Kung Fu Chewy

Weapons of Mouse Destruction

2009-10-21T23:04:00.016+08:00

There was a time when I used to get paid to ensure that food factories, hospitals, fast food joints and 5-star restaurants were pest free. And, frankly, I was pretty good at it.

I loved the investigation part of it. You know- exactly where were these roaches and mice and rats and bedbugs hiding? How did they get in? How are they thriving? And, of course, how can I kill the little bastards as quickly as possible?

You may note that earlier I said I "was" good at it. That word is critical because these days I couldn't kill a mouse with a shotgun if he was glued to the end of the barrell. I know this because I have one in my house that I've been trying to find and murder for a month now. A MONTH. In pest control terms that's a thousand years.

He's a quiet tenant, really, and I don't bear him any specific ill will, but he and I share the same taste for Honey Nut Cheerios and the furry little insurgent gets his before I get mine every morning. This will not stand.

As a former pest control professional, pride will not allow me to call a pest control company, and besides, it does make me feel good to be back on the hunt. Still, while it may feel good, it's not really been very useful. Kind of like masturbation.

Mouseturbation, if you will.

Without getting into a long dissertation on the timely termination of rodents, let me just say that one major difference between rats and mice is that mice are much more curious; much more willing to check out something new. This, then, makes it much easier to dispatch them.

Not my mouse. No, my mouse is a savant. My mouse, I am quite sure, knows more about me than I know about him. Hell, he may very well know how to prove Hessenberg's Theorem, I dunno. What I do know is that he's pissing me off.

I've tried snap traps with all the mouse food greatest hits- peanut butter, Tootsie Roll, marshmallow. I even chucked some lettuce and a bit of tofu on there on the off chance the little fucker was a vegan. No joy.

I imagine him in his fortress somewhere very near my kitchen, map spread out in front of him, helmet on, cigar in his mouth, saying stuff like "Now, I gotta wait 'til the fat bastard goes to sleep, and he didn't get on the treadmill until 5 PM, which means he's gonna be up until at least 2 AM. And it is precisely then that Operation Cheerio will commence, and the spoils of war shall be be mine!" (Sidebar: Most often, when I imagine him mocking me from his stronghold, his voice sounds like General George Patton as portrayed by George C. Scott in the movie "Patton", but other times he definitely sounds like Winston Churchill. I know that's not relevant, but I feel compelled to mention it, and it's my blog so I can do whatever the hell I want with it.)

Where was I? Oh, right.....now, I could buy something called tracking powder. The stuff is particularly nasty because all you've got to do is lay it out near where the mouse droppings are and when he runs by there again - POOF! - he's just run through poison powder. But that seems a bit harsh and is akin to taking the easy way out for (whatever's left of) the hunter in me.

And besides, if I'm honest, although I'm loathing myself for not being able to catch him, I am beginning to admire the fuzzy, betailed little genius a bit.

I wonder if they make little, tiny boxes of Honey Nut Cheerios.......

Goodbye Momma Bear...and Thank You

2009-10-19T02:54:00.009+08:00

My Mom died last month and I was going to write something on here about that and about her but it's honestly just too much for me to handle right now. So, I thought I'd post something I wrote about her last year around Mother's Day, something that I am quite glad that she got to read for herself.

Rest in Peace, beautiful. The world just became a markedly less funny place and life, particularly Christmas, will never be the same without you.

Look at her- ain't she adorable?

Most of the people that read my blog know that my Mom reads it too and they know that she spends no small amount of time and effort trying to get me to stop cursing and blaspheming and such.

What they probably don't know is that after my parents divorced back in 1976, she raised me by herself while working two jobs. We moved from place to place (Florida, Maryland, Philadelphia, Florida again, etc..) and all the time she worked two jobs. Always.

She would work all day and then, around 4 or so, go to her other job. I would try to make sure that the place was clean when she got home later because I knew- I could see- how very tired she was when she walked in each night. Many nights I'd try (without much success, I'm afraid) to make dinner for her. Turns out boiling a bag of creamed chipped beef can, in fact, be done poorly.

Still, we were a team. We counted on each other and we needed each other. And we always delivered for each other. Always.

We had some difficult times, me and Mom. At some point when we lived in New Port Richey, Florida we lived on watermelon for two weeks. Seriously.

Yet somehow she always managed to make what might otherwise have been viewed as a dismal set of circumstances seem not so bad at all.

In 1978, every little bit of extra money that she had saved was spent on taking me to Disney World down in Orlando, Florida. For a kid who was adjusting to another new neighborhood, another new school and still trying to figure out how to get over missing his Dad and his brothers and sisters? Well, that was HUGE.

Now that I'm an adult, I've been all around the world, I've seen fantastic things, eaten foods I never thought I would, been exposed to cultures entirely different from my own, and met incredible people from every continent. But that trip? That trip remains the best of them.

We had a saying, the two of us- "It's you and me against the world." Seems we didn't do all that bad after all.

I Love my Mom and I'm really glad that she's still around to read this (admittedly poorly written) tribute to her.

If she doesn't already know, I woud like this blog post to remind her that I have not forgotten that we're still a team and that she is, clearly, the MVP.

Always.

Dear Mom- Thank you for working those two jobs for all that time. Thank you for teaching me right from wrong. Thank you for instilling a work ethic in me. Thank you for insisting that I always treat other people the way that I would expect to be treated.

And most importantly, thank you for being there- even when (especially when) I wasn't exactly the model of a good son.

I LOVE YOU MORE THAN I COULD EVER POSSIBLY PUT INTO WORDS.

Always,

Buzz

Heroes Need Pizza Too

2009-09-22T03:42:00.011+08:00

My heroes are almost exclusively the "damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!" type. Guys who had the odds stacked against them but who, nevertheless, did not waver. No compromise. All or nothing. Ben Franklin, Winston Churchill- these kinds of people.

