claims he averted a long delay by checking weather patterns on his IPhone, while the air traffic controllers are apparently distracted by a blow job fest or something. My neighbor is a pilot, and I asked her about this. She laughed and totally called shenanigans on that. She confirmed what anyone with half a brain knows - if the weather's cleared up, uh, yeah the controllers got that. Second, we get the NY/Jersey guido wearing a t-shirt with sleeves short enough to show that his guns are unholstered, so, you know. Anyway, he starts talking about how the IPhone is saving him from having to carry around his usual accoutrement, which apparently includes a cell phone, a PDA, a douche for his man-gina, a purse, a second purse, man-makeup, keys to his Camaro (because you know that's what he's driving), a sock to stuff down his pants, and his giant ego. Thank God for this one device which takes care of all of those tasks AND allows him to retain his pretentiousness! Huzzah! This one's my favorite, though...



The other good example of this is the set of commercials in which we discover that Walmart is saving the world from high gas prices, keeping families together, and protecting this nation from terrorists. I'm not anti-Walmart at all, but, seriously, I've tried, and I just can't follow their logic on this one.

4.) Completely Unwatchable
a.) Verizon's "You're My Number One"
b.) Really, any phone commercial
c.) Taco Bell's "Cha!" Rules of Life/Pizza Hut's "How to eat a pizza, son"/KFC "I hope dad doesn't try to cook again, IDIOT!!" [All three owned by the same company]
d.) Domino's Oreo Beard Commercial....just kidding, that one's still awesome.

Virginia is now 1-15 in the State of Florida

Damn. Way to...um...Groh.

UVA 48, Miami 0 AT the Orange Bowl.

Bring on Tech. Wahoo-wa.

Perhaps It Was An Ill-Advised Purchase

So, today is Day 846 of The Great Real Estate Investing Experiment. I thought it would be fun to reflect on the two plus years of this, and what I've had to go through. In that time, I've endured:

-2 house purchases
-2 failed house sales
-1 major housing downturn
-Roughly $80,000 in combined housing value drops, due to said housing downturn
-20 different tenants
-4 of which were mentally unstable and/or substance abusers
-1 of which was a phantom pooper
-4 water leaks causing extensive damage
-Including two in the past week
-Two sets of carpet replacement
-Two sets of hardwood/laminate replacement (one of which was due to one of the aforementioned water leaks)
-Two grease fires...in the same house...in the same kitchen...by two different tenants...within a month of each other...both made somewhat worse by their attempts to stop the fire by throwing water at it...the worst possible thing you can do with a grease fire
-0 condo association meetings attended
-2 condo fee increases agreed upon by those who actually attended those meetings
-1 pest problem
-1 of which was caused by the filthy, disgusting tenants and their filth

All of which has resulted in:
-1 Disgruntled Investor

The C Stands for Crap

So I'm watching the Patriots-Colts game on Sunday, and aside from the terrible "Because You're My Number 1" Verizon commercial and the commercial about the idiots who didn't know they were Swedish, the one that stuck out most to me was the preview for the new "Beowulf" movie.

The Beowulf movie, as you probably know, is done entirely in CGI animation. This has become the new trend in special effects. It's supposedly a step up from hand-drawn animation, and is supposed to be as realistic as possible without it being...well, realistic.

I think CGI has set back special effects at least 30 years. Movies that rely on it look like video games from the late 90's, with exaggerated facial expressions and mouth movement that doesn't quite sync up with what they're actually saying. Even the Hall of Presidents at Disney World did a better job at both of these things! Hell, even Chucky Cheese did a better job at that!

Anyway, to prove my point, I would like to present a few examples to show how we've gone from robotics and animatronics that looked real to this lazy weird shit CGI.

Example 1: Sharks

Alright, I'm starting off with kind of an unfair example, but I think it's funny.

Exhibit A is Jaws. You might have heard of this indy film about a shark that terrorizes a beach, directed by a little known director named Steven Spielberg (before he became Senor Spielbergo). Here's Jaws - a mixture of real shark footage and a robot shark - attacking Brody in a cage.



This was 1975, and was made for a very non-Speilbergian budget of $7 million (a lot, but not nearly like what they spend now). The shark looks real, and more importantly, Spielberg doesn't fluff it up with gratuitous shots of a menacing CGI shark. It's a mixture of robo-shark and quick cuts of Brody in the cage. It's pretty awesome.

