Prince Harry Pulls Out Early

If I was him, I'd be pretty pissed off at the media for this. The identity of soldiers deployed in war zones never gets revealed, unless they take pictures of prisoners naked or something.

It's an early entrant for Bullshit of the Year award.

On a lighter note, I think the future Disgruntled Son will be named Jock Stirrup.

From Yahoo!

By D'ARCY DORAN, Associated Press Writer

LONDON - Britain's defense chief decided Friday to immediately pull Prince Harry out of Afghanistan after news of his deployment was leaked on the U.S. Web site the Drudge Report.

Air Chief Marshal Jock Stirrup, chief of the Defense Staff, said he decided to withdraw the prince after senior commanders assessed the risks, the Defense Ministry said in a statement.

Harry, third in line to the British throne, has been serving on the front line with an army unit in Afghanistan's southern Helmand province since mid-December. He was originally due to return to Britain within weeks, but "the situation has now clearly changed," the statement said.

The decision was based on concerns that worldwide media coverage of Harry in Afghanistan could put him and his comrades at increased risk.

The ministry asked the media not to speculate on Harry's location — or how and when he would return — until he was back in Britain.

British officials had hoped to keep Prince Harry's deployment secret until he had safely returned, but they released video of him serving in Helmand Province after the leak appeared on the Drudge Report.

The ministry deplored the leak by "elements of the foreign media."

"However, this was a circumstance that we have always been aware of and one for which we have had contingency plans in place," the statement said.

Prime Minister Gordon Brown said the prince had demonstrated that he was an exemplary young officer. "The whole of Britain will be proud of the outstanding service he is giving," he said.

Harry, 23, is the first royal to serve in a combat zone since his uncle Prince Andrew flew helicopters during Britain's war with Argentina over the Falkland Islands in 1982.

Tours to Afghanistan usually last six months; Harry has served 10 weeks.

Harry conceded in an interview filmed last week that when he returns to Britain he could be a "top target" for Islamic terrorists.

"Once this ... comes out, every single person that supports them will be trying to slot me," he said.

The deployment plan had been disclosed to reporters, with no specific date, but was not reported previously because of an agreement between the Ministry of Defense and all major news organizations operating in Britain, including The Associated Press. The news blackout was intended to reduce the risk to the prince and his regiment.

Harry was supposed to go to Iraq with the Blues and Royals regiment in May last year but the assignment was canceled because of security fears. Iraqi insurgents made threats on Internet chat rooms, saying he would not make it home alive.

Harry trained at Sandhurst military academy and joined the Blues and Royals as a cornet, the cavalry regiment's equivalent of a second lieutenant. After being held back from his Iraq assignment, the prince threatened to quit the army if he was not given the chance to see combat.

Harry said his older brother, William, who also graduated from Sandhurst and is training as a military pilot, is jealous of his deployment. As Britain's likely future king, Prince William is unlikely ever to see combat.

Helmand province is where most of the 7,800 British soldiers in Afghanistan are based. It has seen some of the country's fiercest combat in recent years, with NATO-led forces fighting the Taliban and al-Qaida militants.

Harry's work in Afghanistan has involved calling in airstrikes on Taliban positions as well as going out on foot patrols. He spent part of his deployment at a base 500 yards from Taliban positions, the military said.

Since Harry's arrival, his battle group has been responsible for around 30 enemy deaths, a Ministry of Defense official said, speaking on condition of anonymity because he was not authorized to release the information.

Video showed the prince in camouflage fatigues walking across arid and dusty terrain, calling in air support, firing a machine gun and patrolling the streets of Garmsir, the southernmost part of the province. He has since left Garmsir, and his current whereabouts are being kept secret.

Disgruntled Democracy

Well, the results are in, and the winner is: you can all go to hell.

I did, however, get some good ideas from some people, most notably the addition of the phrase, "asshole-deep," which I'll insert in some part of the dialogue, perhaps in the way the Blog. Gen. suggested.