But now I have another kind of hero- Boris Yeltsin. Not because he usually managed to intimidate everyone else in the room. Not because he stood defiantly on a tank during one of the most perilous times in Russian history. Not because he was a wild-eyed reformer who strove to change the Soviet Union's socialist economy to one that more closely resembled a free market. Not even because he could drink a bottle of vodka before (and after) giving a speech and still not start a war with the west or, probably worse for a Russian man, fall on his ass.

No, it's because he was a man who braved crime-ridden Washington DC late at night, standing out on the street trying to hail a taxi. All alone. Hammered out of his gourd. In his underwear. And why?

Because the man wanted pizza.

Having spent many a night (and morning) in my underwear, bombed stupid and trying to figure out how to score a pie myself, I feel oddly connected to the man.

You've since gone on to the great Pizza Hut in the sky, but kudos to you, comrade Boris. A man who will go to such great lengths for a slice while heading up a world superpower deserves my undying respect and admiration.

In Which I'm an Old White Rapper...

2009-08-29T10:12:00.008+08:00

The Girl grinds her teeth while she sleeps. It's not so much her grinding them that bothers me, really, it's her GRINDING them. It's like trying to sleep next to a freakin' cement mixer.

When she's done in the shower she has this ritual - always faithfully observed - where she wraps her head in a towel and then air-dries herself while laying on another towel in our bed. All this manages to do is remove both towels from the bathroom and make the bed soggy. Perhaps you won't be surprised to learn that she lays on my side when she does this.

She moves my stuff regularly and then tells me she has no idea what I'm talking about when I ask her where my iPod or keys or textbooks are.

When she eats something that she really enjoys, she does so with her mouth wide open- all the while making loud smacking noises. Much like I imagine a sweet but dim little girl would.

She'll tell me "there's no fish in here!" just so I'll try something she's made...that has fish in it.

She watches "China's Got Talent" every night during the work week. Due to the fact that our apartment comprises roughly the same square footage as a Ford Pinto, this forces me to don a gigantic pair of headphones and put on some music to drown out the show. I'm forced to do this because China does not, in fact, have talent.

She knows I hate it when she does all of these things, of course.

But, still, all of them pale in comparison to her latest and greatest annoyance. Recently she's spent an inordinate amount of time breaking into song. Specifically, Chinese Love songs.

This is not merely aggravating, it's tragic. To hear her sing is to know true regret. It's like hearing two cats in a bag as they fight to slow, brutal and agonizing death. While someone rubs my balls with sandpaper.

There's nothing left for me to do, really. I've got to relaliate. I know that she simply cannot abide hip hop music and it occurred to me that the only thing worse than rap music is rap music performed by a white guy. So, I'm thinking it may be time for MC Chewy to make his Hong Kong debut. We'll see if she can handle the wax I drop on her when she gets home from a long day at the office.

This will be a departure for me as I'm more of a crooner, really. I suppose I could try to combine the two genres- "Bling Crosby", if you will.

Cruel and unusual? Perhaps. But she's left me no alternative.

Curtains up at 8.

Addicted: Living With My Dark Master

2009-08-27T05:24:00.007+08:00

I know when it started. Sure, I'd had flirted with it a few times, but never seriously and I never needed to have it. It seemed to me that one had to be kind of stupid, and somehow desperate, to let it get that far. And then I went home to Chicago for a month last Christmas and life would never be the same.

See, spending any time in Chicago during winter is, for me these days at least, even more difficult than listening to Britney Spears sing acapella, trying to find any truth in what Rush Limbaugh says, or mining a Rob Schneider movie for laughs. For a visitor in winter there is no shortage of downtime spent inside due to the brutal cold (particularly unbearable if one has spent the last several years in tropical Hong Kong) and the ensuing boredom can get pretty maddening. There is a finite amount of television or Playstation 2 a person can engage in before looking for something else to pass the time and lift the ennui.

Enter my downfall, stage left.

At first I only used it sparingly. Just a guilty pleasure every now and again over the Christmas holidays. Then I brought my shiny, new albatross back to Hong Kong with me. I even used it on the plane home.

Once back in the Kong, I was still telling myself that I had it under control. I used it more often. Never at work of course. I didn't need it, I kept telling myself- as if saying it over and over again would make it so. It was something I could do when I wanted and stop doing when I wanted. I had it well under control and there was no way in hell I was going to end up like those other people.

And then one day I began to realize that things had gone too far. I'd been losing sleep because of it. I found myself doing it rather than facing pressing life problems that needed my attention. I began to get more secretive about doing it.

And then the cravings started. Not very intense at first, but insistent nevertheless. Soon I was using it in the middle of the night. In the morning before work. During work. Even this very blog suffered. It's been a long time since my last entry, no?

So, I'm going to do this publicly so that there are others who will hold me accountable: from now on I steadfastly refuse to be a slave to.......

Facebook!

There will be no more games where I run my own Farm! No more more reading about what a casual acquaintance of mine I last saw in 1983 needs to buy at the store! No more looking at a list of books that my tailor read! No more assuming that anyone wants to know what I've read! No more updating the world at large on what I'm going to make for dinner! No more pokes! No more hugs! No more pieces of flair! No more rounds of non-existent drinks! No more surveys or Top 5 Favorite Things or Graffiti or 30-Random-Things-Nobody-Knows-About-Me or "John Smith Just Became a Fan of...NOT DYING!"......AAAUUUGGHHH!!! I WANT MY LIFE BAAAAAAAAACK!!!

Ahhhh. Okay, I feel better now. That was cathartic.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go share my new manifesto with the 118 Facebook friends I've cultivated.

Well, what did you expect? I mean, I can't just quit cold turkey...

The Assimilation is Complete

2009-07-08T13:13:00.009+08:00

Well, it's finally happened. The Girl, though resisting with every fiber of her being, has become a Chinese-American. She's not thrilled and, naturally, she blames me.

