The year of the dragon is upon us, mercilessly devouring all in its path.

As the dragon rages so to do appetites. Moguls, seek Bentleys adorned with Swiss embroidered dragons on supple leather headrests, and women seek unattached (or not*) men to father babies blessed by the dragon.

Shanghai January 19, 2012.
The IFC (International Financial Center) Mall is a buzz, literally, for the Chinese New Year.

Six months ago the IFC Mall could have convinced many that it was the biggest luxury brand loss leader on the planet. It was often as deserted as many of the office-plex, ghost towns in western China. However, the Christmas holidays saw steady increases in IFC crowds. (For reasons unbeknownst to me since as of March 8, 2012 one still hears Christmas carols regularly in public venues – JC is smiling.) By the time Chinese New Year rolled around IFC was packed. Crowds at Cartier, Bvlgari and Tiffany & Co. were a common occurrence. And they weren’t just window-shopping. This was obscene carat consumption.

The year of the dragon launched a full-scale assault on the Armani, Dior and Louis Vuitton alliance with no end in site. It’s party time in Shanghai. (Those readers with experience should think USA 1999, or on a more sentimental note of naïveté, April 1, 1971 in Ann Arbor.) The mood is for the moment and people are ready to throw caution to the wind.

CitySuper is the Shanghai equivalent of Whole Foods and it is the reactor at the core of IFC on L2. A convenient location since both the Billionaire with Bentley driver await in the garage, and the Yuanaire running for the subway can conveniently swing in for that imported bottle of French or Italian wine (the safe stuff) or that imported box of Australian or New Zealand dairy (again, the safe stuff). During CNY “Super” is just that (read as Whole Foods on mega-party steroids). So potent is the party opiate that it spills beyond normal bounds of the exotic retailer and into breezeway kiosks to intercept the unsuspecting young Chinese women before they head underground.

The shiny, twinkling, little lure, that is the object of affection this nanosecond is a shot glass full with Scotch – as in whiskey.

There are small groups of three or four young women in their early twenties, chattering and giggling as they loiter about. The chattering ambiance is occasionally shattered by a convulsive explosion of jet black hair emanating from the epicenter of declining consciousness in Tonic-clonic fashion as shots are slammed. Upon reentry, the dazed and red faced consumptresses ignore the Scotch whiskey docent earnestly trying to enlighten them to the finer points of the Scotch they had just vaporized. 

Single malt, blended malt, cask and age differences, and the implications of the Scotch Whiskey act of 1988 as precursor to the revision of 2009 are cast awash in this tipsy sea of femininity.

These girls where there to accomplish one objective and there was no better way to do it than with free, 40% by volume shots. The math would indicate that small, Asian women on average of 90-100 lbs would, after 3 shots, have a BAC of 0.14 (effectively well-oiled on the Laphroaig scale) and just in time to enjoy a piloted Silver Spur or Silver Streak cruise to their next orgy of consumption.

It was after all only 4:15p and there were baby dragons to be made.

 * – perceptions from the February 2012 article "She Said, She Said" in That's Shanghai magazine.
© 2012 Karl Shaffer

Let a sleeping dragon lie (unless you're an alien).

The dark room with surreal reception desk, sans men in black.

A few weeks after the IFC mall episode of Slammers, I was meandering through the French concession while cold calling for a school fundraiser. I happened upon an anonymous dark wooden door in Sinan Mansions on Fuxing Lu (another upscale development of restaurants and flagship stores). Unassumingly, I slipped in looking for the manager or proprietor. Within seconds, three men in black, quietly descended upon me, two at each side, the third hurriedly secured the door; triple checking to make sure it was locked. Their stealth nature was terrifying in a manner that a simply muttered "we're going get mid-evil on you" isn't. I was escorted to a dark receiving room where there were a few more men in black and, what occurred to me as quite surreal, a reception desk. 

It dawned on me that if I did have a card up my sleeve, I had better play it. Now.  The only image that came to me in this Tarot moment of faith was that of an alien. So I went for it with the ubiquitous and basic “take me to your leader” approach. 

The receptionist asked me to patiently wait and he (the nocturnal alpha-male) would be summoned.

I paced for a few moments giving reason for my two escorts to be oddly nervous and edgy. I began to wonder if I had actually wandered into an opium den, after all it is Shanghai, and I saw nothing to warrant the paranoia of agents J & K. Looking about, I began seeing some very attractive women. They were giants from the Yao Ming dimension, six-foot tall, perfect, petite Asian features and they too were dressed in the black team uniform. This seemed to be a break area or staging area... but for what? As seconds ticked by I was sure wherever I was, definitely was not legal. Either I would be cast into the abyss, or unceremoniously booted back onto the street after a Red Army, Code Red. As a few more haute, sleek, female beings floated by dragging my undivided attention along with them, I was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder.

I turned to be greeted by the Shanghainese Ryan Seacrest of this mysterious place. He introduced himself as Henry. Immediately I inform Henry that I had been beamed-up on account of him committing to 15,000 RMB ($2500 USD) for a school fundraiser on behalf of whatever business he was willing to own up to before I was either cooked or shown the door.

Henry smiled and informed me that this was Johnny Walker House and that I had entered an invitation only event – without invitation. It was starting to make sense. I mean they did build the Great Wall after all (fortunately, for me the dark wooden door worked about as well the Wall did against the Mongols). As Henry seemed to make his move directing me to the door, I remembered an event Bentley had sponsored in the Mansions a few months back and asked if they had been an affiliate, to which Henry said he wished, but sadly Bentley had more partners than needed.