Fast-forward to 1999. As Dave Chappelle said (as Samuel Jackson), "Deep Blue Sea? They ate me! A fucking shark ate me!" And so I present, Exhibit B:



Which shark looks more real? The one made 25 years prior. Still, that was a pretty fucking funny scene when Sammy L. gets eaten by the shark.

Advantage: Robot/Real Shark

Example 2: Turtles, Ninja

How awesome was 1990's Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie? Fucking awesome, that's how awesome. When I was a little kid and saw this movie for the first time in the theatres, I lost my shit. But, it was so friggin' great, I stayed in that theatre in my shitty pants and sat through to the end. I had previously seen "Howard the Duck" and my expectations for this movie, even at the tender age of 10, were pretty low. But, holy shit, they actually had four actors in turtle suits doing ninja moves and it looked like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles from the comics. I believed that I was seeing four turtle ninjas kicking ass. Then again, I was 10, but still. Here's the original trailer for the movie.



Holy shit look at Shredder! God that's a great movie.

So, this is somewhat controversial, since my friend Kyle says he loved this movie, but what I've heard from most people about 2007's "TMNT" is pretty mixed, and the major complaints are similar to mine. Here is an argument between Raphael and Leonardo about who's better...



...and then they fight. I'd have put it in here, but then you'd have to wait forever for it to load. Again, this one is difficult because they do look turtle-ish, and you can see the advantages of CGI in this, but at the same time, you get the over-eggagerated facial and body expressions. Also, is this film trying to be a cartoon or a Beowulf-like live action shot in CGI? Plus, if it is supposed to be a cartoon, then where is the improvement over the awesome 1990's cartoon series? Is the CGI really worth it here? The jury's still out on that I think.

Advantage: Somewhat of a wash, but since it's my blog, the 1990 movie wins.

Example 3: Aliens

In 1979, and later in 1986, the "Alien/Aliens" movies created quite possibly the best special effect in film history by producing the most real looking alien (based on all of the aliens I've seen personally, of course) ever. Honestly, I don't even need commentary on this, here it is (might be slow-loading, and it's kind of long, but nonetheless worth watching):



Absolutely ground-breaking for that time, and it continued to get better as they picked up UVA grad Stan Winston for the sequels. All robots, all real.

As opposed to...this...



Not real at all.

Advantage: UVA

And finally, Example 4: Dinosaurs

CGI...



vs. LIVE ACTION!!!



Advantage: Clearly, live action. That dinosaur boss on the TV show was one mean ol' guy.

In conclusion, the point I'm trying to make is that CGI tries too hard to seem real, but generally doesn't get it right. In small doses, it works, but puppets, robots, and elaborate costumes will always win out.

1990 represent!

This Blog Is Going To Rip Off At Least 56 Others

So, UVA football beat Wake Forest 17-16, despite Al Groh's best efforts, bringing us to a respectable 8-2 and first place in our division/conference/division again. Miami, who is currently stuck in Bizarro World, is terrible, and we get them next. We should beat them, but then again, we should have beaten NC State and Wyoming (which, like Golden, isn't really a state). Then we get an utterly beatable VA Tech team in Charlottesville.

This has arguably been the worst season of UVA football in recent history. Let me explain.

My first two years at UVA as a student were the last two years of the George Welsh coaching era. If you like not going for it on 4th and a centimeter in enemy territory, and instead punting into the end zone, then you clearly enjoyed the George Welsh era. He was replaced by Al "My son beat Florida State!" Groh, a former NFL by-default head coach who owns a Super Bowl ring. Hopes were immediately high.

However, Coach Groh soon found an affinity for North Carolina, specifically the Continental Tire Bowl, where we found ourselves most years, happily beating West Virginia or Pittsburgh most of the time. Hooray!

But then last year we didn't make any bowls at all. That's what happened in the Welsh era! Heeeyyy!

So, then this year happened. Looking at our early season schedule, it quickly became apparent that it was formed with a 11-1 finish in mind. I mean, Wyoming?!?! Yeah, we got that.

Then, we visited Laramie, Wyoming.

So, the calls for "Groh Must Go" began. Also, from me.

UVA fans were faced with a not unique dilemma. Hope for the best (like, for example, 8-2), or hope they tank. Like the 2006 Celtics, we thought, this might be the way to get rid of Doc Rivers...I mean Al Groh.