I'm actually probably going to call the movie, "Slumlord." Or maybe, "Stinkgee Housegee." Kind of a toss-up.

Finally, in late-March, I'm going to be doing my first auction-style fantasy baseball draft. Has anyone here (besides Mike) ever done one of these? Any ideas? Bid $40 on Stinkgee McGee??

Finally finally, HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!!!

A Somewhat New Medium

Holy shit, a new blog entry!?!?!?!

So the Disgruntled Investor has begun a new phase, doing something he's always wanted to do, but up to now has only mostly joked about doing - writing a screenplay based on the Disgruntled Investor's real estate/slumlord experiences. I've always thought that all of this crap is completely unbelievable (though true!), and having popped out my first attempt at a screenplay last year (about a guy who hates his job and decides to go around visiting haunted battlefields...yeah, it wasn't great, but it proved I could actually write one of these things), I've decided to give this a whirl.

So, I'll be working on that for the next month or two, and I'll update with any, um, updates. I'm planning on entering it into some screenwriting contests and/or sending it off to some agents. Basically, I'd like to do something worthwhile this year, and it's always been my disgruntled goal in life to write a screenplay and get it made into a movie. So, that's what's new with me.

Having said all that, the damn thing needs a title. I'm terrible at coming up with clever titles for anything I write, preferring instead to pilfer other people's clever ideas (thx MC Paul Barman for this post's title). So, I'm posting a poll (the blog's first!) on the sidebar. I've come up with a few ideas, and you can all vote on which one you think seems best. I'll also take suggestions, and add them to the poll if I like them enough. Remember, this movie is going to be based on all of the crazy shit that's happened with my failed attempts at selling the places, and the insane, phantom shitter, alcoholic, suicidal, etc., etc. tenants I've had, so keep that in mind with the titles. I'll use whichever one wins as my title. That's my pledge to you. Since I really only have two actual usable ideas (guess which ones!) I heartily encourage write-in entries.

Here's what I have so far:

"I'm So Glad" - kind of relates to my first scene, where the main character (based on the DI), pops a CD - specifically, Cream's "Fresh Cream" (good album) in and the song that comes up is "I'm So Glad." Anyway, it's a great song, and one that fits the general tone of the movie, I think

"The Disgruntled Investor" - because, you see, the movie is about a real estate INVESTOR, who, through various mishaps and shenanigans, becomes rather DISGRUNTLED

"I'm Gee!!" - just anticipating Ete Packley's write-in

Other - write-ins, again, gladly accepted

It'll be fun and interactive!

Gee...

Sell-Out, Part II??

So, after Rudy Giuliani's big loss in Florida (awesome strategy!), the Disgruntled Investor has run up against a bit of a moral quandry.

Rudy clearly is out of the race, and for the Republicans, a smaller field can only be good (you hear that Huckabee and Paul???) All along, my thought was I liked Rudy best, but McCain was a close second.

Well, the Disgruntled Investor cannot support a losing candidate (aside from, you know, real estate investing).

So, as of now, the Disgruntled Investor has officially shifted his coveted endorsement from Rudy Giuliani to John McCain.

John McCain in 2008!!

A System of Jacks and Palances

Today I just wanted to pass along a classic Onion article that's hilarious. Here's the link to it, or you can read it below. Enjoy!

New Constitutional Amendment To Revise Federal System Of Jacks And Palances
June 27, 1998

WASHINGTON, DC—The federal system of Jacks and Palances created more than 200 years ago by the framers of the U.S. Constitution received an overhaul Monday via a new amendment ratified by Congress.

Under the previous system, an equal Palance of power was maintained among the three branches of the federal government–executive, legislative and judicial–with each branch keeping the other two in Jack.

The revised system, which goes into effect July 1, will take some power away from the three branches, and give more direct power to 72-year-old actor Jack Palance.

