In which I can hardly wait

In less than two weeks I'll be back in the states and I just know it's going to seem like two years until the day arrives when we board the flight. It seems there's something that makes going home more special when you're living in a different country. Maybe it's because you're not only living far from home but also in a different culture altogether. Kind of like living in Sheboygan.

As a bonus, this time we're stopping off in New York City for a few days before we end up back home in Chicago. The Girl's firm is having their annual Christmas party and they fly employees and spouses in from the other offices for a few days. So, bonus- we're not even paying for the airfare. Except, of course, from New York to Chicago.

It may be a little weird for me meeting all of her colleagues as they're all hoity-toity Finance / Investment folks and the stuff they'll be talking about will likely escape me. But I've never had much trouble talking about things I know nothing about before so I don't expect it to be that big a deal.

The only thing is, I still haven't decided what to tell them when they ask me what I do for a living. I could use the ever reliable "writer" but I'm leaning more toward "Househusband" just to see their reactions. Perhaps "professional test subject" just for kicks.

Anyway, this NYC trip promises to be pretty cool because they're putting us up in quite a fancy, schmancy luxury hotel. The Gramercy Park Hotel is pretty legendary and has been around since 1925. Bogart got married there, Joe Kennedy and fam stayed there for a while before moving to London when young John Fitzgerald was 11, Babe Ruth used to get hammered at the bar on a regular basis and just about any celebrity you can name has stayed there at one time or another. I read somewhere that the Stones tore the place up once. Recently it's gotten rave reviews by the likes of Conde Nast, Vanity Fair, the New York Times and Vogue since it was bought and remodeled just a few years ago. At least, that's what I read on the website. All I know is it's a good thing the company's paying for it because we sure as hell never could by ourselves.

There's also a legend surrounding a "curse" on the hotel or perhaps just on the family that previously owned the place. Either way, some very bad stuff has happened there which makes the thought of staying in it all that much more fascinating to me. Redrum! Redrum!

In that same article from 2002, it says "In an era of....high-end Ian Schrager-style boutiques, it's a throwback, an eccentric family-run operation in stately, if neglected, prewar quarters". Fortunately for me, it's now owned by that same Ian Schrager which means it's been upgraded but made to keep it's original vibe.

So, anyway, that should be interesting. My plan is to hang out in the bar and be discovered by a famous Hollywood movie director. Perhaps have cocktails with Mick Jagger. Like you do.

What? It could happen.

Mostly, though, my excitement about going to NYC lies not in the hotel we're staying at but the restaurant reservations I made for the day (and night) after the Christmas party. Taitai has ex-classmates that are working in Manhattan now and we made plans to see them while we're there. Lunch with some, dinner with others.

Naturally, I offered to help make reservations because Taitai is so very busy lately. ;-)

Being an admitted Food Network junkie, I'd always wanted to try some of the food by the chefs I once watched on the television all the time. I say "once watched" because, while there is a "Food Network Asia", there are no chefs that I recognize and no programs that are all that entertaining to watch. And even my enthusiasm for food is dampened by watching people do weird things with squid, their ink and their eyeballs. Don't ask. Ugh.

Anyway, now in possession of the excuse I needed, I made reservations at Mario Batali's Babbo for lunch and Bobby Flay's Mesa Grill for dinner. Very exciting, very exciting. The wife can't understand how I can get so geeked about it. That's a major difference with us- she eats to live and I live to eat. I can't help it. So, when I found an excuse to finally go and try Flay's famous "shrimp and roasted garlic corn tamales"? Hell yeah!

Of course, the real fun begins once we get back to Chicago. Yep, I'll be hanging out with old friends, seeing how fast I can eat an Italian Beef with cheese, taking a nice leisurely drive whenever I feel like it and watching Bears games with real, live people! Not to mention the chicken caesar salad from Jewel. It's funny, the things you miss.
And perhaps I've mentioned that I'm actively seeking sustenance from Lou Malnati?

Best of all though, I'll be spending Christmas with the fam. As for New Year's Eve, I don't know where I'll be spending it exactly. But at least I'll be home.

Nice.

In which I miss killing rats

So, I'm finished with the book I was talking about writing- "Disaffected Members of a Warlike Tribe". I hate it. Of course, I always say that so I'm going to put it down and not give it another thought (it still has to be edited) until after the holidays. But I'm already excited about another one I've long wanted to do. I guess there is SOME benefit to being a shiftless bastard after all.

Ever since I worked in the pest control industry, I knew I wanted to write a book about it or at least "around" it. I always knew that there was a book in there somewhere. I'll admit I still don't know exactly what it looks like yet but I'll keep trying. There's just so much rich, fascinating, bizarre and just plain funny material there. And the people? Forget about it. They'll be a hit.

Most people have preconceived notions about "exterminators". The first of which is that they don't mind being called exterminators. They do. Most of them, anyway. Me, I always liked it. I would have preferred being called a "terminator" but no dice.

Another notion people have is that pest control guys (I should probably add that women do it too) are all weirdos. Not true. They're normal people from all walks, really. If I absolutely had to paint them with a wide brush I'd say a vast majority of them are type-A personalities. Pretty much have to be, really.

That said, there is a certain amount of "crazy" needed too. Good crazy though. "No sleep 'til Brooklyn, let's get drunk and build a tree fort" kind of crazy. Not the "You don't know me but I saw you today and you didn't see me and you looked good in that dress and oh, by the way, I have pictures of you taped up all over my bedroom" crazy.

Well, there was one guy I was worried about but that's true in every field I imagine. We kept waiting for him to come in with an assault rifle. And that was before I gave him a crap review and told him the next step would be termination. Yeah, that was a dicey time. I remember I watched the entrances alot and if my boss was around bothering me I would make sure he was between me and the door.

And, of course, people think pest control is a dead-end job for morons only. Again, not true. That's not to say that there aren't morons, there are. One of them was my boss. But they don't last long. No, to be good you have to be smart and be a good communicator and alot of the guys that worked for me were just that.

These guys have to be able to read and write well, be well spoken, have excellent interpersonal skills, be self-motivated enough to be able to work well on their own and manage their time judiciously. On top of that they need to know the biology and habits of what they're trying to kill as well as any applicable government regulations regarding how they're going to kill it. It's really pretty complicated stuff and so anyone that says these guys are all knuckleheads has no idea what the hell they're talking about.

Ah, I do miss my old job working at the place I worked at in Chicago. Make no mistake, I don't miss everything about it. Mostly I miss the people (again, not all of them) but there's alot of other stuff I miss too.

How many other jobs are there where it's okay to carry around a stick made of oak for the express purpose of bashing something's brains in should the need arise? Other than being a New York, Chicago or LA cop, I mean.

I miss the thrill of the investigation. Trying to figure out how the hell the rats got in, where they're hiding and breeding and feeding and how to murder them all in the shortest amount of time. Dirty little bastards.

I miss having behind the scenes access to all kind of different places. I always loved seeing what happens in hospitals, mental wards, white tablecloth restaurants, cookie manufacturers, cardboard box makers, railroad stations, funeral parlors, grocery stores, Fire stations- you name it. And my contacts at those places would always hook me up with cool stuff if I asked. Except the funeral parlors. Not much to really want there, I'm afraid.

Although, in one of my less shining / more twisted moments, I did wonder how a live rat would react to being embalmed. But I digress.......

The point I set out to make here is that I need your help. I need you to tell me: would you read a book that was somehow predicated on or revolved around pest control? Would it turn you off? Would it be interesting to you? Would it not matter one way or the other? Or am I just making myself believe it's interesting? What are some things that you'd want to know more about? Don't be shy, send your comments. I'm very curious to know what you think.

In which somebody ought to be SHOT

Most of you know that I'm typically not one to force my opinions onto other people. I don't spam everyone I know with "Contact your Congressman now!" emails and I don't pass along the "Little Timmy Needs a Spleen" nonsense.

BUT, I came across something this morning that really makes my blood boil and I feel the need to put this out there for whoever reads my little blog to see. Hopefully, you've already heard or reaed about it.

There's a young kid named Jordan Fox, formerly Private First Class Jordan Fox, who was sent to Iraq, got his back pretty badly hurt and lost the use of his right eye.
Since he obviously couldn't finish his tour, he was sent home to the states.

Soon after he got back to the states, he got a letter from the US Department of Defense demanding that he repay a portion of his enlistment bonus. Yep, that's right- they demanded that he pay them close to $3,000 because, due to an injury caused by a roadside bomb, he did not complete his tour of duty.

This was not a fluke either. It's happened time and again to veterans coming back from Iraq with legitimate injuries caused by the war. The same war that these soldiers didn't necessarily ask to fight. The same war that will NOT be fought by the men who started it nor their sons and daughters. The same war that many employees of the same US Department of Defense that demands this soldier's money back want no part of.

Most of you know how I feel about the war and some of you disagree with me but that's immaterial. I'm pretty sure that, regardless of your stance on the war, we can all agree that this is a national disgrace and that these kids need to be taken care of. They have earned that right.

And the people responsible for trying to take that money back- how dare they?!? Where is their shame? Where is their sense of gratitude? For God's sake, where is their common decency??? These people should be held to account for their actions because they have DAMN SURE earned whatever punishment can be meted out to them. That, and worse.

Of course, you and I both know that's unlikely to happen.

There is something that can be done though, however small a gesture it may seem. I hope that you will please take a minute to go here and sign a petition in favor of a bill that is in Congress right now and is designed to right this outrage.

The bill is called the "Veteran's Guaranteed Bonus Act (H.R. 3793)" and it mandates that soldiers injured in the war be paid in full within 30 days of being discharged from the US armed forces.

Thanks for reading and I'm sorry this one wasn't funny. On the other hand, there was a pretty good chance it wouldn't have been even if I had intended it to be ;-)

G

P.S. The DOD has just, this very day, backpedaled and called the Jordan Fox affair "an error" and said that he shouldn't have had to pay back the money. How very magnanimous of them! I'm certain this has nothing whatsoever to do with bad publicity. Either way, this still leaves two problems:

1) Currently, the bonus money (50% paid at the end of advanced training and the rest in annual installments) stops being paid as soon as the soldier is injured. The statement on the Jordan Fox issue was about him paying back money he had already received. He still has no legal claim to the rest of what he should have a right to expect.

2) There is still no law that requires that the DOD waive the right to collect money back that they have already paid to injured soldiers. Although the DOD said it was "an error", there is nothing that requires them to ease up on these poor guys- it is at the sole discretion of the bureaucracy. And we all know what happens once the reporters go away.

No, I say hold their freakin' feet to the fire and force the issue.

In which Skinny Minny gets a Drill Instructor

There's a strange phenomenon occurring at Casa de Chewy recently where the Girl is trying to gain weight while I, perpetually it seems, am trying to shed it.

Today she got her results from the full physical we took last week and the Doctor said everything looks good except that she should really gain some weight and if she intends to have a child, replace "should" with "must". Apparently she's got to gain at least 10 kg which is roughly 22 pounds.