Then, we're 8-2. At worst, we'll finish 8-4 and make a non-Boise based bowl. And, really, that's pretty likely. We should beat Miami. We should beat Tech. But, with the Cardiac Cavs, who knows?

Regardless, despite AD Craig Littlepage not exercising Groh's option year last year, it'd be a surprise if we don't get Al "Mike, who beat Fla. State, says go for it on 4th and a long 2 when a field goal would put them away" Groh back.

If we beat Miami, then Va. Tech, then Boston College in the championship game, then some SEC school in the BCS bowl, then, OK, Groh can stay another year.

But, is that really going to happen?

Shit, at least we shouldn't end up on a blue field again. Right?

Women's Rights!

(Thx "Homeslice")

HAPPY WEDNESDAY (AND HAPPY HALLOWEEN)

Completely Expected

NC State 29, UVA 24

The good thing about being a Virginia football fan is that these losses are not in the least bit shocking or surprising. It helps to numb the pain of losing to a (previously) 2-5 team that hadn't beaten an ACC opponent in 9 straight games. Way to Groh, Al. ACC Coach of the Year!!

Still, it could have been worse. We could have lost on a play like this...

Oh, right, I have a blog...

So, I met with my new realtor yesterday, having secretly fired my old realtor (secretly because he doesn't know - or probably care - that he's been fired). The new one used to work with my dad and now does real estate full time. It's been lucrative for her, but, like anyone who's dabbled lately, she's pretty bitter about the state of things right now. Basically, exactly what I'm looking for in a realtor. Also, she came prepared with research and marketing materials for whenever I decide to try to sell one or both of my places again. Her commission is a little higher, but I've already learned that you get (or don't get) what you pay for (or don't pay for).

After exchanging pleasantries and catching up with my dad, she got right down to her market outlook, specifically for my two houses. In a word, the market is: shit. But, that's fine, it's what I expected to hear and a lot better than the smoke my old realtor was blowing up my ass about being able to sell my house for $50K above market. Her advice was basically to re-do my W-4 employment worksheet so I'm getting less taxes taken out of my paycheck. Also, she recommended refinancing one or both of my houses. Helpful, because Countrywide is suddenly all over that. In fact, I just got an email today specifically offering to refi my accounts at no cost to me.

Therefore, my new strategy is to do both of these things and, as she suggested, wait it out. This might mean waiting it out until 2009. I hate bleeding money (though the two above acts might halt or lessen that), I hate being a landlord (no help there), I hate the plague of plagues heaped upon my houses each month, and I hate that these two houses tie me to this place and this job until I can get rid of them. But, the alternatives (short sell, foreclosure, burn to the ground for insurance money...wait, you didn't read that last one) aren't much better.

So, the Disgruntledness continues! Huzzah!

In other news:

-Turns out $150,000-aires are the new millionaires!! Keep those incentives for bettering ourselves financially coming, boys!

-To be fair, this was the second part of his Make-A-Wish wish. (Seriously, though, how are pit bulls still legal? Does it ever end well when one owns them?)

-Naked sleepwalkers in hotels!! That reminds me of something, but I can't quite remember what...

-The Onion predicts the future!!

-And finally, a tip o' the hat to Tom Brady, who has single-handedly saved not one, but two of my fantasy football seasons. Thanks, Tom, I'd gladly watch you shower anytime you wanted.

GILF

This lady rules. As an aside, my Comcast-provided internet is not working (I'm "borrowing" a neighbor's unsecured line), not that that colors my opinion of this...

From Yahoo!...

Woman fined for hammer fit at Comcast

BRISTOW, Va. - She was fined and got a suspended jail sentence, but Mona Shaw says she has no regrets about using a hammer to vent her frustration at a cable company.

"I stand by my actions even more so after getting all these telephone calls and hearing other people's complaints," she told The Associated Press in an interview Friday.

Shaw, 75, and her husband, Don, say they had an appointment in August for a Comcast technician to come to their Bristow home to install the company's heavily advertised Triple Play phone, Internet and cable service.

The Shaws say no one came all day, and the technician who showed up two days later left without finishing the setup. Two days after that, Comcast cut off all their service.

At the Comcast office in Manassas later that day, they waited for a manager for two hours before being told the manager had left for the day, the Shaws say.

Shaw, a churchgoing secretary of the local AARP branch, returned the next Monday — with a hammer.