Specifically, before any bill is submitted before Congress, it must first be reviewed by Jack Palance. If passed by Palance and three-quarters of both houses of Congress, it must then be approved by the president. If signed by the president, it must again be reviewed by Jack Palance.

The Supreme Court then has the authority to call into question the legality of the law, but Jack Palance, in turn, can then overrule the high court if he believes the law is not Palanced.

In order to ensure that Jack Palance's power itself remains Palanced and Jacked, a special clause grants the president authority to veto his decisions, but only if the president can beat the veteran tough-guy actor at bare-knuckled fisticuffs, a feat which has occurred only twice in U.S. history, most recently in 1948.

"The system of Jacks and Palances is integral to the federal government's continued stability," said H. George Francona, Harvard University political science professor. "By tilting the scales of power away from the excesses of big government and placing more control in the hands of the gravel-voiced star of City Slickers 2: The Legend Of Curly's Gold, we can ensure Jack Palance's continued, central role well into the next century.

"Now you got all your holes dug," Palance said from his Washington, DC, office Monday

Sell-Out

So if I knew how to put audio clips on this, as soon as you started reading this post, you'd hear a trombone going "wah-wahhhhh", as if it was laughing at me.

The Disgruntled Investor, who promised earlier not to watch any more sports this year, has already watched sports. While recovering from some bad oysters (or too many good ones), I watched the AFC and NFC championship games. The reason?

There's not that much else to watch on TV.

Plus, I realized that it's not all sports that were letting me down, just my teams. So, despite laughter and derision from the Disgruntled Girlfriend about this, I've decided to revise my pledge, and just not watch UVA or the Redskins play. I've noticed that it's easy not to watch UVA (they're terrible in sports this year) and the Redskins (didn't make it far in the playoffs, so no accidental watching!). Plus, we're going to get some weiner coach thanks to Chainsaw Dan Snyder's ineptitude.

Anyway, so that's that. Just wanted to provide full disclosure here.

Coast-a Guard-a Coast-a Guard-a Come And Save My Ship!

"Hmm, it looks like the Disgruntled Investor hasn't posted anything in a long time," noted the Disgruntled Girlfriend yesterday.

"Alright, alright, I'll do something, Jesus..." I replied, while also noting that it's not like anyone reads this thing anyway.

"I read it! And the Daves, and Mike, and..."

"Yeah, exactly, who else?"

But, that's kind of a dick comment by me, so for the four or five readers of this blog, here's a bit of a super entry to make up for time lost. Oh, and by the way, I've been pretty damn busy lately - I usually do these things while I'm at work (such as, right now), and I've had a lot of actual work to do, so, anyway.

First off is a great quote I'd like to share from regular reader Mike, who's been featured here before. Mike recently saw "Transformers" and had this to say:

"I finally watched Transformers over the weekend and I really liked it except for one thing that really made me angry and I cant get over. You know the hottie girl in the movie? I looked her up on IMDB and I guess she was 21 when the movie came out. Which is fine. But in her bio it said that she lives with her fiancé' BRIAN AUSTIN GREEN!!!!! What the F! He is my age (ed. note: 86) and he is washed up. How does he get or even meet her? Was she a 90210 fan growing up? Was she like 8 and fell in love him? I'm sorry, I cant get over this at all. Maybe it's like a Tom Cruise Katie Holmes thing and he brainwashed her? This has been bothering me since Saturday night, so I had to rant since you liked the movie so much."

Next up comes from a conversation the DG and I had yesterday regarding the Coast Guard and movies. My dad (the Disgruntled Dad?) is a former Coast Guard Captain, so I think this is how the topic came up. Anyway, we realized that there haven't been many movies that featured the Coast Guard in any meaningful way. Sure, it was given star treatment thanks to Ashton ("I Really Just Want To Be Close To You, Bruce") Kutcher and Kevin ("I'll Take It!") Costner in The Guardian, and the DG noted that some movie called, Yours, Mine, and Ours, starring the encouragable Dennis Quaid as a Coast Guard Admiral, apparently exists as well, but other than that I couldn't name a single other Coastie movie.