It was a long time coming, really, and she held out as long as she could, but it appears that living me with me has, over time, changed her irreversibly. Witness this exchange we had just moments ago on the telephone:

Me: So, when are you going back to visit your parents?

The Girl: I dunno. Now this other company wants to interview me again. My flight is tomorrow at 7 PM so if I don't hear back from them before tomorrow morning I'm screwed- I'll have to change my flight. Jesus Christ, this is freakin' ridiculous!

Me: HOLY SHIT! You sound like an American!!!

The Girl: No way! What the hellaya talkin' about?!?

Me: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

The Girl: I hate you.

Yep. She's Chinese-American alright. I expect that pretty soon her food portion sizes will triple, her knowledge of world geography will totally vanish, and she will thereafter develop an uncontrollable desire to run people off the road with a massive SUV that she doesn't even know how to park.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta go. I've got a fish head boiling, my rice is ready and my jasmine tea is getting cold.

HOLY SHIT!

You Know What They Say About A Man With a Small Apartment...

2009-07-01T21:24:00.006+08:00

Welcome to my living room.

Much has happened since my last entry. Lots of celebrity deaths, North Korea is acting the angry child again, Iranians have learned, much like Democrats did in 2000, that elections can be stolen, and The Girl and I have moved to a new place.

Obviously, the most important of these is my new place, so I'll talk about that.

It's not that we disliked our old place, it's just that with the wife unemployed and me raking in indentured servant's wages, we weren't willing to keep paying more in a month than most people in third world countries make in a lifetime. And, if I'm honest, there wasn't really all that much to do there other than watch people count their money, ignore their children and devise new and clever ways to abase their Filipina domestic helpers.

We were ensconced in an overly secure, exclusive expat enclave and rarely, if ever, ran into anyone who wasn't an investment professional or married to one. This, for me, wasn't ideal as I think most of those guys are dicks. Sorry, just my impression. To be fair, I'm sure some are perfectly tolerable. And only the guys- I don't really know many female investment pros except my wife, and I obviously think she's cool as hell. (I gotta say that- she reads this thing)

So, we've moved out of the Sorrento development high atop Kowloon MTR station, and have settled in to an area of HK called Sheung Wan. Sheung Wan is old Hong Kong and it's on the edge of Central HK (home to Dior, Armani, scores of Rolex shops and the financial district). So, we're kind of in the epicenter of HK, but living in a more down-to-earth type of area. We still have a nice apartment, but Starbucks out of reach.

For my part, I had nothing to do with choosing this place as I'm teaching full-time again and I don't really have much time for anything but that and the commute. I did, however, insist that I have a view of the water. Other than that, I didn't really care where we moved to.

BIG mistake, that.

It's not that I didn't want to move to Sheung Wan. In fact, we lived here in a furnished apartment for about three months as soon as we moved here and I loved it. The area has character. It's old China meets new China and I find that fascinating.

No, my problems lie elsewhere. First, the apartment itself. When she took me here to show me the place a couple of weeks ago, I walked in and said "I hate it." Then I looked out the living room's picture window only to realize that I was staring at Victoria Peak, not Victoria Harbour. That is to say, our apartment faces away from the harbour.

Look, I don't mind looking at a mini-mountain every morning when I get up, it's just that my view is clearly waterless. When I called her on it, she used a technicality to argue that I never expressly stated that I wanted to see Victoria Harbour and that, if I looked real hard, I could see the bathtub-sized fountain at the entrance to our building.

On top of that, the bathroom is miniscule, the living room is more like a closet and, God help me, the bedroom is smaller than my office at work.

I guess there will be no installing the pommel horse and gymnastic ring set that I bought for the bedroom...

A Shout-Out From the Sugar Jar

2009-06-09T01:04:00.004+08:00

When quizzed by an official form or government survey of some sort, The Girl's first inclination is always to assert that we were married on July 8th. I will say June 16th. The fact that we were married on June 2nd only becomes apparent after we've huddled in conference for half a minute or so. If nothing else, at least we're consistent.

So, yes, once again - and maintaining a perfect record for us - we both forgot our anniversary again this year. If it weren't for my Mother, we would likely never have remembered. Ever.

June 3rd, any year:

Mom: What did you guys do for your anniversary?
Me: Oh shiiiiiit!

This is unusual for me, but it is spectacularly odd for any woman I have ever known. I've asked her too, you know, "Is something wrong with us? Isn't it bad that we keep forgetting the day we got married?"

Her reply, somehow as Chinese as it gets, was "No, because we both live in the sugar jar every day."

I'm not sure I really fully understand what that means.

But I like it.

Phuket- Let's go to Thailand!

2009-05-26T04:52:00.031+08:00

We got up, The Girl and I, at 5 AM on Sunday and ambled around trying to make sure we had everything we were going to want or need before the plane took off. Satisfied that we'd packed all that we needed to enjoy our time on Thailand's Phuket island, we headed out the door toward HK International airport.

We got there with just enough time left to stroll casually to the gate, hop on the plane, grab some newspapers and magazines to read from the stewardess and then we were off. Three and a half hours later, our plane touched down at the small airport in Phuket (poo-get) and we were off and running.

The resort we're staying at had a car and driver waiting to pick us up and, once safely delivered to the lobby, we found out that they'd upgraded our room. Quite nice of them I feel. And it is quite a nice room.

As soon as we'd moved into our room and put all of our stuff where it needed to go, it was off to explore the resort, check out the resident baby elephants and then hit the beach. We spent about 27 bucks on three beers before realizing that the beach vendors weren't affiliated with the hotel and that our hotel would have charged us $9.

Lesson learned, we sat back, enjoyed few more beverages and watched the world go by for a few hours. Ahhhhh....

Dinner was a weekly Sunday evening buffet consisting of only Thai specialties and what the ocean's salt water lacked in cleaning out my sinuses, the Thai chili peppers made up for. I was particularly fond of a soup I'd never seen before. It was chicken soup mixed with coconut milk and some kind of chili sauce. Not too hot, just really, really tasty. Can't remember the name though. And, as an aside, who knew that the world had limes that were red inside? Go figure.