"I smashed a keyboard, knocked over a monitor ... and I went to hit the telephone," Shaw said. "I figured, 'Hey, my telephone is screwed up, so is yours.'" [ed. note: Fuck that's a great quote!)

Comcast Corp., the nation's largest cable company, disputes Shaw's version of its customer service record and calls Shaw's hammer fit on Aug. 20 an "inappropriate situation."

"Nothing justifies this sort of dangerous behavior," Comcast spokeswoman Beth Bacha said.

Police arrested Shaw for disorderly conduct. She received a three-month suspended sentence, was fined $345 and and is barred from going near the Comcast offices for a year.

The Shaws did eventually get phone and television service — with Verizon and DirecTV.

She said many people have called her a hero. "But no, I'm just an old lady who got mad. I had a hissy fit," she said.

And the Lord Sayeth...

The Hillary Clinton Health Care Plan

From CNN.com

Brits resort to pulling own teeth

LONDON, England (CNN) -- Some English people have resorted to pulling out their own teeth because they cannot find -- or cannot afford -- a dentist, a major study has revealed.

Six percent of those questioned in a survey of 5,000 patients admitted they had resorted to self-treatment using pliers and glue, the UK's Press Association reported.

England has a two-tier dental care system with some dentists offering publicly subsidized treatment through the National Health Service and others performing more expensive private work.

But more than three-quarters of those polled said they had been forced to pay for private treatment because they had been unable to find an NHS dentist. Almost a fifth said they had refused dental treatment because of the cost.

One respondent in Lancashire, northern England, claimed to have extracted 14 of their own teeth with a pair of pliers. In Liverpool, one of those collecting data for the survey interviewed three people who had pulled out their own teeth in one morning.

"I took most of my teeth out in the shed with pliers. I have one to go," another respondent wrote.

Others said they had fixed broken crowns using glue to avoid costly dental work.

Valerie Halsworth, 64, told British television's GMTV she had removed seven of her own teeth using her husband's pliers when her toothache became unbearable and she was unable to find an NHS dentist willing to treat her.

Halsworth admitted that the first extraction had been "excruciatingly painful." But she added: "It got that painful that I just had to do something... When you have taken a tooth out... the pain has gone."

Sharon Grant, chair of the Commission for Patient and Public Involvement in Health, which commissioned the survey, said: "These findings indicate that the NHS dental system is letting many patients down very badly.

"Where NHS dental services are available, people are happy with the quality of treatment provided but many find the NHS fee system confusing and expensive, with some patients taking out loans to pay for treatment or more worryingly taking matters into their own hands."

On The Issue of Robot Attacks, Mr. Giuliani Frowned and Replied, "No, We Are Not Prepared For That."

The Disgruntleds

I'm having a pretty frustrating and long week, so this seemed as good a time as any to initiate a new semi-weekly/monthly feature: The Disgruntleds. This, simply, is a list of the things disgruntling me right now. Feel free to add your own in the comments.

1.) Crocs. They look ok on kids, but pretentious and stupid on adults. As I told the Disgruntled Girlfriend yesterday, I'm not gay, but some of those color combos have just (snap) got (snap) to (snap) go. Mmm-hmmm...

2.) People talking into their cell phones like they were walkie-talkies. You don't look cool, asshole. And your phone is not a walkie-talkie.

3.) Walkie-talkie cell phones.

4.) When co-workers (like my boss, who's office is next to mine) dial using their speaker phone, then when the other person says, audibly, "Hello?" the co-worker (or boss) picks up the phone and starts using it normally. What the fuck is the point of doing that?

5.) "Bro"/"Brah"

6.) The New York Times

7.) Fantasy football weeks ruined by "game-time decisions" (conversely, accurately predicting these decisions makes me less disgruntled)

8.) Robot marriages?

9.) Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, and his body odor

10.) Goddamn fucking real estate

Have a disgruntled day!!

P.S. Look who just turned 18!!

I'll Take A Hundred of Your Finest Diamonds, Please.

It's been a few days since I've posted anything, but, really, there hasn't been anything interesting to post. And, the last thing I want to do is bore my two readers.

However, I logged on to CNN.com today, and this was the screenshot that immediately popped up. Note the diamond ad on the right.



I'm pretty sure that's two attractive females making out. Now that's marketing!

In other news, Tom Cruise is building an underground bunker for when "deposed galactic ruler" Xenu attacks the Earth.