Anyway, so it turns out there are over 50 movies that feature the Coast Guard, at least in some capacity! I stumbled across this great website, which also has some old movie posters, and shows that even John Wayne has portrayed a Coastie! Crazy, shows how much I know. Anyway, it's an interesting site, check it out.

Alright, I guess that's all I got for now, I'll be better about posting. Probably.

President Awesome Beard and Vice President Mutton Chops

As anyone who follows media coverage of the presidential primaries knows, Mike "Gomer Pyle" Huckabee and Barack "Osama" Obama (alternative nickname, "Dumbo Ears") have secured the Republican and Democratic Party nominations, respectively. This is because Iowa holds all of the necessary party delegates, as evidenced by the large amount of coverage given to such a usually uninfluential state. How did Iowa and New Hampshire, the two most irrelevant states in the United States, get to decide the major parties' nominees? Who knows, but that's the way it is, so you have to suck it up, bitch.

Anyway, so the Disgruntled Investor is disappointed in the two choices we have for president, as he is every year. Even if Michael Bloomberg decides to run, that still won't reverse the fact that the single most important factor in a successful presidency has been missing for about 100 years:

Awesome facial hair.

The only candidate right now who even comes close is Alan Keyes, with a pretty good black man moustache, but it's hardly a consolation to those of us who appreciate a good beard. I'd even settle for some good mid-19th century mutton chops at this point, but, alas, as the Disgruntled Girlfriend tells me, facial hair is out. That's funny, because that's not what she told me earlier...

To prove my point, here are some of the best beards or facial hair on the best U.S. Presidents (who, by definition, are judged by the hair on their faces):

1.) 1880 - Best Hairy Ticket Award - James Garfield (Pres.)/ Chester A. Arthur (VP)


If there was a facial hair Hall of Fame, there would be a bronze statue of Chester A. Arthur outside. I mean, take a look at that incredible mutton chop sideburn stache! Just stellar. In 1880, Arthur ran as the running mate to James Garfield, who had spent many years growing the kind of beard that you would expect a bird to be living in. This beard style enjoyed a brief resurgence following its appearance as Kevin McAllister's weird neighbor in the first "Home Alone."

2.) The Beard That Won The War Award - Ulysses S. Grant, 1868-1877


Some might argue that President Grant's administration was among the most corrupt and scandalous in United States history, but I say the only scandal is that he wasn't allowed to continue his Presidency for the rest of his natural life...and beyond. Grant had a solid beard, with really good coverage. I bring this up because certain friends of mine have problems growing beards. Not that it stops them at all, but when they do try to grow it in, it ends up patchy in certain areas, and they end up looking like lepers or homeless people. Actually, most homeless guys I see have pretty stellar beards as well, so scratch that comparison.

Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yeah, Grant had a really good beard. And he won the Civil War. What did you ever do with your life?

3.) The Rutherford B. Hayes Beard Award...

...Goes to (opening envelope) - RUTHERFORD B. HAYES!!


4.) The *Asterisk* Best Beard Award - Abraham Lincoln - 1860-1865

See, this is why Abe gets an *asterisk, much like Barry Bonds' home run ball. When he ran for (and won) the presidency in 1860, he looked like this. Nothing impressive about that at all, which is, of course, why the South seceded. And why the North was losing the shit out of the Civil War early on. Who can get inspired by that naked weak chin?? (Not that Jefferson Davis had much going on either, to be fair, but at least he looked like Skeletor, and had a little hipster goatee!)

No, the Lincoln Presidency didn't really define itself until he started getting the now recognizable scraggly beard that defined his overall mental patient appearance.

That beard saved the nation. Should be a lesson to all.