Time to strap on the feedbag.

Which makes sense because the other day we were clothes shopping and I was astonished to learn that her dress size is zero. I never knew that was possible. I wondered aloud if it's an integer based system. Like, if she loses more weight will she be a minus-one?

She didn't think that was funny. And man! Some of the more, er, "Rubenesque" girls in the store were shooting her some nasty looks after I said it! She'll not have an easy time of it finding a sympathetic ear, that seems certain.

So anyway, she came home alarmed tonight and said she has no idea how she can possibly gain that much weight. Fortunately she lives with the right man for the job. It's like an aspiring criminal living with a congressman. Hell, with a case of beer and a wallet full of pizza money, I can gain 22 pounds in a weekend.

See, I may not know a whole lot but I do know how to be a magnificent fatass. And tonight I stepped up to the challenge like Patton. Even gave a pseudo-motivational speech:

"Tomorrow can be a new beginning if you want it to be. But I'm not going to kid you- this is not for the weak. No, this is going to be a crucible and you're going to hate me before it's all over with. It will be an exercise in gustatory endurance. We're going to test your limits. We're going to stretch the very boundaries.......of your stomach, mostly. If you get behind this diet, this diet will get behind you. Literally.

The rigorous program that I can design specifically for you will result in a whole new Miranda. If you have the courage.

Well? Do you have the courage? Do you have what it takes to stare down that burrito and say 'yes, I will eat one more bite?'. Are you woman enough to supersize it? Do you have the guts to deep fry that Baby Ruth when everyone around you says it shouldn't be done? When you're feeling bloated, can you be counted on to push through it and butter those nachos? Will you dig down deep and order pancakes with that sundae?

Now, if we're going to do this we do it my way, otherwise you can just find someone else. But just think- you'll come away from this with the confidence that you can eat a whole French Silk Pie in one sitting. That no amount of chocolate eclairs can best you. That even when things look their most bleak, you can polish off a quart of Chubby Hubby in under 10 minutes. That, indeed, you have tasted victory and it is oddly similar to fried chicken. So how 'bout it Taitai? Are you with me????"

Naturally, she just looked at me like I'd fallen on my head.

And, she will eat a little better than all that of course. Apparently there are ways to gain weight without sucking down oceans of trans fats and mountains of sugar. Who knew?

Tomorrow I'm going to go out and get her a bunch of that Ensure protein drink stuff as well. I've had it before, it's good. Particularly the vanilla one. But, of course, they're for her, not me. I know that.

("For her, not for me. For her, not for me. For her, not for me. For her, not for me...")

She's actually supposed to eat lots of fatty acids like the omega-3 that's in tuna and salmon, lots of nuts & healthier fats, proteins and starches and such. Basically, all the stuff I need to steer clear of.

Fortunately for her, in just a few weeks we'll be at the ground zero of starch: Chicago, Illinois. Lou Malnati ought to be able to make a plumpy new woman out of her in no time. More weeble than woman, actually. And when she gets tired of pizza she can eat their pasta by the truckload as most of that is heavy but healthy.

Of course, if she decides to live dangerously but still pack on the pounds she can order "Chicken Louie". It consists of, if I remember correctly, pasta in a heavy cream sauce with grilled chicken and a butt ton of mozzarella melted on top of it all. Left by itself, it congeals in about 14 seconds.

Oh man, I'm so screwed.

It seems like it just got a helluva lot harder to be me. It's bad enough that I have to eat a tiny little chicken breast with two cups of vegetables for dinner in order to see my shoes again. Now I gotta watch her mainline fettucine alfredo?

On the bright side, I'm one of the few dudes that gets to say "wow, you sure do look fat in that outfit!" to his wife.

In which I need a hobby

So lately I'm starting to go a little batty. I know I won't find too many sympathetic ears from you working stiffs out there but bear with me.

I have nothing to do.

That's it. I go to school in the morning and then try to find things to occupy my time and mind. I do a little shopping for veggies or meat for dinner, do some writing, go to the gym, study my Mandarin, clean whatever needs cleaning in the apartment, do some more writing and then, well, nothing.

Once or twice a week I'll go hiking up in the mountains and every once in a while I still put on Tiger Woods golf to play 18 at Pebble Beach but that's about it. I suppose I could buy more video games but that seems counterintuitive. I tend to think I should do something a little bit more substantial with my time.

It's really not as cool as it sounds, this idle time. I have GOT to get back to work. Hell, I'd be happy cashiering at 7-11 at this point. The problem, of course, is that I can't communicate well enough yet to get a job. Even then my options are limited because alot of places require conversational Cantonese as well. So, for the time being, I have no choice but to try to use my time as constructively as possible in other ways.

Still, after school and the gym and the studying and the shopping and cleaning and hiking and writing and kicking Tiger Woods' ass I still have time to kill before the Girl gets home. So I figure I might as well get a hobby.

Seems I slowed down on the drinking at precisely the wrong time. I could be spending my days at a pub near the harbor pounding Tsing Tao and playing Mah Jongg for cigarettes with grouchy old Cantonese dudes but here I am looking for a freakin' hobby. Seems patently unfair, really. A cruel joke at best.

I've got a few hobbies already but, to one degree or another, I'm bored with them. No, I need something new. So what better place to seek guidance than the internet? If it's on the internet, it's gotta be a sound idea right? For kicks I decided to see if there was some sort of test I could take online that would help me choose a brand, spanking new hobby.

The first website I went to was CNNs "Discover Your Passion" website which consists of a quiz which purports to tell you what you should look into doing as a hobby. When I was all done I hit "submit" and got a pop-up box that said "It's a tie! You have two different personalities, please re-examine your answers".

Alright, I guess I'm not really disputing that I'm a little twisted but it's terribly disconcerting to be told that by the largest news bureau in the world. Well, as long as they don't broadcast it on television I guess....

So, although I really feel it should be CNN's lazy interns that should be figuring out how to get the quiz to work for functional schizophrenics like myself, I went back and changed one of my answers. Having done that I re-submitted my answers whereupon CNN suggested, I swear to God, that I go to a foreign country or perhaps start a travel blog. Riiiight.

Next stop, quibblo.com. I was a bit wary of this site right out of the box as the choices of answers to the first question ("what do you do for fun?") were as follows: make stuff, fight, hit, kick, throw things, hit with sticks, water lover, sing, chilly skater & shoot.

Sure, we all like to "make stuff" once in a while. Why, I even sing on occasion. Can't remember the last time I had fun "hitting with sticks" though. Who the hell are these people?? And it was written in very child-like fashion which is even more disturbing. So, there's a potential psychopath out there or a real one who's giving advice on hobbies. Charming. And, I'm sorry, but "chilly skating"? Who says that?

"Billy, stop kicking your sister - you've got stick-hitting class in 20 minutes and I still have to pick your little brother up from chilly skating!"

I was too freaked out to stick around and see what my hobby was.

Surprisingly, it turns out that there's really not alot of sites out there that will guide you on the path to your dream hobby. I kept searching but nothing was turning up.

It was at this point that I came across all kinds of sites with some really esoteric hobbies. Building wearable computers, online sweepstaking (I guess it's not esoteric- just weird..to me at least), ferret racing, talking backwards and photographing mirrors to name a few.

Collecting was a big one too. Fingernails, condoms, airsickness bags, dirt- you name it. Not sure at what point a hobby becomes a neuroses but there seems to be a fine line.

Still.......ferret racing ay? That's got it all. It's weird but it has a strange allure to it. Plus, there's animals involved so I'd have some companionship. Yeah- that's it -
ferret racing! I've lost a step over the years but if the little fella gave me a 20 yard lead I could give it a shot.

And if things don't work out I could always practice stick-hitting with him.......

In which the Chicago Bears are trying to kill me (again)

So it's Monday morning football in Hong Kong and the Bears are trying to give me a coronary again. I got up just in time for the kickoff at 5 AM, spent the next three hours wishing I'd slept in and then saw one of the most exciting (if highly improbable) comebacks I've ever seen them stage.

Thank God for my blog because I don't know how I could have stood watching this nonsense for most of the game otherwise. At least I get to vent to somebody (you). For brevity's sake, I've trimmed alot of the invective I had written and at one point, somewhere in a mostly depressing 4th quarter, I even had the last line of this blog entry sewn up- "You Cub fans know the drill- there's aways next year".

All of that said, here's my humble take on things.......

Okay, firtht of all, ith anybody elth being driven abtholutely crathee by Dan Dierfdorffth's inthethent lithp? Look, I know he can't help it and I'm sure he's a nice enough guy but you wouldn't hire a blind guy to be an art critic would you? So why hire Dan Dierdorff to lisp for three and a half hours every Sunday?

Being an ex-football player himself, he knows alot about football, sure, but NOBODY knows enough about football to make a pronounced (unfortunate pun intended) speech impediment irrelevent as they discuss defensive strategies. It's absolutely maddening and it drives me to the point of distraction such that I can't even enjoy watching the game.

And memo to NBC- would it be at all possible for Dierdorff to talk about the offensive line more often? Because I don't think most people already know that the offensive line is so very important. Why, they're unsung heroes when they play well and goats when they make one mistake. It all starts up front. It's mano-a-mano. They scratch and claw down there in the trenches. These guys are warriors, etc., etc..

Yeah, thanks Dan. We get it.

Alright, now that I've torched him, on to the freakin' Chicago Bears. Aside from the fact that the offense couldn't score on a prostitute, Fred Miller is a 50 year old scarecrow and the disclipline that made the Bears one of the league's least penalized teams last year appears to have been left at the Super Bowl, what really bothers me is the apparent unwillingness of the bears defense to tackle this season. I know they can. They just.......don't.

These Bears, they really seem to think it's alright to just run into the opposing player rather than wrapping him up and bringing him down. As if by running into these guys they're just going to fall down, give up and beg for mercy.

What the hell is that?!? If I didn't know better I'd swear Lemuel "the mule" Stinson was back on the team. Sorry, fellas, but that's not Bear football.

Bear football? Swarming collectively to the ball, running THROUGH the other guy, grabbing a couple of handfuls of jersey along the way and making sure his collarbone makes full contact with the cold, hard ground when it's all over but the shouting.

And they REALLY miss Mike Brown.

But it's not just defense that wins games, right? At one point, after a Grossman to Olsen touchdown was called back by a penalty on Fred Miller, I didn't think it could get any worse. Until, that is, Grossman was sacked on on the next play to make it 3rd and 37. THIRD AND THIRTY-SEVEN. Perhaps Denver felt bad, I dunno, but on the next play, mercifully, Chicago somehow picked up about 20 yards on a dump-off to Adrian Peterson.

At least, I'm pretty sure that's what happened. To be honest, I was busy waking the neighbors with language most foul. On the bright side, it was a teaching moment because I'm pretty sure they can now drop the F-bomb in noun, adjective, verb and adverb form. It was an obscenity clinic, alright. They might have wanted to ask what "assface" means though. Perhaps I'll hang a helpful vocabulary list on their door in time for next week's game.