Fed Lowers Key Rate 1/2 Point

So I'm expecting buyers to start lining up to bid on my house(s) at approximately 6 AM this Saturday. That's the only logical outcome, right?

In other (related) news, as a further example of things that can only happen to me - one of my tenants at the first house caught a pan on fire (grease fire), and decided to take it outside. Not a terrible idea, but he laid the pan down on the RELATIVELY NEW HARDWOOD FLOOR in the foyer in order to open the front door. I hope to have a picture to put up of the "Ring of Fire" that's now on the floor. It's pan-size.

Gee!!!

Way To Keep An Open Mind, Barry (P.S. Your Music Sucks)

P.P.S. Elisabeth Hasselbeck is an attractive female.


From TMZ.com:

Barry to Elisabeth: Your "View" is Dangerous

UPDATE: A source tells TMZ that it's not Barry who's writing this song -- in fact, "View" producers pulled the plug on Manilow's performance when his people demanded that he appear on the show without Elisabeth. Manilow has in fact performed on the show twice before -- both last year -- when Hasselbeck's been co-hosting.

TMZ has learned that legendary singer Barry Manilow has pulled out of his scheduled appearance on "The View" tomorrow -- because he strongly disagrees with host Elisabeth Hasselbeck's conservative view! Paging Rosie O'Donnell!

In an exclusive statement to TMZ, Barry says, "I strongly disagree with her views. I think she's dangerous and offensive. I will not be on the same stage with her."

Update

In case any of you wanted an update on my real estate situation, here it is:

(sound of crickets chirping)

Ok, basically the markets gone up slightly in the neighborhood of the house I tried to sell earlier this year, and down slightly in the neighborhood of the house I tried to sell last year. This is actually alright, since I'd rather get rid of the house I tried to sell this year anyway.

Mortgage rates are dropping, and the hot rumor (or rumour) is that Bernanke is going to drop the federal funds rate this month, which would obviously lower the mortgage rates even more and, hopefully, inspire some kind of confidence in a rebound.

But, other than that, things still suck, and I'm still just waiting. Stupid real estate.

100

In terms of overall hipness, I would rate myself somewhere between Danny Tanner and Mr. Bean. That is to say, not very.

No one who knows me personally would disagree with this contention, but I am trying to keep up with the kids these days. I'm trying to you tubes, listening to eye pods (actually no I'm not, more on this in a bit), and think that these Seinfeld guys might be on to something.

In all seriousness, though, occasionally I'll come across some show (ex. Lost), band (ex. Spoon), or idea (ex. real estate investing) that everyone else had already caught onto years before. Often, the thing has already run its course in the national psyche, and I'm too late (coughrealestateinvestingcough).

Typical conversation:

Me: Holy crap, I just came across this Michael Jackson album, Thriller - dude how did I not know about this? This guy's gonna be hot!!

Guy at Bus Stop: ......(walks across street)

[Quick side note: According to Wikipedia, in 1982 Michael Jackson recorded a storybook version of ET: The Extra-Terrestrial, which featured him reading the book and also performing a song called "Someone In The Dark." Yikes. This album went on to win a Grammy for, "Best Album for Children." Double Yikes.]

Anyway, I note this because I just came across this band, Feist, which is I guess the solo project of a Canadian chick named Leslie Feist, who's been in several indie bands. How I came across her is that Apple Ipod commercial for the new Nanos, where as her video for "1234" is playing, someone keeps replacing the Nanos with different color Nanos. Now, for some unexplainable reason, I have this disdain for all things Apple. I don't own a Mac, an IPhone (totally unnecessary, and fuck having to switch to Cingular), or an IPod (I have the Dell knockoff!!) Maybe I don't like their business practices, their pricing practices, Steve Jobs, or their normally slam my head in the wall annoying ads. Maybe it's because I kept starving or getting dysentery on Oregon Trail on the Macs in our computer lab in 4th grade. Whatever the reason, with the exception of their superiority in computer graphic design and movie-making, I see no reason to buy an Apple product. Anyway.

So, Feist. That "1234" song is definitely catchy, and Feist herself seemed pretty girl-next-door sexy, so I decided to check them out. Gotta say, I'm a big fan. I'm aware that 99.99% of the rest of the world probably knows who they are, but (see above), I'm just now catching on.

Here's the "1234" video (sans Nano), which is pretty awesome. Not funny, just awesome. And catchy.