5.) Finally, the Last Beard Award - Benjamin Harrison - 1888

No, that's not Colonel Sanders, that's our last bearded President, Benjamin Harrison, who was famous for something called the McKinley Tariff. And, evidently, for killing off the prestige of the beard. Maybe he shouldn't get an award.

-Honorary Still Holding On Award - William Henry Taft - 1908

Taft was our last President with facial hair...OF ANY KIND! He's got a really good Wild West villain moustache, which gets him this honorary award. Plus, he was our fattest President, which is pretty great as well.

But, seriously, it's been 100 years since facial hair went out of style on Presidents?!?!? Unacceptable, especially since it hasn't gone out of style with us commoners. I, for one, long for the golden age of the mid to late 1800's, when our Presidents were hairy and Congressmen beat the shit out of each other with their walking canes.

Now it looks like our best hope for a President with facial hair is Hillary!

My New Year's Resolution

So, clearly it's been a while since I've posted on here, and for that, I apologize. I'm not sure who is still even checking the site to see if I still care, but I do. I've just been taking a bit of a vacation.

Anyway, I'd like to post my one monumental New Year's resolution. Now, it is true, I do have some minor resolutions - chiefly among them being to reduce my (real estate driven) debt and increase my (real estate depleted) savings, and also to get myself in better physical shape. But, none are as potentially life-changing as this one:

I'm not going to watch a single sports game on TV for the rest of the year.

This includes professional, college, high school, pee-wee, or stick drawings. Not a single one. Fuck televised sports, that's my mantra for 2008.

Now, I will still watch the occasional event in person - I have to include this in here, since I will be attending at least 10 Washington Nationals games this year. But, I will not watch them on TV.

I will also be watching Women's Beach Volleyball in the Olympics. But that's it. Nationals games in person at the stadium, and Women's Beach Volleyball in the Olympics. The sole two exceptions to my resolution. The Nats games are already paid for and planned, and Women's Beach Volleyball...well, c'mon, I'm not watching them for the competitive aspect.

As I write this, there are about 2 minutes left in the Redskins/Seahawks wild card playoff game, and the Redskins are down two touchdowns. They were up 14-13 with about 6 minutes left to play in this game. Then the Disgruntled Investor Collorary kicked in - any team I support is going to crash and burn. I have turned that game off, and do not plan on turning it back on, so I have no idea how it ended (prediction, Redskins lost). This also happened a week ago, as UVA blew a 21-7 lead to lose the Gator Bowl, thanks in no small part to ACC Coach of the Year Al Groh's STELLAR playcalling. There's nothing quite like helplessly watching your coach (or your coach's son in this case) calling for a passing play on 1st (or 2nd) down with 3 minutes left in the game, with the lead, backed up deep in your own territory, with a freshman QB in the game who looks like he's 12 years old. You know what's going to happen, but, shit, what the fuck can you do?

And there's the rub.

Why put myself through this shit anymore? I've spent my life dealing with this. I've watched the Braves dominate the regular season, then choke in the postseason. I've watched UVA football squander countless future NFL FIRST ROUND draft picks, I've watched UVA basketball continue to eschew any inside game YEAR AFTER YEAR, and, predictably, fail miserably at some point in the season (this season features a rare EARLY set of failures!) I've watched Gilbert Arenas get hurt at some crucial point in the season. Honestly, that's it. I'm done with this. I'm taking a year-long sports vacation.

So, apart from a few Nationals games where I'm actually at the stadium watching what is essentially a meaningless regular season game, and apart from ogling over the Swedish Women's Beach Volleyball team in Beijing (do they have beaches there??), I will not watch another sporting event until January 5, 2009.

And that's a promise.

P.S. This includes checking sports scores online during the games - a technicality the Disgruntled Girlfriend pointed out, while subsequently noting (along with the Disgruntled Childhood Friend) that I have no chance of pulling this off. F That, No Sports (except which I've previously noted) until 1/5/09 (if not later!).

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...