Our all-you-can-eat dinner finished, we waddled back to our room where we laid down at about 7:30 PM and proceeded to sleep for 12 hours. Must have been the long travel day or something, but we slept well and soundly.

The next morning we got up at 5 and went to watch the sunset. Then we hired a driver to take us wherever we wanted to go for 5 hours. First up- Khao Phra Thaeo National Park. Touted by all the tourist maps (and our hotel concierge) as teeming with wildlife, lakes and waterfalls, the last of Phuket's virgin rainforests was, um, a disappointment. Particularly to The Girl.

When we got there we paid $400 Baht each (about US $11.60) each to wander around. Our conversation went something like this:

Her: Jackass
Me: What?!?
Her: You call this a lake?
Me: Well, that's probably not the one they were talking about.
Her: Then what's this sign that says "home to many species of indigenous fish, the BIG lake...."
Me: So?
Her: It's a muddy hole in the ground!
Me: What, I control the freakin' water table now?
Her: Jackass

Next it was off to the "waterfall". I'm sure it's quite spectacular after a monsoon, but at the moment it's more of a waterdrip, really.

Her: Perfect. This is perfect! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Me: Shut up
Her: And did you read the map you just bought? It says "the large numbers of various wildlife tend to stay out of sight...."
Me: Well, they'd do that wouldn't they?
Her: Let's just go somewhere else before we find the trees are plastic.

Ah, but redemption was soon to be mine as the next choice of destination was hers and she chose the famous reclining Buddha on Si-Re island. The driver, clearly unfamiliar with this storied place, drove us to a hilltop monastery guarded by flea-ridden, malnourished dogs who seemed intent that we move on rather quickly. Okay, so it wasn't actually anything she screwed up, but one must gloat any way one can.

Also taking up alot of print in our tour material was the "Heroines National Monument". It's a statue of two sisters who are said to have saved Thailand from invasion by Burma (now Myanmar) in 1785. Sounds inspirational, yeah?

It's a small statue in a traffic circle at a busy intersection in Phuket City.

Yeah, there's not much to see in Phuket outside of the beach areas. Not much to see that's interesting anyway. Unless you like squalor and poverty, that is. If so, this is the place to be.

Out of options, we went to the Phuket Zoo. Billed as the place to go in Phuket for "Crocodile, Monkey and Elephant shows", this place has to be right up there with Auschwitz and Anne Frank's attic for places that will suck the joy out of one's day in sixty seconds or less.

Animal Rights orgs would, and probably do, call for this place to be shutdown. None of the animals seem happy, or even content, and they are all malnourished. Fish floated dead in their tanks. Elephants are effectively immobilized by virtue of being tethered to very short chains attached to massive steaks in the ground. The place is dirty, the staff look like convicts and / or junkies, and it stinks as though it has never been cleaned. Oh- and the "Butterfly Zoo" exhibit? Yeah, it doesn't have any butterflies. They're all dead. That crunching sound you hear when you walk in? Yeah.

Deciding to pull the plug on our tour before we ended up utterly suicidal, we went to a grocery store on the way back to our hotel. I figured it would be better to buy a 12 pack of beer locally and then just put it on ice in the bathroom sink.

Once there, I engaged in something I always do when in a new country- I wander through the aisles, checking out the kinds of foods that are on the shelves. I like to take note of the differences of what people eat as compared to what I might find in a Jewel Foods Store in Chicago. I also like to see which American foods have made the cut and are being imported to various places around the world. Weird, I know, but it fascinates me. I will usually pick up a sauce or condiment that seems popular, this time it was a chili sauce made with honey that can be spread on bread like jam.

While I was doing this, one thing that immediately caught my eye was all of the old white guys walking around with their shopping carts and their hot, young Thai girlfriends or wives. Unseemly, that. I'm sorry, but it's just too weird. Here they are, these old guys with white hair, creaky legs and pot-bellies, walking hand in hand with some 18 year old Thai beauty queen. I mean, it's obviously a love born of financial need, and I guess it's none of my business, but it's just bizarre.

Once back at the hotel, it was time for an hour on the treadmill followed by a long swim in the pool, interrupted frequently by trips to the swim-up bar. The guy made this frozen strawberry-Mango-rum thing that was just wickedly good.

And that, folks, is our first full day in Thailand. I don't believe we're going to be so ambitious for the rest of the week. Frankly, I think I'll stick to the resort area. It's much less depressing.

Meet my Four New Sons and Daughters!

2009-05-06T21:21:00.010+08:00

As I have previously mentioned in this here blog, there's been lots of baby planning at Casa de Chewy lately. The newest diversion? www.makemebabies.com. That's right- make me babies.com

This website is fueled by face recognition and morphing technologies. The wife saw a post by Beaverboosh, a cyber-friend that I totally want to drink myself stupid with one of these days, regarding this very same thing and we checked it out.

I've no idea how accurate or inaccurate the pictures are, I can only let them speak for themselves. The only thing I can really add is that the first kid - the kid in the red shirt with the red hair? He looks shockingly like I did when I was little. It's really quite amazing.

We enjoyed looking at the photos and had a nice evening. The next morning she found me checking out what the end result of me bedding Angelina Jolie might look like. Sadly, our progeny didn't look so good- red hair, huge lips. Think Mick Jagger sexes up John Madden (that mind-picture is free. Enjoy). Or perhaps like a fat, little red-headed blowfish.

Next up, Salma Hayek ;-)

Live From Hong Kong- It's The Plague!

2009-05-03T17:02:00.010+08:00

Hey everyone. Long time, ay? This is the part where I'm supposed to apologize for not posting, and then write something like "it's just that I've been so busy." The thing is, I don't really feel the need to apologize and I actually haven't been all that busy. I have, however, been spectacularly lazy.