Also, check out their Letterman performance here, and their Jimmy Kimmel performance here (on a bus!!) Turns out they're good live too!

That's Not Stuff, Meredith...

So it's Wednesday, and with my 99th Disgruntled Post, I am putting up a video of this commercial, which for some reason (can't explain why) is the funniest thing I've seen in a while. In it, a Kelsey Grammer look-alike explains to a Matthew McConaughey look-alike that, given time, his Oreo Pizza moustache will grow to be as full as his. Is this the best commercial I've ever seen? I think so...I know so.

Please Hammer, Don't Disgruntle Them...

Last Thursday, at approximately 9:02 PM, I gave M.C. Hammer a pat on the back.

I had been checking out the Washington Post online, scrolling past their "news" ("Sen. Larry Craig blows a hyena in the high desert of Idaho") to get to the Sports section (which is very good). As I clicked on the Sports section, I caught a quick glimpse of a picture on the left hand side of M.C. Hammer, under the "City Guide - Going Out Guide" section. Confused, intrigued, and convinced I read it wrong, I clicked back on my browser, and clicked on the City Guide.

"M.C. Hammer, still Too Legit To Quit, in a FREE show at the Woodrow Wilson Center"

Holy shit! M.C. Hammer?!?! FREE?!?!?!

(Now understand - it was the combination of those two things that made me excited. While I had once paid $35 to see Vanilla Ice at the House of Blues in Myrtle Beach, I'm not sure I'd shell that out for the Rev. Hammer.)

I called the Disgruntled Girlfriend, who exclaimed, "That's awesome!" Apparently, I didn't need to ask her thoughts on going. She also mused, "I wonder what kind of people are going to show up to this thing. Probably 1/3 hardcore fans, 1/3 people like us going for the nostalgia/kitch factor, and 1/3 religious fanatics hoping he plays nothing but gospel." That was a good point - we couldn't figure out if M.C Hammer or Rev. Hammer was going to show up.

So we arrived at the show, which was held outdoors, about an hour early. Our thought was, I mean, it's M.C. FUCKING HAMMER, so it'll get real packed real quick.

Then we saw that we were one of about 10 people there. So we went across the street and grabbed a couple of beers.

By the time we got back, it had picked up a bit, but was still sparser than I thought. I began to think, "Damn, this is really embarassing for the man who married Corey Feldman to his current wife." But the square soon filled up nicely with people, and my worries proved unfounded.

After a strange African-American Spice Girls opening act, and after an unfortunately long delay (during which time some shitty DJ from WPGC named "Shaq in the Pack" apparently thought we were all there to see him), the man, the legend, the Hammer came out on stage. He was looking gangsta-hard (think "The Funky Headhunters").




He kicked out all the classics (it was M.C., not Rev. Hammer, in action): Too Legit, Pumps and a Bump (the second song he did!!), Can't Touch This, Pray, Oaktown, and some old school Hammer tracks from his first album like Turn This Mutha Out. He did the Hammer dance, and he and his backup dancers showed they still had the same early 90's moves that made him famous. At one point (before "Pray"), he devised a solution to the Middle East crisis ("You've got to pray, just to end all the socioeconomic concerns and fanatical Islamic rhetoric that is fueling a general hatred of the West and leading to suicide bombings, homicide bombings, and a general instability in the region...today.") He did not wear "Hammer pants," but they were relatively baggy and gave much the same effect. And we were like 10 feet away from him. Awesome.



Finally, he ended his show by coming out into the audience. It was at this point that two things happened:

1.) I forgot to turn my flash back on my camera, leading to several blurry pictures of Hammer 2 inches in front of me;

2.) I patted Hammer on his sweaty back.

It's not often that something comes along that is so monumentally can't miss that you...well...can't miss it. The free M.C. Hammer show last Thursday was just such an event. Surreal, high-energy, and too legit to quit. Here comes the Hammer.



(By the way, if these pictures come out dark on your computer, just adjust the brightness - it looks great on my home computer, not great on my work computer. Trust me, it's worth it to see Gangsta Hammer in action.)

Sigh...

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, way to Groh, Al. How much longer do we have to suffer through this coaching staff? Despite having had the privilege of NFL talent like Matt Schaub, Thomas Jones, Patrick Kearney, and Heath Miller, the best we've done is the goddamn Continental Tire Bowl.

But this is too much.

23-3 to fucking Wyoming??