During this same period of time I also woke up the Girl. She's amused that a grown man can get so worked up over a game and told me that there will be no watching the Bears with the children unless I can control myself.

Apparently there will be no watching the Bears with the children.

Let's see- what else? Grossman has no idea how to hold on to the football, Rashied Davis drops an easy (and critical) 3rd down slant pass but he's not alone because none of the other guys can catch either, Adam Archuletta left his game in St. Louis, Ricky Manning Jr. got caught sleeping one too many times, the offensive line cannot give the QB enough time to throw back there and the defense (several players, like Urlacher, excluded) as a whole just don't seem to care all that much anymore.

It definitely was an exciting game though, I'll say that. When they punched it in with 5 minutes left in a play more representative of Australian football, where 22 guys in one collective pile moved ever closer to the goal line like some sort of tantric Hippo mating ritual, things got pretty interesting.

Just one thing, and I noticed it last year too. I'm no football genius but it seems like Grossman is pretty damn good when he's running the two minute drill. Personally, I think it's because it doesn't give him time to think too much- he just reacts and slings the ball down the field. So can we just let him run it more often than when we're getting our asses beat? I mean, what's the worst that can happen- he turns the ball over?!?!??

Still, let's face it- these guys just aren't that good and there will be no playoffs this year.

Bright spots? Devin Hester, of course. Two more touchdown returns? Are you kidding me??? The guy's a freakin' ghost! But, in keeping with the pessimistic vibe of this entry, I would be remiss if I didn't point out what all Bear fans know to be true- that the front office will balk at backing the money truck up to his house when it's time to re-sign him and he'll end up in Dallas. They wouldn't be the Bears otherwise.

Also, Bernard Berrian had a career highlight reel TD catch, Adewale Ogunleye's still on fire and Peanut Tillman was outstanding again.

That's pretty much where the bright spots start and end. If I had to force myself to point out some other good stuff I'd have to say the field was very green and nobody died. Peyton Manning's "Priceless Pep Talk" commercial was pretty funny too.

Yeah, they won and it was a great game to watch, but I'm going to leave this last part in after all.......

You Cub fans know the drill- there's always next year.

In which Thanksgiving just ain't the same

Well, I must say, I didn't expect to really miss doing the whole Thanksgiving thing all that much this year. I never did miss it much in the past when I lived alone in places far from Chicago. And most years, when I did live in Chicago, it was just a logistical pain in the ass more than anything else.

Recently, though, I find that I enjoy this stuff more and more with each passing year. It was pretty tough to sit this one out. Among other things, I was REALLY disappointed to have missed out on:

* My brother-in-law (just "Brother" will do, actually) Mike's absolutely stellar smoked turkey. That crispy, smoky skin? With just a little bit of salt dashed on there? Deadly.
* The mashed potatoes from an old, secret family recipe (as best I can tell, the "secret" is to add more butter than potatoes and don't skimp on the lumps)
* Betting my brother Mark on whether or not my beloved sister Cecelia would burn the biscuits (it's kind of a tradition by now and she had no idea until reading this...but we LOVE YOU!)
* Cecelia's sweet potatoes (good save, no?)
* Marveling at how anyone could actually eat "Sea Foam salad". Yeuch.
* Watching football with my brother Mark and whoever else happens to be around
* Seeing the smile on my Mom's face when (most of) the family is all together. She lives for those moments.
* Most of all- the laughter. I'll stack my family up against yours for a hysterically funny evening around the table anytime, anywhere.

Strange, but it seems as I get older this family stuff becomes ever more important to me. Of course, I've aways Loved them but I have to admit that there were plenty of years when I was living in Texas or Virginia or wherever that I even forgot that it was Thanksgiving or Christmas Eve until I realized I had a day off.

Not anymore. This year I set my alarm for 3:30 AM so I could make sure to call everyone at Cecelia's house back home. Of course, I was half-asleep through the whole thing but, what the hell, I made the attempt.

And before, when I said that my Mom lives for those moments when the family is all together?

I should have added that the older I get, the more I understand.

In which "Et tu Burt?"

I learned something long ago that has stuck with me all this time and I'm going to share it with you now. The information I am about to impart will in no way enrich your life and is not likely to ever come up in conversation unless you volunteer it at the dinner table. It is a good way to win money from your family though.

You know that weird floppy thing that dangles out over a turkey's beak? It's called a "snood".

Similarly weird, the red fleshy thing that hangs from below the turkeys beak? A "waddle".

I really ought to change the domain on this blog to ".edu".......

Happy Thanksgiving America.......

In which Chairman Mao will gladly give you change for Ben Franklin

The first picture above was what greeted me when I walked out the door today. The building you're seeing is just next to the building we live in and when it's complete it will be International Finance Center 3 (IFC 3) and will house a bunch of finance companies as well as several floors of a 5 star hotel for business travelers.

The white stuff on the outside of the building is an enormous movie screen and at night various light projections are bounced off of it to make a pretty cool glow in our development. What caught my eye, though, was several people scaling the building looking for and reparing any tears in the screen. How cool is THAT job?!?

After school today I decided that I'd get a little more familiar with the Causeway Bay area of the island. I don't go there much because it's usually weekends when Taitai wants to go to Times Square (enormous shopping mall / skyscraper) and the crowds are just RIDICULOUS. These pictures were taken at 2 PM on a Thursday (this is not a Thanksgiving holiday crowd- just the usual) and, as you can see, it's pretty busy even then. Now imagine what it's like in the evenings or on weekends. Unbridled Pandemonium.

Last time I was here, I did promise myself that I'd get a picture of the "People's Money Exchange & Bookstore" (that's the red sign underneath the big one). I guess they were just trying to catch the eye since the Chairman doesn't really pull much weight here. He's treated more like Elvis is by many people in the states- kitschy and great fun to take jabs at. And I gotta believe that the PROC doesn't know about this place otherwise someone would have moved to shut it down or, at the very least, change the name. Still, it is an amusing thing to walk by for the first time.

Other than taking the above pictures, I basically screwed off all day. I watched a city worker from a crew that was putting up a massive Christmas display punch a pedestrian who was giving him grief. Got the guy with a fairly decent shot in face, after which 15 cops, two ambulances and three news crews arrived.

All that for one punch that didn't even knock the guy down OR out! Anywhere else, that's a Love tap. Here, it's a spectacle. I was too late to get a shot of the punch and couldn't really get a good shot of the melee afterwards due to the crowds that queued up to watch. That one punch will be on the news and in the SCMP tomorrow though, I'm sure.

After that I walked through Wan Chai (home of my school by day, red light district by night) on my way back and ran into scores of American parents who were pissed that China had refused to allow the USS Kitty Hawk to dock in Hong Kong. Apparently they'd flown here with the express purpose of having Thanksgiving with their sons and daughters who are among the 8,000 sailors expected to have come ashore. No reason given as yet why the refusal occurred as it's pretty standard for the US and British Navy to stop off in HK. Hell,Wan Chai pubs and brothels circle the dates on their calendars. The HK government says that in 2006 US Service personnel were responsible for US$32 million in revenue to Hong Kong. $32 MILLION. Wow. Those cats know how to party huh?

I can't be sure but I'll put my money on it being something stemming from the "diplomacy" within the Bush administration. On the other hand, it might just be issue driven. If that is so, perhaps it's revenge for the product recalls? Unlikely, I feel. Revenge for the Dalai Lama's visit? Likelier but probably not. A response to the recent sale of US$939 million in missiles to Taiwan?

I'd bet the house on that.

Pardon me, but isn't the good ol' US of A screwing up the rest of the world enough already without feeding it weapons as well? Weren't WE the ones that originally armed Saddam in the first place? Ok, sorry, that wasn't really relevant to this post but I get my dander up pretty easily over stupid people running my government. And I don't just mean Bush- they all seem to be idiots. Okay, I'm off the soapbox.

Anyway, I can't say I blame the parents for being mad but a few of them were being extremely rude to the average Hong Konger walking by; people who hadn't done anything to them. I felt compelled to tell one seemingly drunken Dad to shut the hell up before somebody, me if necessary, beat his ass for him.

I can't stand it when people do stuff like that and this town already has too many ugly American tourists. The difference is, most of them are in their teens and twenties. This guy had to be 40-45. Certainly old enough to get a grip on his disappointment or, at the very least, not take it out on strangers who had nothing to do with it and have no great love for the PROC either.

This just in: Just a short time ago, China reconsidered "for humanitarian reasons" and has notified the US State Department that the Kitty Hawk and the support ships can dock and the soldiers can come ashore. Hopefully I can get some pictures of the fleet (because I'm a geek like that).

I think I'm going to go to Wan Chai tomorrow night to see the mayhem. How could I resist? Just think about it- an aircraft carrier's worth of drunken sailors in Hong Kong's red light district? Yeah, those will be some good photos.

And, hopefully, I'll come away with a good story or two....... ;-)

Postscript: Apparently, the US fleet was already steaming toward Japan when they got the okay to turn around and come back. Conventional wisdom has someone in the State Department or White House saying, essentially, "screw it- let's go to Japan anyway".

Can't say I blame them.

In which I Love Hong Kong

So I've been taking heat from some of my new friends at the gym in regard to my post about leaving Hong Kong in a couple, three years. They can't really refute what I said about the school situation but they said I kind of made it seem as though it sucks to live here. Fair enough, said I, I'll add a post-post postscript. (Alright, I'm claiming that phrase as mine. Coined here, by me, on November something-something, 2007. Not that anyone else would want it but one never knows)

Hong Kong rocks. It does not suck to live here. On the contrary, it really is a cool place to live and I've enjoyed every one of the days I've spent here.

Of course, having only lived here for just over 4 months, I can't possibly claim to know everything about it but from what I've seen (and I would venture to guess that, being a shiftless yet motivated member of the unemployed, I've done and seen alot more than many who have been working here for a couple years) I would recommend it to anyone.

I'm just saying, and not apologizing in the slightest for it, that I don't want my kids to go to school here if I can avoid it.

So, all of that said, here are the things that I Love most about the Kong:

1) Dim Sum (you had to know by now that food was going to be up there)

2) The best, and cleanest, public transportation system in the World. The trains here are fast, always on time and they're clean as a Pat Boone's thoughts. Watch- now that I've said that, ol' Pat will get caught doing blow with a transvestite hooker somewhere in Vegas.......

3) Best airport ever. Really. And not just because there's plenty of smoking lounges throughout.

4) Location, location, location. Seriously, how many people can say they went to Phuket or Bali for the weekend? Me neither. Yet. The point is, it's possible.

5) The fashion trend of Asian girls wearing mini-skirts and go-go boots. Can I just say? Not at all unattractive. And also, I Love my wife very much - she's the only Girl for me.

6) Lowest taxes in the world. And no sales tax whatsoever.