Anyway, much has happened since I last posted here, not loads of it good. Among the steamiest of piles of good news, The Girl got laid off some time ago and I've gone back to teaching full time as a buffer against us relocating to a nice, quiet place under one of Hong Kong's many small bridges.

Not a big deal, really. It's actually been quite good for me in that I get to be the de facto breadwinner for a change. It's allowed me to reclaim a sense of manly dignity, a loss of which is implicit when one's wife makes 10 times what he does. So that has been pleasant.

Still, I hope the hell she gets a gig so I can go back to working part-time, studying and exploring the intricacies of the new playbooks in Madden Football 2009.

Anyway, let's move on to the present....

Hong Kong is certifiably spooked. Given the whole SARS fiasco of 2003, and the almost three hundred deaths associated with it, I can't say I don't understand the hysteria. Still, this whole swine flu thing is turning out to be a bit comical. Everybody here has a facemask and one little cough is enough to cause panic in even the most serene of situations- even now that many experts are saying this strain of the virus looks to be relatively benign.

I've also seen several family pets wearing masks and that's given me plenty of laughs recently. You've not truly experienced comedy until you've seen a family of five, complete with their plumpy little basset hound, strolling quietly down the street with their masks on. I didn't get close enough to see how they kept the mask on the little beast, but I have to assume it was somehow tied around the poor bastard's snout.

If you read world news at all you've no doubt read about the hotel in Hong Kong's Wanchai district that was the unlucky host of the first confirmed swine flu carrier in Hong Kong. The whole hotel was ordered to be quarantined for a week and the guests, well, they are reported to be unhappy at best.

First there's the whole now-we-can't-go-see-the-big-buddha (or one of the many other tourist traps) annoyance. Secondly, I'm certain they came here expecting to enjoy the likes of dim sum, chile-garlic crabs and Beijing Duck, and they are apparently being fed spam sandwiches and bottled water. Ouch. I long to see those "Tell Us How We're Doing!" survey cards.

It's been killing business in the area as well. And, since Wanchai is the home of Hong Kong's red light district, I'm sure there are plenty of hookers that are really bummed out this weekend. And, no doubt, slashing prices. The hookies here are nothing if not astute business people.

The television has non-stop coverage of the events surrounding the poor Mexican national who brought the flu here, as well as the hunt for the other airplane passengers who sat next to the guy and the two cab drivers who drove him around during his first day here in the Fragrant Harbour. It's reached such a fever pitch that I'm imagining citizens roaming the streets at night with torches, pitchforks and zero tolerance.

With The Girl on the mainland meeting contacts and looking for leads on a new gig, and all of my friends using this long holiday weekend (Buddha's Birthday) to spend three days traveling in Asia, I've been left to my own devices for amusement.

The front-runner so far has been to wait until there's lots of people around and then cover up my mouth and cough like I need an iron lung. I actually learned this by accident. On Friday morning I was on my way to Starbucks when my morning smoker's hack kicked in. Next thing I know, there's Mothers and Nannys shielding the children's faces and running as if their asses were on fire. Ahh, good times.

I've also decided not to wear a mask. Even though the decision was effectively been made for me by virtue of the fact that there are no masks left to buy in HK, I had already decided not to. And though the reading I've done suggests that the benefits of wearing a mask are minimal at best, I made my decision based purely on sartorial splendor. It's just not a good look for me.

Plus, I eat lots of garlic and there's no fun in the inevitable garlic-blowback that would take place inside a facemask. Besides, my Mom, who is also the family herbalist and witch doctor, tells me garlic is an anti-viral, immunity boosting substance.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I plan to go avenge mankind by cooking up a nice rack of babyback ribs in the stove-top smoker...

Welcome to the Inquisition

2009-03-12T13:50:00.008+08:00

Went to the doctor with my wife yesterday. Ostensibly our visit was just for us each to have an annual check-up and to talk to the doctor about preparations The Girl should take for having a baby. As is so often the case with these kinds of things, what really happened is that I got a verbal ass whipping from the Doctor (and my wife) for an hour and half.

I went in presuming we'd be discussing the need for her to take 400 micrograms of Folic acid every day but instead I came out with a band-aid on my arm, a truckload of vitamins, a box of nicotine patches and referrals to a radiologist, a nutritionist and a personal trainer. Good thing we didn't stay longer or I'd be taking piano lessons too, for crissakes.

And all the while, as Doctor Wong is reminding me that I have to quit smoking and blah blah blah blah...I see my wife, who is sitting behind the Doctor, smiling and sticking her tongue out at me. Really annoying. Normally I would have whipped out my brand-new Cantonese cuss words (and nobody swears as creatively- or anywhere near as dirty - as the Cantonese) but I just had to sit there listening to our Doctor scold me like some kind of chastened schoolboy.

I remember wanting desperately to stand up, declare myself an emancipated man and announce that I was off to get hammered, smoke a carton of squares, snort a meat lovers pizza and look at pictures of boobies.

Of course, what I really did was nod and smile knowingly while trying to look interested. At one point I was thinking about whether the world really needs the pilot of the plane that ditched in the Hudson, Sully, to be writing a motivational book, before I moved on to wonder whether Bernie Madoff will be gang raped in prison or not.

So now I have a world of things on my agenda. Let's see, there's x-rays next week. Then a return visit to Doctor Wong so that she can berate me over the almost certainly horrific results of my blood work, followed by a stern talking to from my newly appointed nutritionist (who I can only hope has big boobies) and, finally, a 24 week beat-down by a personal trainer from Vladivostok named Ivan. Oh, yes- and nicotine withdrawl symptoms. They say it's common for people who are quitting smoking to become angry.

At least there's one thing I've already accomplished.

Two more things before I head to school to do battle with 4 year olds:

In other news, I got an email from the managing editor of Ask Men, wanting to know if I would be interested in writing an article for their web magazine (webazine?) about living in Hong Kong, etc.. It's really not that big of a deal - a 400 word puff piece- but money is money and so, word whore that I am, I said "absolutely." Dunno when they're posting it but, since it's supposed to be part of the "2009 Best Cities to Live in", I imagine it won't be long. For all I know it's already on there.