"I just felt dead," Virginia QB Jameel Sewell said, describing how he felt during the game.

That's great, but it more accurately describes Virginia fans since George ("I must punt on 4th and inches in enemy territory") Welsh departed. But we're a basketball school now, right? Right?

But still, it could have been worse, I suppose.

Asian People Can Shoot Fire Out Of Their Hands, And Fly Also

You know how when you look back at old science fiction books and movies, a lot of the things they predicted came true (like, for example, apes taking over the planet)? Well, now every kung fu movie ever made has just been realized.

I present to you, the greatest news story I have ever read.

China kung fu monks seek apology for ninja affront

(From Yahoo!)
BEIJING (Reuters) - China's Shaolin Temple, the cradle of Chinese kung fu, is demanding an apology from an Internet user who said its monks had once been beaten in unarmed combat by a Japanese ninja, Chinese media reported on Friday.

Shaolin Temple, in the northern province of Henan, became famous in the West as the training ground for Kwai Chang "Grasshopper" Caine in the 1970s "Kung Fu" TV series.

Ninjas -- professional assassins trained in martial arts -- date back to mediaeval Japan.

"The so-called defeat is purely fabricated, and we demand the Internet user to apologise to the whole nation for the wrongs he or she did," the Beijing News said, citing a notice announced by a lawyer for the Shaolin monks.

Relations between Chinese and Japanese are sensitive at the best of times, with emotions still running high over Japan's invasion and occupation of parts of China in the first half of the 20th Century.

The Internet user, calling themselves "Five Minutes Every Day", said on an online forum last week that a Japanese ninja came to Shaolin, asked for a fight and many monks failed to beat him, the newspaper said.

"The facts that the monks could not defeat a Japanese ninja showed that they were named as kung fu masters in vain," the Internet user was quoted as saying in the post.

The Shaolin temple "strongly condemned the horrible deeds" of the user, the newspaper said.

"It is not only extremely irresponsible behaviour with respect to the Shaolin temple and its monks, but also to the whole martial art and Chinese nation," it quoted the monks as saying.

Note To Travel Writing Execs - Hire Me As A Travel Writer

Portland, Oregon is a city of contrasts.

Just kidding, I would never actually write something that trite. I think it's pretty lazy when a travel writer uses that phrase to describe a city. To be honest with you, I don't even know what "city of contrasts" means - probably nothing. Anyway, this is how I'm actually starting this blog entry...

After wandering around Portland proper for a couple of hours, I began to notice something slightly unusual. Or rather, not notice something. I had not seen a single police car or cop anywhere. (I was informed later by my friend Matt that Portland cops seem to follow him everywhere - possibly due to his Bush '04 bumper sticker.) I also noticed that every street corner boasted its own "shanty-town" of part of the city's disproportionately large homeless population. I noted to myself that these two things are probably not mutually exclusive.

However, these aren't your DC-variety "stabbing hobos," but rather something more akin to the 60's Haight-Ashbury transient population. People who, I was told on occasion while in the city, "wanted to be homeless." While I can't attest to that, they did seem more pleasant than what I've encountered here, and Portland is definitely the kind of weird (and relatively inexpensive) city where a housing-challenged individual could live pretty decently. There were a lot of people my age among that group, interestingly enough. Perhaps fellow real estate investors?

Anyway, after joining me for a snack at Voodoo Doughnut near Chinatown, where I had the "Blood-Filled Voodoo Doll" (see menu here - they were out of the Bacon-Maple Donut, otherwise I would have gotten it), the Disgruntled Girlfriend left me to my own devices in the city while she and her fellow bridesmaids received a manicure and pedicure in preparation for the next day's wedding. Having already fulfilled part of Anthony Bourdain's travel guide for the city with the donut excursion (incidently, here's a picture of the DG and I's awesome donuts - she had one with rice krispies and peanuts on top, I think)...



...I quickly made my way up the street to Old Town Pizza, the haunted local pizzeria where unsuspecting patrons used to get "Shanghaied" through a trap door and enslaved aboard merchant ships back in the 1800's. Yarrrrrr!!!! Avast ye mateys!!! I had a prosciutto pizza which was great (and advertised as being for 1-2 people - usually I am at least 2 people but even I could not finish the oversized personal pizza!), and two pints of one of the local microbrews - Widmer Hefeweizen. Sufficiently buzzed on beer (at least temporarily), I made my way to the Portland Classical Chinese Garden, to get sufficiently buzzed on caffeinated oolong tea. I'm a pretty big tea snob, and this stuff was fantastic - it was called Royal Phoenix, I think. Truly a tea of contrasts.