7) The hiking and the scenery of the country. Most people aren't aware that more than 60% of Hong Kong is still undeveloped and there's lots of great nature to soak up. That reminds me, I'll have to remember to take and post a picture of a huge tropical waterfall I found in one of the forests nearby. VERY cool.

8) The low crime rate. Sure, there's pickpockets. And the hookers in Wanchai that accidentally murdered a couple of American businessmen recently by dosing them with too much Rohypnol and heroin so they could steal their stuff, but you can still walk just about anywhere here at 3 AM and be left alone.

9) The frenetic, kinetic pace of life in this city. There's a fast-paced kind of rhythm to this place that is going to wake you up and make you feel just a little bit more alive.

10) An old-fashioned kind of mentality. For example, hard work is king here and if you're of sound mind and body but don't work hard and / or take some measure of personal responsibility, nobody has a sympathetic ear for you.

Another good example of this "old-fashioned-ness" that I'm seeing here is a lack of frivolous lawsuits. You fell down on somebody's lawn? That's a shame. Now shake it off, quit carping about it and be on your way.

And here, if you're dumb enough to walk in front of someone throwing a steel tipped dart, well, it's your own problem. You can't sue the pub simply because you're an idiot. Moreover, the government sure as hell isn't going to require taverns to install electronic dart boards with plastic tips.

I could go on and on but I'll stop there. Did I mention the go-go boots? Right, okay then, I'm done.

I think everybody should visit Hong Kong at least once and, for those of you that have the opportunity to move here, I'm certain you won't regret it.

(There, you assholes. Can I have my gym bag back now?)

In which it's time to.......settle down?!?

We've been spending a tremendous amount of time lately, Taitai and I, talking about having children. I know, I know- "Gary? Children?!? Somebody call DCFS immediately!"

So, since we've spent so much time on the subject, another topic that naturally arose was- where would we want to raise them? We agreed that there are good private "International" schools here in Hong Kong where the curriculum is taught in English and the teachers and standards are exceptional.

Of course, it's easier to party with the Pope than it is to get your kid into one of these schools. The system is highly competitive and pressurized for the kids, the waiting lists are long, the annual tuitions ridiculously steep and in order for your child to be considered for enrollment you have to pay an enormous "debenture" (I just call it a "bribe")- some of them more than a half million HK dollars.

(There's a fascinating story about HK schools and the madness surrounding them here )

Having decided that there's no way we're going to have our 5 year old being coached by a consultant (seriously) on how best to comport him or herself during the admissions interview for pre-school, we decided it best that we settle down for the long haul somewhere else.

The biggest thing is, and I cannot believe I'm saying this, I'm tired of moving all over the place and I just want to settle down. I've been, as my Dad always called me, a "wandering Gypsy" for a while and it was fun but I'm finally over it. So it's time to get a house, raise the kids, get fat(ter) and sit on my IRAs for another 20 years or so.

And Hong Kong definitely ain't the place to do it.

Naturally, since I feel that on the whole it's the greatest city on the planet, I lobbied for Chicago. She's on board because she's really taken to it by now but the nature of her job is such that the possibility of her working there is slim. Non-existent if she were to remain, as I suspect she will because she enjoys it, with her present company.

Me, I can work anywhere. Having been in the service sector end of things for all of my adult life, I know that there's plenty of people out there waiting to yell and scream and call me an idiot anywhere in the world so I'm good to go.

If Chicago is out, that leaves us with Sao Paolo, London or New York. Sao Paulo, not so much. I mean, neither of us speak Portuguese and I, for one, am not willing to learn. Although I hear the food is outstanding down there in Brazil (embarrassingly enough, food is always a top consideration when I ponder moving somewhere new) but this time it's not enough to swing my vote.

I've always enjoyed my visits to London and I think it would be an interesting place to live but there's the ridiculously high taxes and the weather to confront. Hell, rain is a couple of seasons of the year unto itself there. On the other hand, the history! The culture! The pubs! Plus, how cool would it be to have a kid who has a posh British accent?

"I say, Father, kindly pass me the salt please. Thank you ever so much, old chap".

Okay, maybe not London.

Which leaves New York City. Or, I guess, more specifically Long Island or North Jersey. This is weird because I have long professed to hate New York.

There's probably alot of reasons for this. Maybe it's because of the whole "Second City" inferiority complex I inherited from being a Chicagoan. The awful pizza (once again, food) ranks right up there as does the congestion, the nasty subway system and, perhaps worst of all, the rudeness and horribly unpleasant accents of the people.

"Yo Pop, I'll trade yuz da salt fu da butta huh?"

Shit.

I've still got a couple of years, I wonder how hard it is to learn Portuguese.......

In which you want a Dragon's whaaat?!?!?

So I spent most of yesterday taking care of the Girl who was pretty sick- making soup for her, administering the medicines, vitamins and supplements, adjusting the lighting as needed and making sure the ambient temperature in the house met with approval at all times. For the record, I gotta say that she is a PAIN IN THE ASS when she's sick. If I didn't know better I would have sworn she had bubonic plague and hours to live.

".......too hot in here, too cold in here, I want water, no I want juice, find me a good movie to watch, please give me the remote for the fan, can you open the drapes, it's really bright in here please close the drapes, can you find my Blackberry, I need the telephone, my head hurts I need aspirin, no I don't want aspirin maybe you can give me a massage......."

So it was totally natural that my indentured servitude would have been somehow incomplete had she not asked for some Dragon Fruit. Presumably she wanted this because nobody near us sells it.

Dragon fruit.

Sure, yeah, okay. More on board with euthanasia now than ever before, I took on an assignment that would test not only my admittedly marginal Mandarin skills but my non-existent Cantonese ones as well. I took the train one stop north to a street market that carries all manner of weird fruits and vegetables, all the while imagining what the perfect Dragon Fruit (also known as Pitaya) would look like.

You see, I had to take this very seriously as fruit being considered for her consumption must meet rigorous, exacting standards. Not too ripe, not to immature. Not too firm but not too yielding. I imagined that the Dragon Fruit in question would have to be not too red but not too pink but that was just an educated guess.

I got to the market just as they were closing and much of the fruits and veggies had already been taken in back. My worst fear had come to pass and I would now have to ask for a Dragon Fruit.

First I tried Mandarin but no dice. So, knowing that the word Kowloon means "Nine Dragons" in Cantonese, I figured I had a 50 / 50 chance of getting some of what I wanted or nine pieces of random fruit. Would that it had been so easy.

It's all very complicated but, because I over-thought it, I'm now pretty certain that I may have asked for Dragon's penis. Or perhaps just nine penises. Either way, the fruit monger laughed his ass off. He laughed so hard he had to steady himself and then started coughing in such a manner that I thought he was going to have a stroke.

In order to make my horror more complete, he called a bunch of guys from the surrounding stalls over to tell them what I said and they got a big kick out of it as well.
One of them started, um, "sashaying" is the best way I can put it, around the immediate area and I began to get the distinct impression that my sexuality was in question.

Worse, I've since learned that I likely didn't even use the formal word for penis but a much more vulgar, slang word for it and in so doing likely offended every woman in the area. This makes perfect sense to me now because I was getting some really weird looks and, in retrospect, I now know why one particularly ashen looking young lady appeared to be shielding her son from me.

Eventually, after trying to draw a picture of the thing (the fruit, not the penis) and getting an artichoke for my trouble, I found a passerby that spoke both Mandarin and Cantonese and was therefore able to tell these guys what I wanted.

Currently, the Dragon Fruit are languishing in the kitchen because..................................................................................................................
she'd had a change of heart in my absence and decided to eat an apple instead.

Aaaaand Dr. Kevorkian now has another convert.

In which I have a new mistress

You didn't think I was capable of THAT did you?!??! I'm typing this with our new Apple computer and I'm LOVING it. It's an iMac Core Duo 2 desktop and, I gotta say, this thing is sweet. I'm finding myself doing alot of oohing and aahing here. There's alot more media stuff than any PC I've ever seen which is right up my alley. Movie makers, photo-this, photo-that, Garage Band (that will keep me busy for months by itself), etc.. Everything about it is kid-in-a-candy-store thrilling but perhaps the biggest source of excitement at the moment comes from not having to look at a tiny laptop screen or type on a tiny laptop keyboard for the first time in a long while. We only got the 20" flat screen but to me it seems absolutely massive.

Seems to me Apple DEFINITELY knows what the average knucklehead like me wants in a computer from an ease of use standpoint. I still need to figure out how the hell to cut and paste and little things of that sort but the majority of stuff on the desktop is super easy to mess with (that's a technical term I made up). And cool looking? Absolutely. There's no hard drive- just a big, crystal clear screen edged in silver. Sleek, stylish and all mine baby. It's going to be SO much easier to type my book now!

Just one problem remains and hopefully one of you geeks can help. The new computer recognizes that I've hooked up an iPod but it does NOT see any of my songs that are on it. Something about it only recognizing stuff that was formatted with Apple software? Are these bastards REALLY going to do this to me? AGAIN? I had to buy all my songs back a couple years ago when my hard drive blew up. (Yeah, yeah- I know: "backup").

Postscript: Never mind- I figured it out. There's a program called Senuti that can take stuff of your iPod and put it on to a new computer should you have massive system failure or some similar horror. Works like a charm.

Anyway, that's it. I just had to tell someone about my sweet new computer. I imagine I'll be spending alot of time in front of it for a while.

In which Cedric Benson "approves" of Rex Grossman starting at QB

Just read this entry by Josh Alper on AOL Fanhouse and I thought it was DEAD-ON:

"We know that Lovie Smith is a believer in Rex Grossman. Bernard Berrian is probably thrilled to pieces to have the Cannon back under center. And from the looks of things this week the Chicago media is also jumping on the bandwagon. I know what you're thinking, though. What about Cedric Benson? I was having trouble sleeping without knowing Benson's opinion.

"Positive vibes having him back there," Benson said. "He's the guy we started the show with, and he does bring a different feel to the game than Brian [Griese]. So it will be good to see what that provides for us."

Given Benson's role in ending Griese's run as starter, that's kind of like John McCain picking up the endorsement of the guys who imprisoned him in Vietnam. No one will sink Grossman's comeback faster than Benson. If he doesn't begin producing right away it doesn't matter if Jim McMahon or Ed McMahon was calling the signals because the Bears offense isn't going anywhere.

At least the vibes are better, though. Maybe that was the problem. I always thought it was Benson's half-speed approaches to the line and willingness to yield to contact. I guess now that this guy is back at the helm the vibes will be sweet indeed."

In which I could really use a little help here.......

It looks as though things might be a bit rocky here for the near future as I seem to be suffering from a pretty acute case of "blogger's block". Seriously, I can't think of a damn thing to write about. This, of course, is bad news for someone who enjoys writing as much as I do. I don't know how I got to the point where life in Hong Kong seems unremarkable to me but there you have it.