Also, and most importantly, I want to give a shout out, and lots of Love, to my niece Sam. Just a few weeks shy of her 18th birthday, Sam was just diagnosed with a form of Leukemia and she's currently rockin' that bitch from the confines of a hospital bed in Chicago. She has a Facebook page where you can show your support as she goes through the process of beating it. Perhaps you could stop by, say hi, and join the party?

Right, now it's off to the Monster Farm...

It's All Fun & Games Until Someone Gets it in the Neck

2009-03-02T12:05:00.013+08:00

I talk in my sleep. It seems to me like this is a fairly new phenomenon but I guess I'd have to ask some other people about that. In any case, I now talk in my sleep every night. I also make physical gestures and this explains why on some occasions I have woken up with my arms up in the air in various positions, sometimes even my legs. I can remember once that I had been dreaming about being at a party and I snapped out of it to see my arms up in the air and crossed, the elbows extended outward as though I were bellied up to a cold one somewhere.

But I said all of that to say this- none of that can hold a candle to this morning. This morning I woke up laughing hysterically. As if most often the case, I can't remember what I was dreaming about before I woke up but, whatever it was, it must have been incredibly funny as I was laughing so hard my stomach hurt.

I have to say, it's a fantastic way to wake up! I was more energized than I've been in ages and happy as a clam while I wandered out to the kitchen to make coffee. Then, as the coffee brewed, I went downstairs and made my way to the 7-11 to get the South China Morning Post. I passed the old guy that does Tai Chi with a silver sword every morning and the Filipina nannies playing with their charges on the playground, crossed the courtyard and took the elevator down to the shopping mall / train station, saying "Jo san" to the security guards along the way. Mind you, I was whistling the whole time on what happens to be an otherwise gloomy, windy and, by Hong Kong standards, chilly morning.

As I was sitting at the kitchen table, getting ready to write an essay for Philosophy class and ruminating on how great it was to wake up in metaphorical stitches, I answered my cell phone. It was The Girl and she was freaked out.

Turns out her company has just put their long knives to the throats of scores of employees and even closed down their office in South America outright. I didn't have to ask what this means for the Hong Kong office. It doesn't look good.

As we talked on the phone, we discussed things that we need to consider now that there is a very real potential that she, too, will get the hook. We talked about the possibility of my going back to work for one of the companies that I used to work for in the States (but just as quickly ruled it out almost entirely), about whether we should just stay in Hong Kong and tough it out, and even about the whether we should perhaps move to Shanghai or Beijing. We agreed that, in any eventuality, it has become clear that we are likely to have some very big decisions to make in the very near future.

And suddenly I wished it was all just a dream that I would awaken from at any moment.

Laughing.

It Came From The West

2009-02-26T20:37:00.005+08:00

Well, if anything is going to get me in warmer water with the Chinese - er - "Hong Kong" government, it might very well be this post.

First, some background. Last year, during the run-up to the Olympics, people used the Olympic torch ceremonies as a world stage in order to protest China's handling of Tibet. It happened in every country the torch passed through and Hong Kong was nervous when the torch was on its way here.

They were so worried, in fact, that they refused entry to scores of people in an attempt to head off any disturbances. If they thought you might, in any way, use your time here to protest, you were sent packing before you could even get out of the gate.

Now, as all this was happening, I didn't agree with Hong Kong's stance on the subject but I could at least understand why they were doing what they did. And, to be honest, I really didn't care.

Fast forward to just a couple of weeks ago. I'm reading the South China Morning Post and I had to do a double-take. "Nah", thought I, "couldn't be. I must have read that wrong." But I hadn't read it wrong.

"Request for Mugabe family residency in Hong Kong approved"

That would be Robert Mugabe. Some call him the President of Zimbabwe. I, and sane people everywhere, call him a murderous, thieving psychopath.

Robert Mugabe took power in Zimbabwe, a country which, by African standards at least, was at that time very successful and prosperous, in 1980 and brought he country and its people to complete and total ruin. He stole everything he could get his hands on, killed whoever he felt like killing (and he felt like killing alot), caused his country to enter into hyperinflation, mass starvation, illiteracy, crime, disease, and well documented stone age medical care. That is, when stone age medical care is even available, which it is most often not.

Meanwhile, his daughter goes to a good school in HK (Chinese Univeristy of Hong Kong) and his wife is staying at the Shangri-la hotel and buying up everything on sale at only the most fashionable shops. Oh yeah- and they just bought a house in Tai Po worth 45 million dollars.

What the F@!K is his family doing here and why was this approved?!?!? What kind of message does this send to China's citizens and the world at large??? This guy should have nowhere to go. Nowhere.

Yet, here he is.

This is really, really creepy. His wife, Grace, known for her stratospheric spending, will be right at home here at Gucci and Tiffany's. Meanwhile, Zimbabweans will be starving to death back home. Nice. I would wonder how she sleeps but I'm sure it's soundly and on a golden gilded, diamond studded pillow.

The decision to let this bastard's family into Hong Kong could only have been made in Beijing. There is simply no other explanation for it. And it makes me really, really angry.

Mrs. Mugabe, by the way, has learned a thing or two from her husband. Seems she was coming out of her swank Hong Kong hotel when a photographer from the Times Online started snapping her picture. She had her bodyguard hold the photographer so that she could punch him in the face while wearing her massive diamond rings. The guy's face, of course, doesn't look so good. Police are said to be "investigating" but something tells me that nothing will come of it. You can read the story here.

This, by the way, is the second assault that Mugabe's people have been accused of. Another couple of photographers were reportedly assaulted by two women and one man while trying to take pictures of the asshole's new Hong Kong mansion.

So, the guy's family has only been here for less than two months and already they're on a crime spree. Fantastic.