Sacrificing my good sense in the interest of childhood curiosity and situational longevity, I blurted out “Maybe I can help with that, I’ve worked with a few premium automobile brands and would love the opportunity to present Johnny Walker (Black) House as a potential partner”. He asked how I new about the various luxury brands, so I gave him the 411. Turns out his employer was owned by one of my former employers, Sir Martin Sorrell's WPP Group. By this point Henry detected my enthusiasm for whatever it was I was in the midst of and offered me a tour.

How could I not accept?

The still.

We strolled past personal artifacts of Mr. Walker to the still, an immaculately designed, monochromatic copper model representing the entire distilling process. I listened as a small tour in progress was given the VO in Mandarin. It was the basis for our next stop. We took the narrow black staircase up to the second floor – a lounge and tasting room (as pictured). We were greeted by agents L&M piquing my curiosity since J&K were right behind us. “Hmmm, there must be more than Johnny Walker Black up here – it’s good but not that good (as the likes of both Hunter Thompson and my good friend Charles would indeed attest to).”

The "proofing" room.

Then as we made our way toward the circular bar attended by reserved, understated, wealthy Chinese women, one of the female point guards from Yao's black team gracefully went baseline to my right. She slowly turned and sat in one, smooth motion as if in a slow-mo replay on the jumbo-tron. She sat as still as the 24 foot tall, 15 ton, silver Buddha in Jing'an Temple.

It was then that I noticed that she was dripping with about $250K in jewels.

A diamond and Sapphire necklace had a choke hold on her long neck as it cascaded down her chest. Now it all made sense, they had mistaken me for Bill Mason. I had entered the nerve center of the Agent Alphabet. I wholly expected to see TLJ and the Fresh Prince, blasters in hand any second. My eyes adjusted to the low light and brilliant shimmering jewels. I began to see a few more members of the black feline team strategically positioned around the room also adorned with some very heavy and colorful ice. 

It was the perfect trap to capture the spellbound dragon's attention. 

A bit of single malt Scotch, a bit more of the blended, then progressing up the smoothness ladder, and soon the desire is overwhelming.  The women attending the lecture at the bar will, very soon, feel the unmitigated urge have to have diamonds, rubies and pearls. And they'll have been emboldened by Johnny to not take "no" for an answer. Why should they? It is Shanghainese lore that their husbands buy 911s with a carry-on suitcase full of cash, repeat the process for their mistresses and then again, finally, for their wives. It is the perfect combination of desire, revenge and vanity. (More on how they get this kind of money another time).

The "shot" room.

Henry lead me to another lounge with a shimmering ceiling. Upon closer inspection, I was mesmerized. The entire ceiling was composed of undulating rows of inverted, back-lit shot glasses. 

The room full of stars (a history of the break-through concoctions).

Up one more floor to an area designated for the Cohiba smokers of Shanghai. As we stepped into the elevator I was again agog. We were completely encased in a hammered, copper vault, as if we would be fermented if an elevator malfunction should occur. And there in one corner was a copper cane resting against the wall and in the opposite corner a copper top hat. A nice homage to the man.

The man, Johnny.

Soon we were back on the first floor. I complimented Henry on the awesome experience. It was the best personification of a brand I had ever experienced in 10 minutes. As we traded cards I gave Henry one more wholehearted pitch for the 15,000 RMB and left.

Reentering the parallel universe on Fuxing Lu I was brought back to reality full force as I negligently bumped into another stranger who, with the tip of his hat, was kind enough to overlook my clumsiness, and wish me a good day. 


Soon with a wink and a nod, I was on my merry way – walking.

Johnny Walker House Images courtesy of Johnny Walker, Asylum and love.

Text © 2012 Karl Shaffer

A rainbow of Grey = Mamahuhu.

Mamahuhu: horse, horse, tiger, tiger – literally.

It means "just ok".  It isn't good. It isn't bad.
It just is. Just as it is grey.
It's been about twenty days on since we've seen the sun.

I thought Natalie Merchant's sentiments seem quite appropriate.

February 21, 2012

The color of the sky as far as I can see is coal grey.
Lift my head from the pillow and then fall again.

With a shiver in my bones just thinking about the weather.
A quiver in my lips as if I might cry.

February 22, 2012

Well by the force of will my lungs are filled and so I breathe.
Lately it seems this big bed is where I never leave.

February 24, 2012

Shiver in my bones just thinking about the weather.
Quiver in my voice as I cry,

February 26, 2012

"What a cold and rainy day. Where on earth is the sun hid away."

February 29, 2012

I hear the sound of a noon bell chime. Now I'm far behind.
You've put in 'bout half a day while here I lie

March 1, 2012

with a shiver in my bones just thinking about the weather.
A quiver in my lip as if I might cry,
"What a cold and rainy day. Where on earth is the sun hid away?"

March 2, 2012

Do I need someone here to scold me
or do I need someone who'll grab and pull me out of this
four poster dull torpor pulling downward.

March 4, 2012

For it is such a long time since my better days.
I say my prayers nightly this will pass away.
The color of the sky is grey as I can see through the blinds.

Lift my head from the pillow and then fall again.

March 6, 2012

with a shiver in my bones just thinking about the weather.
A quiver in my voice as I cry,

March 7, 2012

"What a cold and rainy day. Where on earth is the sun hid away?"
I shiver, quiver, and try to wake.

For it is such a long time since my better days.