It has even come to the point where I Googled "blogger's block" (seriously) which is where I came across all manner of advice- all of it bad. One tip suggested reading other blogs for inspiration. Hell, I could have thought of that. Did, in fact, but that's out because I'm always afraid I'll steal something sub-consciously. And also, regrettably, because I don't have that kind of attention span.

Then there was a site that had a bunch of different pictures of stick figures in various poses and situations with a caption reading "write what's happening here". Aw, crap.

I eventually came across the "Imagination Prompt Generator" on a website called creativity portal. What's this then? Something that will imagine stuff for me? Hell yeah!

Alas, what a let down. Here's just a few of the randomly generated topics that were suggested to me:

Write a list of 25 (or just 5!) things you want to do in your life.
Wow, there's riveting stuff. I know you're all waiting with bated breath while I type it out.

What would have happened if you didn't leave the house this morning?
I didn't. Nothing freakin' happened.

What are your hobbies?
No, seriously.......

What sets you apart from the crowd?
A series of inches

What do you want to be remembered for?
Why, my rock-hard abs of course.

Tell your life story from someone else's point of view.
"Ah, he was awesome, he was. Much smarter than me, obviously. Knew how to spell "Constitution", even. I just wish he hadn't been the one to uncover the hard evidence of my subversion of it".......(as told by George W. Bush)

What is your favorite day of the week?
Somebody shoot me.

Name some things you are thankful for.
Nose hair trimmers, man girdles and the gift of song.

I feel ___ years old inside because.......
Yeah, there's a real crowd pleaser. And next week- "things that make my cry".

So it would appear that I'm on my own here. Please, by all means, feel free to send suggestions.......

In which you're only as old as your age

I keep sane by always having something to look forward to. I keep it on my Google calendar. For example, 29 days from the time that I'm writing this I will be back in Chicago hanging out with friends and family, packing on 7-10 pounds on by way of pizza, burritos and Italian beef sandwiches and watching a Bears game in the company of other Bears fans. Cool, can't wait.

Last year I spent most of the time looking forward to moving out of Philadelphia (ever since I was shot at there, my motto for the city has been "Come to Philly- you probably won't be murdered"). The year before that I think I looked forward to a trip to Florida or something. The point is, there's always something to look forward to.

But all I can think about lately is that, in the short term, what I have to look forward to is turning 41. This weekend.

Shit.

I've tried getting excited about some party we're going to Saturday with an ex-classmate of the Girl's who shares my birthday but ever since I found out more about it I just can't. Why? Well, see if you can spot why from portions of the text I took off the website of the private club that the party is being held at:

"The perfect sanctuary for Hong Kong's cream of the crop, we feature 6,000 square feet of lavish, exotic and warm design.......Hong Kong's exclusive, members-only night spot of an international calibre.......for the hip, jet setting elite crowd who are tired of the identikit, faceless clubs around town."

Yikes. Let the projectile vomiting commence. So, what, don't wear my clip-on tie then? How about pit stains? Are they "in" this year or no? I prefer to eat with my hands- will that be an issue?

Still, I know it's important to the Girl to see some of her old classmates (who, because she's a good judge of character - myself notwithstanding- I'm sure aren't as pompous and shallow as the place they're having the party would suggest) and at least I'll get bonus points that I can store away for the next time I set the laundry on fire or use a $200 bottle of wine to saute a chicken breast.

Also, I should point out that I really shouldn't say I only have turning 41 to look forward to. We are going to go hiking in the New Territories tomorrow and have a nice dinner afterwards, both of which I'm most grateful for. She's fantastic and I don't know what I'd do without her.

Can you tell that I know she reads my blog?

Still......41. That's this many: *****************************************

Seeing it is pretty sobering. Also makes me wonder why, after all these years, I've not learned to just appreciate getting older already. Whatever the reason, the truth is I haven't and I feel getting older sucks.

"You're only as young as you feel". My ass! Tell that to my knees. AND my ass, for that matter. Nope, you're only as old as you are. "Only as old as you feel" had to be coined by the same jackass that swore he had "no regrets". Riiiiight. Show me someone that has no regrets and I'll show you someone pretty freakin' amoral.

Then I think about having kids at my age too. We want to and she talks about it alot. That was a hot topic when we went for our physicals last week. The Doctor is advising her on all manner of health related issues that should be addressed now (and all of which, regrettably, seem to require me to sweat, ache or forego consuming things that I Love) to ensure that we have as healthy a child as we possibly can.

If I can do all of the things I'm being asked to do, I think we'll actually give birth to Bruce Jenner. Seems more likely that the kid's just going to have to deal with a Dad who has two knees and an ankle that are arthritic, always wants to take a nap and who's idea of eating light is eating only half of a gallon of yogurt at one sitting.

But, geez, I'm in the race a little late I feel. I mean, even if we have a kid next year as planned, when he or she gets a driver's license it won't be a moment too soon. I'll be 59! I guess that's good because it will give the kid a few years to learn how to drive properly before I need somebody to pick me up from the rest home for my weekend trips to feed ducks and talk crazy at the park.

So there's one more thing to look forward to. And, suddenly, 41 isn't looking so bad after all.

In which.....hangover...ugh....send...help...and cheeseburgers

This may come as a surprise to some of you (alright, all of you) but until last night I hadn't had an alcoholic beverage of any kind for about two months. Not since somewhere around week two of the NFL season. And even before that it had been another month or so. To say I've cut back would be an understatement in much the same way as saying George Bush is a little slow. Oddly enough, I hadn't even realized it or thought about it much.

Until, that is, I woke up this morning half-on the couch with my clothes still on, a Cuban Monte Cristo cigar down my pants, an anvil in my head and a terrible pain in my knee. Totally unsure if a few sips of water would stay down, I limped to the kitchen with one eye closed in a kind of "O, Jesus please take me now" death grimace anyway.

There I spied a brick-like blob of burning carbon in a pot on the stove. Some of it had even reached that magical molecular stage where pieces of it were breaking away and floating up in the air. It may or may not have been macaroni and cheese at one point, too hard to tell. Perhaps oatmeal. But, hey, there's OJ in the fridge- sweet! I drank a tall, refreshing glass.

And then I hurled.

It wasn't my intention to quit drinking or anything and, no, I didn't do anything dramatically stupid while under the influence (this year anyway) to warrant such a lifestyle change. I think it's more a function of the fact that I hate Hong Kong bars. "Clubs", really, is what they mostly are. The kind of places where the crappy electronic music is too damn loud and the bass resonates through your chest cavity, where everybody is spectacularly pretty, the jewelry is golden, gaudy and glittery and it takes about three hours to shove your way through the crowd to even get to the bartender in the first place.

There's a couple of places that are close to that "tavern feel" that I prefer but taking two or three trains to get to them just seems like too much work. Also, I don't drink at home by myself anymore. Too weird and depressing for me these days. In either event, home or out, I guess I just don't feel the need to get liquored up much anymore for whatever reason.

Last night, however, I went out with some people with whom I'm working on a website and it was the perfect storm, daddy-o. I think not having had a drink for a while didn't help but I also hadn't eaten all day. I was a little thrilled to be out of the house at night for a change so I'm sure I celebrated too much too fast. Somehow all of a sudden I'm under the impression that I'm 25 again. On top of all that, I appear to have forgotten that the beer here in HK is much stronger than the stuff we're used to in the states.

Ever been so hammered that even you realized you couldn't talk very well and should probably just stop talking altogether? Me too.

As best I can CSI this whole thing together, I went outside to get some fresh air. Which is weird because I seem to recall lighting up a smoke while I was out there but whatever. I remember sitting down and looking at the neon lights which are ever so prevalent in the Kong. Christ, they they had tracers coming off of them! That can't be good. I also remember getting in to a cab and telling the driver to take me to my apartment in Sheung Wan which he did.

Thing is, I live in Kowloon now.

Once he poured me out of the car door onto the driveway outside the building, I got out of the cab aaaaand......that's about all I really remember. Regrettably, it seems as though I was singing "The Night Pat Murphy Died" at some point too. Loudly.

"Every drink the in the place was full the night Pat Murphy Died!"

Yeah, I'd say I was one tank top away from starring in a sweeps week episode of "Cops".

So here I am. Sick, tired, limping on a grotesquely bruised knee, WAYYYY too old to be feeling so bad in the morning and shaking Cuban tobacco out of my underwear. Wait a sec.....yep, I checked and it is, in fact, my underwear.

And what is it about hangovers that makes me want to eat foods that are horrible for my body? I've been eating pretty well for a while now and all of a sudden I have visions of cheeseburgers dancing in my head. Carbs? Absolutely. Fried food? Yes please. And you just know that as soon as I take two bites I'll either feel full or hurl again.

I have a feeling it will be another while before I belly up once more. When I do I guess I'll need to remember to be a bit more prepared. Still, just to be safe, do you think a white wine spritzer is too effeminate?

Ugh.

In which I don't mean to start a donnybrook, but you're always welcome at "Chewy's Home For Wayward Gay Words"

So, I get an email from Sparky in St. Pete that says "I'd like to see you use the word 'donnybrook' in your blog. That's a very gay word!"

Other than being a bit bewildered at the fact that she's of the opinion that gay words feel right at home in my blog, I press on. And what IS a gay word anyway, I ask? I'm not sure I know but, at the same time, I feel like "fisticuffs" could probably qualify. She says it's just a word that doesn't quite feel "comfortable".

In which case, I write an entirely gay blog.

Still, something tells me that I'm better off because I feel "straight" words are probably staid, stiff and boring. Very Strunk & White, I bet.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

In which I've been assured that my head is not REALLY up my own ass

I just had a comprehensive physical checkup with my new Doctor here in HK. She went to school in England and is certified by the Royal College of Medicine. Color me crazy, and I know it's probably just another school, but I feel more secure somehow when I see a diploma that's been given the Royal nod. On the other hand, I once almost came to fisticuffs with a drunken mailman- a representative of the Royal Mail- in a pub in London so I guess it's not an exact science.

At first I thought there was something wrong with her (the Doctor, not the mailman) because she called me in at 3 PM- the exact time of my appointment. I didn't know what to do, I mean, I'm accustomed to reading a four year old copy of Redbook or a tattered copy of Cosmopolitan for at least a good 40 minutes. Long enough that I'm bummed when my name is called because I've not yet finished the "Do you REALLY drive him wild in bed?" quiz.

To make matters even more uncertain, she called me in to her office and sat me in a chair opposite her desk where she genuinely seemed interested in what I had to say. Why, she even started to ASK ME QUESTIONS about myself; wanted to know about my past and current medical issues, lifestyle, diet, family medical history, hobbies. We spent the first 30 minutes just talking and she didn't appear arrogant or standoffish at all. I told her that she would have to address all of these failings if she ever wanted to practice medicine in the US.

She said she would never consider it. Said she Loves America and, in fact, did her Undergrad work there and has a cousin who works as a Senate staffer on Capitol Hill but that for all it's medical expertise and technological might, it's a horrible bureaucratic nightmare for a Doctor and many decisions are made for them by insurance companies. Then there's malpractice insurance, etc..