The people in Beijing who made this decision should be ashamed.

Consider That Bullet Dodged

2009-02-20T14:25:00.003+08:00

So I get a call from The Girl last week, calling me from some hotel room in either Boston or New York, I can't remember which, asking me how I would feel about moving to Manhattan.

Hmm.

You know, if she'd asked me that question even 6 months ago I would have been excited about moving back home, would have started packing before I even answered the question. Strange, then, that I felt so differently when she posed the question to me last week. All of a sudden I realized- I don't want to leave.

I told her that I knew it would be good for her career and at least I would be back in the states, closer to Chicago, etc., etc., etc.. Except, the thing is? To me it was actually very bad news. It took a little while but I kind of feel like Hong Kong is my home now - I realized it when my plane was landing at HK International after our trip to Chicago at Christmas.

I've made friends here, I love my job, the people and culture are fascinating and (for the most part) cool, there are interesting countries to visit all within a short distance, crime is fantastically low and, let's be honest, the weather doesn't suck.

On the other hand, there are many things that I don't miss about the states. Drive-by shootings would be one example. Rob Schneider's movies would be another. Intolerant, right-wing, religious fundamentalists cramming their beliefs down my throat, horribly mismanaged public transportation, Paris Hilton, horribly mismanaged public schools, Necco Wafers, frivolous lawsuits, "Gangsta" Rap, reality tv shows that celebrate and reward the stupidity of the contestants...I could go on but you get the idea.

I guess the truth is, while America will always be my home, I have another one now and, really, the only things calling me back to the US are my friends and family. And quite frankly? I can see you mopes whenever I want to endure a 15 hour flight.

Not that I take you for granted, of course.

Anyway, as the week went on, I accepted that we would probably be moving away and made my peace with it. Although, one thing was really frosting my ass- I mean, for the Love of God, could there be a worse freakin' time to move back to the states?!?!? There's no jobs to be had and I don't relish the thought of standing outside a soup kitchen singing "Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?", foraging for nuts and friggin' berries or dumpster diving for curly fries.

I went out for dim sum with some friends and I felt kind of sad that I wouldn't be able to do it anymore after I moved away. I mean, other than not having to do homework most Saturday nights, it's the thing that I look forward to the most during the week.

Though I tried to act excited about the impending move, The Girl knew better and she was as surprised at my reaction as I was. Thankfully, for me anyway (not so much her career) , it's all come to naught as her company has decided to keep her in the Hong Kong office.

So, although I Love you guys and miss you all, I have to admit that I'm glad I won't be seeing you soon. Of course, as always, most of you are welcome to visit whenever you like.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go have dim sum. And then I'm going to come right back home.

My Wife The Gweilo

2009-02-15T15:11:00.006+08:00

There's been an interesting dynamic taking shape in my marriage lately, a weird cultural thing that has taken root and has become the source of great fun for me and what must be the source of, at the very least, some small measure of embarrassment for The Girl.

See, in her job here in Hong Kong she deals exclusively with either mainland Chinese people or westerners. All of her friends here are mainland Chinese as well. Rarely, if ever, does she come in contact with a true Honger. So, as a result, she doesn't know the slightest bit of Cantonese other than to reply "jo san" (good morning) back to the doormen in our building on her way to work.

I, on the other hand, both at work and socially, interact almost exclusively with Hong Kongers and I know at least a little bit of Cantonese; enough to say certain things that need to be said from time to time, anyway.

I have to say, it's weird to occasionally feel more Chinese than my wife is. Of course I rub it in whenever possible. Just the other day we were trying to get off a crowded train and she, trying to push past people to disembark, was trying to say the equivalent of excuse me ("n-goy") but is really saying "My guy! My guy!". Laughed so hard I damn near missed our stop. Bless her heart, she tries to be one of us...

Here are a few more of her Cantonese faux pas from recent weeks... ("ng" just sounds like "n")

"Dodgy" = Daw-je (thank you)
"Joes Toe" = Jo Tau (goodnight)
"In silent hay" = ng-sai-haa-hay (you're welcome)
"Cheap so high bend over"= Chee-saw-hai-been-doa (where is the bathroom?)
"Gay doctrine" = Gay-daw-cheen (how much does it cost?)
"Laid gay ho or more"= Lay-gay-ho-a-ma (how are you?)
"Gawdy Helmet yeah" = Gaw-dee-haw-mot-yea (What is that?)

"Gay ho" = Gay ho (I'm fine, thanks) *She always gets this one right for some reason*

Next week we're going to work on how to haggle with shopkeepers ;-)

Operation Ovulation (send oxygen)

2009-02-12T21:42:00.007+08:00

I should have seen it coming. I just cannot believe I didn't see it coming.

A couple of weeks ago The Girl went to mainland China to spend a week with her family at her sister's house in Guilin over the week of Chinese New Year.

First, I should mention that, while we both agreed a couple years ago that we want kids, we haven't really done the things we needed to do to make that happen (other than the obvious- that we've been doing). That is to say, we didn't stop using birth control, etc..

This is mainly because she has spent alot of time dwelling on the logistics of the whole thing, as if we were rolling out a new product line. "Is it too soon?", "maybe it's not the right time", "perhaps next year would be better, when the financials look rosier" - stuff like that. One week she'd be on board and the next she'd be worrying about some calamity that was sure to befall the child due to its parents' poor project management skills.

And then, as I said, The Girl went to see her family in Guilin...and her sister's three month-old baby. Her younger sister's three month-old baby. Double trouble.

So, we have a cuddly little bundle of smiling sunshine sporting that fresh, clean baby smell...being held and cared for day and night by my Taitai for a week straight.

HOLY CHRIST did she come back on a mission!

And I'm, quite frankly, exhausted. It's like the Bataan death march around here lately! Sometimes I pretend to be asleep so I can give my aching bone(s) a rest.