But Portland's not all hobos, pirates, and Chinese people - there's a lot of alcohol to be drank (drunk? drunken? dranken?) as well, and, we were just the drinkers to drink (drank?) it. The wedding reception itself was held at McMenniman's. McMenniman's has about 50 hotel/pubs in the area, all consisting of old buildings (schools, hotels, theaters, funeral parlors, etc.) that they converted into brewpubs or hotel/pubs. This particular one used to be the Kennedy School, and the reception was held in the gymnasium (we were staying in Mrs. Drew's Room - she was evidently a math teacher in that room). The hallways are lined with pictures of kids that went to this school in the early 1900's, and has kind of an eerie, ghostly feel to it, leading to the following exchange:

Disgruntled Investor: I bet this place is crazy haunted.

Disgruntled Girlfriend: It was a school, it's not like people died here!

Disgruntled Investor: You don't know that!

Having won that argument, we settled down to our complimentary booze - McMenniman's Ruby Red Ale, Hammerhead I.P.A., and their Edgefield Wines. At some point in the night (according to photographic evidence), I apparently had some of their distilled bourbon as well. Now, if I hate anything, it's to dance, but evidently I decided to do the Hammer dance ("Can't Touch This"), and probably kicked ass at it. Here's me breaking it down - note the spilled alcohol on my pants...


The previous day, we had gone to the rehearsal dinner at a Portland sports pub called On Deck Sports Bar and Grill. They had great food and tasty beer and all, but what set this place apart was its unlimited free use of their Nintendo Wii. Once drunken DI found this, he and the matron-of-honor played Wii Bowling the rest of the night. It was sweet, even though I lost every game. The DI is left-handed, and that's the excuse he will use for that (and golf). Dammit.

After On Deck, the DG and I (and the matron-of-honor and her husband) decided to pull another Bourdain and go out for some late night sushi and sake, at the Saucebox - a trendy Pan-Asian restaurant/bar. The DG and I split a giant bottle of awesome unfiltered sake, and several plates of various sushi platters. Besides a buzzed, wildly gesticulating DG accidently knocking the top half of her glass off the stem (leaving the stem unmoved - pretty amazing magic trick), luck pretty much fell on our side, as two misdirected plates of sushi ended up at our table, which we ate without having to pay for. Also, no sales tax in Oregon meant our total bill was about a quarter of what it would have been back here in D.C.

Our final day there, the DG and her parents and I went out to Multnomah Falls, the second largest continually open falls in the United States, and followed that by watching the kite surfers out on the Columbia River. These guys were clearly having a good time out there, and the DG strongly intimated that this was an activity for her. Here's a picture of one of these guys in action...


We finished up our trip with a visit to Jake's Famous Crawfish , a 110 year old McCormick and Schmidt-owned restaurant specializing in local seafood. Though a bit pricey (think McCormick and Schmidt...), it's completely worth it, as this was the best seafood I've ever had in my entire life. The top of the menu lists the local fresh catches of the day, so you can literally order something (ed. note: apologies to the Blogadier General and the Disgruntled Vegetarian here) that was happily swimming along earlier that day. Believe me when I say that that makes a huge difference in taste, as you don't get that thawed-out taste you might elsewhere. I had the Ling Cod (cilantro-lime seared) and Netarts Bay (Oregon) oysters on the half-shell, with a local Pinot Noir - all Oregon-based. The Ling Cod was a recommendation from the DG's dad, and was incredibly succulent. The oysters were so good I almost ordered them again for dessert. God those were fucking awesome oysters.

You know what, I rescind the apologies to the Blog. Gen. and the DV. They're missing out by not eating things like this. Sorry guys. The fish and oysters' personalities surely made the difference in their orgasmic taste. You can't "Boca" that.

Anyway, to sum up, like Seattle before it, I didn't want to like Portland. I've lived on the East Coast my whole life, and am strongly partial to it. It's an incredibly liberal place with a lot of tree-huggers. But dammit, Portland is pretty awesome. I could definitely live out there (maybe will someday). Shit, could the DG be right about the West Coast being the "best coast"?

Nah, but I'd still move to Portland. I could be a hobo, or pirate. Or Chinese person.

-Disgruntled A