But wait- it gets even weirder. She said that she doesn't really like to prescribe medicines unless it's really necessary! What? No massive Pharmaceutical lobby here in the Kong, then? She prefers to start with addressing a patient's lifestyle problems such as poor nutrition and lack of exercise, etc. and that alot of times this can make alot of the other stuff go away. In addition, if she can she will prescribe herbal stuff that's been proven to be effective before she will pharmaceuticals for the same thing.

She mentioned that me she had recently read some statistics on prescriptions per capita in western countries and just can't get over the amount of sedatives and anti-anxiety drugs being doled out in the US. She's certain that with regular exercise and a proper diet, most of these people could get off that stuff. I'm inclined to think that she's right.

I definitely warmed to her and I have NEVER had a doctor show even a fraction of the concern for me in the states that she did here. In all, my appointment lasted an hour. 40 minutes of talk and 20 minutes of examination, drawing blood, etc. before she sent me on my way. In the states you're lucky if your Doctor spends 20 minutes talking to you over a span of a couple of years.

On the other hand, there was some stuff I was not at all on board with during my visit. After our lengthy conversation and what I thought was a period of "feeling each other out" as it were (little did I know), she announced that she was going to begin the physical by examining my prostate. Easy, there li'l Lady! And me without any breath mints.

And so the real feeling out began. In all too much earnest, I fear. (On her part, that is. If I don't add that there will be a little message on the side of this screen from someone named CEL who will have picked up on it)

I don't know how I didn't anticipate that unfortunate turn of events. I mean, I'll be 41 when I wake up this Saturday so I should have expected it. On the other hand, this was my first one so it's not as though I'm use to it being done once a year. Or ever.

In a word? Objectionable. Talk about exploratory procedures! I told her to let me know if she found my cell phone while she was in there. Or my head as, according to some of you reading this, that has been a malady of mine in the past.

It really is a situation of complete and utter vulnerability. You can't even carry on any small talk without it feeling uncomfortably like an all too desperate attempt to change the subject. Which, let's face it, it most certainly is. Still, I wish she'd have at least laughed when I said that I'd had an exam table conversion and now believed that Doctors earned every penny they're paid.

No sir, not cool at all. But it's alright now. I'm safely at home albeit feeling a little violated somehow.

And I don't know what it means exactly, but I really did pick up some breath mints along the way.

In which Cedricman drops like a safe for no gain. Often.

(Figures- I spend an hour doing this graphic in Photoshop and I type "be" and "forgive" wrong. But, it's staying because there's something inherently apt about an ode to the Bears that is hopelessly flawed. Also because I'm too lazy to fix it.)



Faster than a duck-billed Platypus! More powerful than a clove of garlic! Able to leap fallen defenders for a loss of two!

Look- down on the ground!
It's a lump!
It's a sloth!
It's Cedricman!

Yes, Cedricman- first round pick from the University of Texas, who came to Chicago with powers and abilities far beyond those of Division III. Cedricman, who can change the course of mighty drives, drop the ball with his bare hands and who, disguised as a running back- critical cog in the offense of a great metropolitan football team- fights a never ending battle for vision, dexterity and the vertical way.

My God, how Cedric Benson stinks. I slept late this morning and consequently tuned in just after the second half started. My first reaction was amazement, and, yes, relief, at seeing my boy Rex Grossman (who I still believe has what it takes to be a great quarterback in this league but who I also feel suffers from some kind of....something in his head) in the huddle. I then watched the next play as he handed off to Cedricman who, with the benefit of a couple of truly stellar blocks from his offensive line, managed to fall like a fat souffle at the line of scrimmage for no gain. Ugh.

I switched screens and checked out the box score so I could get up to speed on more than just the heart-pounding 3-3 score. Jumping off the page at me and into Chicago Bears infamy was this stat: Cedric Benson- 20 Rushes, 51 yards.

Whaaaat? I had to look at it a couple more times just to make sure I was really seeing it. Yep, no matter how many times I looked, there it was. 20 rushes. For 51 yards. Less than his already malodorous season average of 3.1 yards per carry. Yikes. He finished the game with 29 rushes for 76 yards. That's 2.6 yards per carry. Against the Raiders. The Raiders have one of the worst run defenses in the league. As I believe I've said before, I think my Mom could have averaged over 3.

I wonder where Rashaan Salaam is these days. Curtis Enis, maybe. Hell, I'd even settle for bringing Bobbie Douglas out of mothballs. I know he was a quarterback but I bet he could still get us 80 on the ground. Alas, those guys are retired. It's time for a rookie to shine.

Suit up, Mom- you're starting next week.

In which the pictures of Beijing tell you more than I can

I'm back in the Kong now but here are some of the pictures I took while in Beijing.
Top Left: One of many, many alleyways in the Forbidden City
Top Right: Hefner's got nothing to worry about. See, this is what happens when unsexy people try to give a "come hither" stare. Just looks more like the onset of a convulsion, really.
Next pics top to bottom:
All I can figure is this sign warns that it's illegal to drive flaming and / or exploding cars
Tiananmen Square
Forbidden City (FC)
People's Liberation Army marching during the daily flag raising ceremony
FC
The Moat around the FC taken from outside
Me inside the FC
FC
Chairman Mao at the front entrance of the FC
Front room inside one of the Emperor's many palaces

In which I'm diggin' Chinese Tacos

Note: Vegans and PETA types should probably skip this post.

Tonight we ate at the most famous place for perhaps the most famous dish (and one that dates back to the 13th century) in China- Beijing Duck. Formerly, Beijing was called "Peking" in English so it's still widely known in the US as Peking Duck. Personally, I call it "Chinese Tacos" but no matter what it's called, it's definitely something to write home about.

If you're coming to Beijing and you like DEE-LICIOUS food, you gotta come here.

As I said, we went to the most famous place in the world for Beijing Duck- a place called Quanjude. The ducks are specially raised, force fed and then unceremoniously whacked on the 65th day of their young lives. Air is then pumped in between the skin and the meat of the duck to separate the skin from the fat. It's rinsed, boiled, hung up to dry and glazed with a sweet syrup. After hanging up for a full day it's time to cook.

The duck is then roasted over flame fueled by hardwood (usually Pear or Peach) in a brick oven for about 45 minutes. The person in charge of the duck oven spends alot of time positioning and re-positioning the ducks and putting each one directly over the flame from time to time. When it's done it's a beautiful, shiny golden reddish-brown.

Then it's brought to your table and carved. The skin is carved off in wafer-thin slices first and placed on a plate. Next the meat itself is carved in the same fashion and put on a different plate. The skin is crispy and the meat is tender but they're both incredibly tasty. Myself, I prefer the skin.

Served with the duck are very thin Chinese "pancakes" which I find are sort of a cross between a crepe and a flour tortilla, julienned cucumbers, julienned onions and / or scallions, garlic paste and a sweet sauce similar to the junk called "plum sauce" served in the US but much, much better. I asked for a fiery hot chili sauce on the side and they looked at me funny but I'm glad I did because the sweetness of the duck sauce mixed with the heat of the chilis was fantastic.

Once it's all on the table, you take the pancake, spread some of the sauce on it, lay in some duck, garlic paste, cucumber and onion, roll it up and voila- CHINESE TACOS.

....MMMMMMMMMMMM

In which Beijing makes a late game comeback

This morning after I had breakfast with Taitai, her driver dropped me off at a place off the beaten track he knows that sells brand name clothes cheap as I needed a pair of shorts to workout in. They knew I had a map so they could leave me there and head out to her first meeting. The plan was that once I was done buying some stuff I would walk the mile or so over to the Forbidden City (I'd rather walk when traveling than take a cab because I tend to see the best stuff in unexpected places) and give it another shot. The thing is, when I went to reference the map in my backpack I found that it was actually a map of hiking trails in Hong Kong.

As it turns out, this was a good thing. I knew which general direction to go so I figured I'd take shortcuts through residential neighborhoods called "Hutongs" to get there. Hutongs are old, old (sometimes ancient) neighborhoods consisting of a series of long, very narrow alleyways lined with old houses and small courtyards. It's in these areas that the locals live and, with the exception of rickshaw drivers, nobody really hassles you about buying anything. In fact, they don't pay you much attention at all except the occasional nod or a smile as you pass. Any of which were welcome responses after yesterday's train wreck.

So, I'm in this Hutong between Beihai Park (a massive Imperial Garden on all the tourist maps) and the Forbidden City and I stop to get something to drink at this little cafe / restaurant. I walk in and it turns out that it's a family owned restaurant and their son, Chaoxiang, had just returned from the states (where he lives and works designing video game software in New York City) to visit. They seemed very surprised to see me (turns out the sign on the door said "closed today" in Chinese) and I, a fish out of the proverbial water, was just about to walk out when Chaoxiang, who seems about my age, asks me if I speak English (!) where I'm from, am I lost, etc..

He and I got to talking about all kinds of things- our initial impressions of, and experiences living in, each other's culture, where he should go and what he should do on his upcoming trip to Chicago, why people had been bothering me relentlessly and how to make it stop, the fact that I'm really loving traditional Chinese folk music and how he's getting hooked on watching NFL games. Just a really cool guy with a great sense of humor. He does a hilarious impression of the prototypical Brooklyn accent, made that much funnier in conjunction with his Beijing tones. I laughed so hard I started to hyperventilate.

He even helped me out with pronunciation of Mandarin in Beijing which is different than just about anywhere else. Even though I'm technically saying the words correctly, much of what I say can't be understood here by people in stores and such as the Beijing accent is alot more severe than anywhere else in China. You might even call it the New York accent of China. Me, I call it the "angry pirate" because that's what it sounds like.

Outside of looking at pictures, his sisters had never seen a white person up close (they live on a farm in the countryside and were only in town to see their brother) and they just kept staring and staring at me with great interest and apparent amusement. Eventually they asked if I would take some pictures with them. We even made tentative plans to get together when I'm in Manhattan next month. Chaoxiang, not the sisters. Coming hot on the heels of the hooker fiasco, I feel that hanging with the sisters would be bad form.

Anyway, soon the Tsing Tao was flowing and his Mom, a sweet little thing with a huge smile, brought out dish after dish of the best Chinese food I've ever eaten. We asked each other what seemed like a million questions while we ate and at some point Mom told her son that "I guess Americans aren't as bad as I've heard" which I thought was pretty cool. Progress, yeah?

They were so friendly and hospitable that I felt kind of bad about beating up on Beijing in my blog yesterday. In my defense (and Beijing's), they say most people here despise the hawkers too because they leave a bad impression on visitors and almost certainly cost the city return visits from those who are turned off the first time they come here. And I can see that. I mean, I know I'll probably be back for something or other over the couple of years - probably in the next 6 months actually - but if I had spent alot of money to come all the way here from the US on vacation? I don't think I'd plan on coming back any time soon thereafter.

I still say the PROC Gov't would be wise to crack down on all the nonsense though. At the very least, they should do it while the Olympics are happening. Otherwise, I guarantee you'll be reading about it in USA Today and everywhere else. And the world does NOT need an embarrassed China. Every time that happens things get weirder.

After lunch and just enough Tsing Tao (all on the house), we exchanged email addresses and went our separate ways. I even invited Mom to stay with us in Hong Kong (she's never been there and said she's always wanted to go but can't afford it). But wow, what a remarkable day.

I cannot count the times I was asked to take a rickshaw ride, buy a tour guide, help someone practice their English, purchase a Fauxlex or get a massage on my way from lunch to the Forbidden City but it didn't bother me as much this time. And my fake Russian? Absolutely did the trick. As soon as they thought I didn't know English they could not get away from me fast enough!

Well, gotta cut this "short". Tonight I'm going to the famous Wang Fu Jing street which is lined on both sides with shops. I've started collecting musical instruments from places I've been to around the world and I found the perfect thing here called an Erhu. It's a two stringed instrument that is played like a violin and the sounds that come from it are amazing.

Fostering international peace and brotherhood one free meal at a time,

G

In which the Forbidden City ought to be

Okay, let's see.....insert Lord's name in vain here: _________!
And here: ________________!!

Aaaaaand here: ___________________________!!!

Alright, I feel a little better.

This morning I headed out to take the 15 minute walk through the supremely smoggy streets of Beijing to the Forbidden City. I really wish I hadn't.

Our first contestant in the "Make the PROC look really pathetic" contest is the guy who caught up to me before I'd even hit the first intersection (about 200 feet from the hotel) to ask if he could............

practice his English on me. Aww Boy. :-O

At first I was offended. Had I used too much mousse in my hair this morning? Are my shoes too metrosexual? Do I walk like a queen- what? But it seems that this is just the rap people use so that they can stop you and engage you in conversation before they make whatever their pitch for your money is. This particular guy wanted me to get on a bus with him and go to a "Cultural Exchange Fair" (it was the last day and there would never be another one!) which, I'm guessing, would really have been a beating in a back alley somewhere. Now I ask you- do I REALLY look as stupid as this guy thought I was??!?!

Somewhere between when I got rid of him and when I got to the Forbidden City, there were about 40-50 of these exchanges which works out to about 3 per minute. Once I got outside it, the hawkers -who at least were selling something- took over and began trying to sell me all manner of junk products. Then of course there's "Do you need taxi?", "Let me be your tour guide", and the ever enticing "I take you shopping!"

I'm not kidding- In places like Jamaica and the Bahamas the locals hardly give you a minute to yourself but they're rank amateurs compared to the folks here in Beijing. I even turned my IPod on which works great for ignoring bums back home. Not so here. Whoever wants your money just taps you on the shoulder or stands in front of you walking backward with their gums flapping as you're trying to walk forward. I am SO irritated right now that I'm seeing, if you'll pardon the pun, red.

Aside from the horrible smog pervasive in the air here there's something else- the palpable sense of remorseless predation. You just know that everybody wants your cash and they'll do whatever it takes to get it. I have a feeling that if the city doesn't get a handle on this the Olympics next year is going to be both a feeding frenzy for the locals on foreign money but also, more importantly a loss of goodwill and an international public relations nightmare. So look for that in the papers.

You know what? I'd be more likely to toss some money their way (but ask for none of the shoddy products / services in return) if they just told the truth. I dunno, maybe something like:
"Hello sir! You look like a f*!@ing imbecile- hop in my shitty little motorized rickshaw and if we make it to your destination without a major structural failure or a fatal traffic accident I'll overcharge you like you've never been overcharged before. And also? I hate you very much."

Yeah, there's alot of tension out there. You can just feel that alot of the people here really dislike visitors. Or maybe white ones from the west. Or, at the very least, just me. I most certainly did NOT feel welcome. In Tiananmen Square there was some guy following me with a real faraway look in his eyes. As if he was looking through me. I finally had to stop, turn around and just stare at him with my arms up and out as if to ask "What the helll do you want?!?"

A quick search of user-driven travel sites such as VirtualTourist and TripAdvisor is rife with people complaining of ripoffs and scams. I particularly like the fact that most restaurants here have two menus- one for locals, one for visi, er, "FOREIGNERS".

Some of the reading I did suggests that it was so bad for me because I was one western guy alone. I didn't see alot of these tourist leeches crowding around groups of two, three or four western visitors all that much so I figure that's probably true. And I have a feeling that if Miranda had been with me we would have been left alone alot more often.

Anyway, I didn't even go inside the Forbidden City. The sheer amount of energy I expended getting rid of the people hassling me along the way and then in the large courtyard leading up to the ticket gate was more than I could bear. Those of you that know me know that there's a limit to my patience, yeah? I was more than a little pissed off and I no longer really cared what was inside those walls. So, before I could manage to say or do something to make it worse, I came back to the hotel to work out my frustrations in the gym, get some lunch and try to rehabilitate my mood.

After I worked out I decided to go to lunch at a Chinese place in the mall that gets good reviews for their Peking Duck. I stepped out of the hotel door directly into the mall, bought a pack of smokes at the first kiosk there and was immediately met by a Chinese girl who wanted.......

To practice her English.

I really want to like this place but they're making it nearly impossible.

P.S. Just spent some time talking to the Concierge here at the hotel who gave me some good, practical information. Turns out that this "cultural exchange fair" or "Student art exhibition" is fairly common here. They get tourists to go with them to some studio or store where the proprietor trots out the full-court press in order to close the deal. I would imagine the street "students" get a taste.

Tomorrow I'm going to pretend to be Russian and see how that goes. Hopefully I won't run into any Chinese guys that know Russian because, translated, the only two sentences I know are "You'll live but you won't feel like f#*!ng" and "Welcome to the Gulag- please leave your balls at the door".

Then again, maybe that will scare them into thinking I'm a lunatic.

In which I'm extremely popular in Beijing

I'm writing this from my hotel room at the Grand Hyatt in Beijing, a jade stone's throw from the Forbidden City. The flight from Hong Kong takes about three hours and I slept for 2 hours and 50 minutes of it. When I awoke as the pilot was getting ready to land us, I put on my headphones and started checking out radio stations. Let me just say it's incredibly weird listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd playing "Sweet Home Alabama" as you descend into Beijing.

Just as the wheels alit on the runway, and I mean JUST as they touched, I swear to God, the first chords of Neil Young's "Keep on Rockin' in the Free World" came on. Either the folks at Cathay Pacific have a great sense of humor or it was an uncanny, and tremendously funny, coincidence. I burst out laughing and the breath mint I had in my mouth shot over the seat directly in front of me. Nobody else was amused- particularly the poor bastard sitting in the seat directly in front of me.

As I looked out the window things looked bleak. It was grey, overcast and foggy as hell. At least, I hoped it was fog. Beijing doesn't have a great reputation for clean air.

Once we got off the plane it was time to go through immigration. Taitai, being a Chinese national, went into a different line than I. My line? "Foreigners". That seems a bit harsh, I feel. "Visitors" might come off a bit friendlier but, hey, whatever.

When I get up to the Immigration agent I notice he's extremely grouchy. He snaps his fingers and motions for my passport and visa. I give it over, he asks me a bunch of the standard questions (what's the reason for your visit, where are you staying, when are you leaving, etc.) and then starts doing stuff on his computer. As he's doing this I notice an electronic panel on my side of the window which says "please tell me how my service was" with a bunch of buttons ranging from the green "Very satisfied" to a crimson red "Very dissatisfied". He does his thing, hands me back my passport and says "press the green button to continue on". Hahahahaha. Yep, you got it dude! Have a nice day.

Then we head outside where I notice that it's much colder here than in HK. I knew that Beijing is in the far northeastern part of China so I really had no reason to forget my damn coat. The Girl sees our driver who has been waiting for us and waves to him. This same guy picks her and her colleagues up and squires them around every time they're here. Once our bags are in the trunk, we're off. Little did I know what I was in for.

HOLY MOTHER OF GOD.......these people drive even WORSE than they do in the Kong! And not just a little worse. Oh, no- this is Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome, expo-freakin'-entially worse. Drivers here are resolutely fearless and they DO NOT back down. There's no right of way for pedestrians or bicyclists and the only warning they'll get is a quick honk just before their hospitalization and physical therapy benefits are activated.

There's alot of driver histrionics going on here too. Lots of colorful hand gestures and yelling and what have you. And the stuff they're yelling won't be found in my Mandarin textbooks, of that I am certain. For you Chicagoans, imagine the Dan Ryan full of people who think they're invincible and are driving blindfolded or chock full of unbridled rage. No- both.

See, the thing is, until very recently hardly anyone had a car here. Now, what with the sudden economic might of the "Asian Tiger", everyone suddenly has command of two tons of steel that they can barrel down the road in. Unfortunately, there's no system in place as yet for people to really practice before they get licenses and driving schools cost a good lot of money. Hence, the ride of my life. I'm going to have to work out some kind of valium-drip system if I'm to take another car ride here.

As soon as we checked in, Taitai had to hurry off to a dinner meeting with some company they may be buying out and I was on my own. The hotel we're at is surrounded by a huge mall called Oriental Plaza and I figured I might as well take a walk around.

Now I'm in the mall and these two Chinese girls come up to me to ask if I would mind if they practice their English speaking skills with me. Normally, I would think I was being played but I had just read in the South China Morning Post that the Gov't of the PROC has suggested to citizens that, what with the Olympics coming up, it would be a good idea to politely approach western visitors and ask if they can practice their English skills with them.

Seeing a good opportunity to practice what I've learned in class, I said "yeah, sure". We get to talking and in English they ask me what I'm buying. I tell them in Mandarin that I need a pair of dress pants and all of a sudden I'm shopping with two strange Chinese girls. All the time I'm thinking "Hmm. I wonder what the Girl would have to say about this" but I figure, what the hell, it's just a cultural exchange.

No sooner did I think that when one of them says "when we're done here would you like us to give you a massage in your hotel room?" Aw geez.

And, by the way? I know my Mom and my nieces read this blog so, er, I took a bit of poetic license in sanitizing the exhange as written above.

After I managed to extricate myself from this entanglement, two more girls come up and ask me if they, too, can "practice their English". Then I step outside to have a smoke and some chick on a bicycle comes up to ask if I want a massage. Then another. And another. In total, I'd say 9 people wanted to proceed with a mutually beneficial, if entirely unseemly, business transaction with me this evening.

They are a friendly people, I'll give 'em that.

There were some other things I noticed that I didn't expect. First, the people here are not at all a cowed and joyless people as we are sometimes, I feel, actively being led to believe in the west. I don't know what I expected but the people here aren't......."cautious", I guess, is the word I want. I might as well have been in Manhattan.

Second, I've not taken notice of any of the censorship that I've heard so much about. That's not to say that it doesn't exist in one manner or another, and maybe there's alot more of it outside the touristy areas, but as I was browsing in the clothing stores tonight with my two Chinese hotties I noticed that the music was some pretty hardcore western stuff - F-Bombs and all. Somewhere along the way I heard Snoop Dogg extolling the virtue of hos, Cristal and pimp cups. Sorry, but I I did NOT see that coming in the capital of the PROC.

Same thing with the television. I turn it on and there was that dotty old bastard Larry King yapping away on CNN about something that he'd long since forgotten (I guess he's not really so much a threat to morality in China as he is an affront to real news and intelligent people the world over), a talking head on Fox News just BLISTERING China over "The Dalai Lama goes to Washington" episode last week, a slasher flick on Star Movies, 50 cent (us cool kids just call him "fitty") on MTV and the Sopranos on HBO.

I was also astounded to come across a Dairy Queen. Dairy Queen??!?!?! I found myself wondering what the Chinese characters for "Dilly Bar" are and I made a mental note to find out before I leave.

Dairy Queen??!?!?!

So, that's it. I decided I was getting tired of turning away hookers all night so I came back to the hotel to hook up to the broadband and order room service. Just ordered a burger. Over here, for whatever reason, they love putting a fried egg on their cheeseburgers and you know what? It's GOOOOOD.

So that's it for me. Tomorrow I'm off to the Forbidden City, Beihai Park and, if there's time, the Temple of Heaven.

Seriously, Dairy Queen??!?!?!

In which I plan to get stabbed in Beijing

Studying Mandarin in Hong Kong is kind of weird because there's not a great deal of people who speak it here yet. It was only after the handover that the Chinese government made a serious push for the citizenry of Hong Kong to learn it so you can really only count on children 10 years old or younger speaking it. And I don't know much but I do know that it seems like a REALLY bad idea for me to seek out strange young children to talk to.

I've spoken with Taitai in Mandarin but she's a pretty easy audience and she makes a concerted effort not to say stuff that she thinks is too complicated for me. Not unlike what my previous wives did with English.

That said, beginning tomorrow I will have the opportunity to put what I've learned to practical use because in the early afternoon I'm getting on a plane with her to go to Beijing. She has some meetings over the next three days and I figured I might as well go along to do some serious sightseeing. She'll be coming back late Thursday evening but after we check out of the hotel I may still decide to stay until Sunday at the house of a friend of ours who she went to school with at Wharton.

So to re-cap, that's: me sans wife in a huge house in Beijing. In the party district. Hmm. (Note to self: Chinese prisons are bad)

(Sidebar: I told my beloved Mother that I'm leaving for Beijing and does she say "have a good time" ? "That's great! Enjoy your trip" ? "Get me some jade" ?? Nope. She says "Don't get arrested". Sheesh.)

I've always wanted to go to Beijing- even before I met the wife - and I'm pretty excited. I gotta say, what with "the unpleasantness" 17 years ago when I was a guest of the state of Illinois, I can't believe they're letting me in. Hell, Canada wouldn't. But the People's Republic of China will. WTF?!??!

My plan, such as it is currently, is to check out all of the usual tourist haunts (Tiananmen Square, The Forbidden City, Temple of Heaven, Summer Palace, Peking Opera House, the Ming Dynasty Tombs, the Great Wall, Museums, the new Olympic stadium, etc.) but there's some pretty cool stuff that I've read about which is not typically on the tourist agenda and those are the places I've always been most interested in when I travel.

One includes a restaurant that serves fried grasshoppers and another is some ancient dude who's supposed to be a Grand Master of acupuncture. Figured I'd give him a shot at helping me to quit smoking and maybe ask him to find my carb-craving area so he can stab the hell out of it with those needles. Although it probably doesn't work that way.

I prefer to hang out in the areas where the locals do because that's the only way to really get a feel for a place, it's culture and it's people. I mean, how much can you learn about the people of, say, the midwest by hanging out at the 96th floor Signature Lounge in the John Hancock building? If that's all you had to base your trip on you'd say that the people of Chicago are all pompous investment banker-types who are more interested in the cost of the watch you're wearing than in what you have to say.

So this is the big test. I'll be on my own in a country that doesn't put much stock in speaking my native English, armed with only my wits and a month's worth of intensive study of their 5,000 year old language.

I am so screwed.

In which I had a pretty okay morning

This morning I stood at the living room window with a mug of coffee and watched the sunrise over Hong Kong. The windows were open and the breeze coming in carried with it the aromas eminating from a bakery nearby and just the slightest hint of cooler air on the way. The old folks were all out on the square soundlessly and fluidly practicing their Tai Chi and the only things moving in the harbor were fishing boats heading out to the South China Sea. It was very quiet save the calls of seabirds hovering over the docks. And you know what? It was fantastic.

I thought about where I'd been and where I am now. I thought about the people that I Love and miss back home and how I'll get to see them again soon. I thought about how lucky I am that Miranda- funny, sweet and amazingly intelligent Miranda- agreed to be my wife.

And then a thought occurred to me, seriously, for the first time in my life- everything felt okay. Strange. I felt a kind of peace that I never had before. It was kind of like my head, after all these years, was finally quiet; had decided to shut up an listen for a change. No questions, no confusion, - nothing. It felt good. And I felt alive.

And then I kind of smiled and thought to myself that if dealing with whatever amount of uncertainty, loss and disappointment I had along the way helped me in any way to get here than it was well worth it.

I think it's gonna be a good day.

G

In which my companion gets tarted up again

Meet Mr. Potato Head. He's been with me since 1993. It's been a weird ride. My lucky(?) writing totem, he makes a good companion in that he's a great listener and rarely argues. Once, I even had an immigration cop at London's Heathrow airport stamp the back of his head in addition to my passport.

Whenever we move somewhere new, he gets a new outfit. Dallas? Cowboy hat. Williamsburg? Minuteman. Florida? Hawaiian shirt and a swath of zinc oxide on his nose. As you can see, he's now been fitted with Chinese ceremonial garb. Note the hat with the groovy traditional pigtail.

He seems to like it. At least, he hasn't complained.

In which you should probably kneel before me

I realize this is infantile but I have to confess that I got a kick out of it just the same. Maybe it's because I Love the name it gave me, I dunno.

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: His Grace Lord Gary the Droll of Jester-on-Soddington Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

In which given enough time here I will start an International incident

I don't really have any kind of central theme today so I'm not sure why I'm writing. I guess because I've grown to depend upon it. This one's gonna suck but it's Friday for me so I'm not really all that bothered. Taitai is coming home shortly after having worked extremely late and we're going to watch movies so I have to type fast. So, yeah, if there was ever any doubt? It is, in fact, all about me.

My Mandarin teacher got a little upset with me this morning over a couple of things I said. One I meant to say as a harmless joke (but should have thought better of nonetheless) and the other was just a really bad choice of words. I think either one on it's own wouldn't have caused much of a stir but together? Yeah- STIR!

First she had us doing a sort of role-playing thing where we go in to a department store and, using the words we've been learning, greet the clerk, ask where stuff is and how much it costs, do a little haggling, etc..

Anyway, this other guy in class with me has a sense of humor so we started saying ridiculous things (how much for the enormous oil tanker? etc..) and at one point I decided to say "before I buy this, how can I be sure it has no lead paint in it?". WOOPS! I could tell that she didn't take it well but we moved on.

Later, when we were doing essentially the same drill, this time in a bookstore, I said to my classmate (and, as God is my witness, I said it innocently) "I think the little red book costs too much and it doesn't seem very well written!". WOOOOOOOOPS! I could have picked any two adjectives but I shrewdly picked the two worst ones that I could have- "little" and "red".
I might just as well have said "Give me a really terrible, stupid book- you know, a CHINESE one."

Jackass!

For those of you that don't know, the "Little Red Book" is the term used in the West (but also widely known in China as our derisive term for) the small, red colored book of "Quotations from Chairman Mao". There are almost a billion in print, almost all of them in China. Mostly, the book is a bunch of entirely propagandized, cult of personality, Communist pap that everyone in China had to own during the monstrous and destructive "Cultural Revolution" of the 60's and early 70's. If a citizen couldn't produce one when asked, they were often beaten or worse. So, great fun for the whole family!

I doubt the teacher has any personal investment in the little red book and, anyway, these days it's more of a historical footnote and doesn't really hold any significance. Except, of course, when it seems like an American smartass is trying to squeeze your shoes.

Monday promises to be fantastic.

Speaking of China, I got my Visa today. Since this is my first one they would only allow me to visit two separate times for up to 30 days each from now until April. But, that's more than enough for now. Planning on going to Shanghai and Beijing next month which I'm very much looking forward to.

Have I mentioned that my wife's parents don't know we're married yet? Yeah, so I got that going for me. Always good for a nice Chinese girl to bring her old-school, traditional parents an American guy and say "oh, and we're married too! Isn't that GREAT???" Sheesh. I PLEADED with her to call her parents before we got married but apparently that's just not done either.

On the other hand, if my past is any indication whatsoever, there was never really any chance they'd have liked me anyway- even if I'd showed up driving a golden chariot fresh off of putting my life on the line to save baby kittens from a blazing inferno. With money shooting out my butt.

What else, let's see...... Oh- I noticed that the People's Liberation Army headquarters in Hong Kong is right next to Bank of America's headquarters. I don't know what the means or why I find it significant but there it is nonetheless.

Started my book not too long ago. 2,398 words ago to be exact. Also, I've just been made Regional Editor of a new website that has to do with Expatriate artists around the world. The money ain't much but it seems like it's going to be fun doing some travel in Asia and meeting all kinds of musicians, filmmakers, painters and writers. Will post a link when it's all finished.

Anyway, I have to cut this short, which, let's face it, is fortunate for you today. Before I go, people have asked me just what the hell "See My Vest!" on the link to my photo albums means. It doesn't really MEAN anything other than it has the word "see" in it and also happens to be one of my all-time favorite songs. I don't have the video because the people at Fox have no sense of humor when it comes to open file sharing (in fact, they probably don't have a sense of humor about using the audio either, come to think of it) but here's the song by Mr. Burns. Ooh- and bonus lyrics!

Have a good weekend everybody.

See My Vest

...some men hunt for sport,
Others hunt for food.
The only thing I'm hunting for
Is an outfit that looks good.
See my vest, see my vest,
Made from real gorilla chest.
Feel this sweater, there's no better
Than authentic Irish Setter.
See this hat, 'twas my cat.
My evening wear, vampire bat.
These white slippers are albino
African endangered rhino.
Grizzly bear underwear,
Turtle necks I've got my share.
Beret of poodle on my noodle it shall rest
Try my red robin suit,
It comes one breast or two...
See my vest, See my vest, See my vest.
Like my loafers, former gophers,
It was that or skin my chauffeurs,
But a greyhound fur tuxedo would be best...
So let's prepare these dogs,
Kill two for matching clogs!
See my vest!
See me vest!
Oh, please, won't you see my veeeeeesst!