I now have, on my iMac, a brand-spanking new program called (and I am not making this up) iOvulate. That's right- iOvulate. This software uses calculations based on her menstrual cycle to determine which days of the month she is most fertile. There's a calendar that pops up with green shaded days which lets us know that these are the most fertile days of the month. She told me, in no uncertain terms mind you, that on these green days I "need to come home from work, get a shower and get busy".

Fantastic.

Look- I'm not complaining about having alot of sex...well, okay, I am complaining about having alot of sex. But it's just that it's much more difficult to have lots and lots of it than it used to be. I got muscles twitching and pulling and aching that I didn't even know were there. Hell, last time I was convinced my spine had shattered in 4 places. During foreplay.

It's gotten to the point where, when I see her coming toward me, I try to blend into my surroundings unseen, like some kind of terrified Ninja. I've taken to wearing alot of Paisley so that I am better camouflaged when sitting in front of the psychedelic mural in our living room. And then I sit there all the time.

I've also learned that when she wants me to "get busy", my saying things such as "you can't be serious", "yer freakin' killin' me here" or "but I'm watching Larry King Live!" may not necessarily be the best approach.

The other day I tried faking an injury. Came limping in the door after work and all of a sudden she's my high school gym teacher. "Alright, Lent, let me take a look at it. Oh, yeah, you're fine- shake it off. Now drop and give me 50!"

I guess I shouldn't really complain, I mean, I want a baby very soon too. And, to be fair, it's not as though I don't enjoy it. I should really just shut up and keep eating my Wheaties. Still...

You think she'd take a doctor's note?

Attack of the Killer Chicken Feet

2009-02-09T15:15:00.005+08:00

Some years back on one of our first dates, The Girl took me to a restaurant in the China town section of Philadelphia. There I looked on aghast as we were presented with chicken feet in a bamboo steamer. I must surely have looked even more repulsed when I saw the Love of my life pick up a chopstick and get to work stripping those little suckers clean. Ugh. Can't believe I still married her.

Anyhow, since that time I have sworn to myself that I would not eat chicken feet. Not because I feel sorry for the chicken, but because it just seems kind of gross. I know it shouldn't feel that way, given that I have no problems eating chicken legs, thighs and breast, but there it is just the same. Plus, there's no meat on them. And, well, they're feet.

All that changed when I met my friend Miu for dim sum today. She just would not leave it alone and so, just to shut her the hell up, I gnawed on a chicken foot.

Enjoy.

Meanwhile, Back at the Monster Farm...

2009-02-06T13:03:00.006+08:00

So thanks to one of my students, I had a mouthful of Red Bull shoot out of my nose yesterday. And, no, snorting Red Bull is not at all as glamorous as it sounds.

See if you can guess which one of the statements below, all culled from my kids since I got back from my trip home to the US at Christmas, was what caused me to have a nice caffeine and taurine nasal rinse.......

"I know why America talk about Present Obama so much. He only can be Present 'cause his boss, Present Moses, freed the slaves in 1968."

"Teacher Gary! Teacher Gary! Chloe keeps crying and then Eva went wee-wee in her pants. Is not going well, should I go get us some help?"

Me: Eddie, what did you do for Chinese New Year?
Eddie: Nothing. We were going to Macau but Mommy's brother came to our house and she say he can't be left alone 'cuz he can't be crusted.
Me: So you stayed home then, huh?
Eddie: Yeah. And Daddy lock up all of da cough medicine.

Ziva: Uncle Garick, am I a good girl today?
Me: Yes, of course, little Ziva, you're always a good girl! Why do you ask?
Ziva: Um, 'cuz last year I started a little late to be good for Santa and so I didn't get my bicycle. This year I'm going to be good ALL year and he has to get it or else I will tell all of the other children that he's a liar.

Oscar: Teacher Gary, do you watch "Thomas and Friends"?
Me: No buddy, I don't.
Oscar: How 'bout "Squirrel Boy"?
Me: No, I don't watch that either.
Oscar: "Dexter's Laboratory"?
Gary: Nope.
Oscar: Is it because of that lady you live with won't let you watch it? You can come to my house to watch it, you know. I feel sorry if you never get to see "Thomas" because life is too short to miss out on stuff and you will be very old that you will die soon so you should play more now.

Fatty McButterpants Gets a Drill Instructor

2009-01-08T22:39:00.008+08:00

It all started out innocently enough. See, I was already sporting some extra obesitude (I hereby claim the coining and trademark of that word for Chewy Enterprises LTD.) when I went back home for Christmas. I knew it and I was concerned, sure, but not nearly concerned enough to deny myself that artery clogging, diabetes inducing, belt snapping goodness that is the best of Chicago cuisine.

My first stop after we'd picked the rental car up at O'hare was Lou Malnati's Pizza - and this before I'd even stopped to visit my very own Mom! Thereafter, until we flew back to Hong Kong, I ran a deadly gauntlet of giant burritos, Italian Beef & Sausage sandwich combos (with cheese of course) and a regular morning regimen of greasy spoon breakfasts chock-full-o' cholesterol and trans fats.

Christ, I haven't seen my feet in weeks.

And so it was that when we got back to Hong Kong, The Girl and I had the following conversation:

"Wow, Boy, after Chicago you really have alot of meat!" (In Girl-speak that means I'm freakin' huge)

"Thanks, appreciate that. You really know how to spot the obvious, you know?"

"I'm just worried about you, that's all"

"Well, I said I was going to drop 20 pounds immediately after we got back and th..."

"But then you put on 10 more in Chicago so now you have to lose 30"

"Aw fer Crissakes..."

"Do you want me to help you to lose weight?"

And this is where the wheels fell off. Simply because I replied "yeah, sure- however you can."

*** Insert ominous, doom-like chord here ***

The next morning my alarm went off at 7 AM. This was odd because I didn't have to work that day and, even if I had, I would have set my alarm for 8:30. Before I could really do a full assessment of what the hell was happening, I felt the covers being ripped off of me, a cold draft enveloping me and a thin, reedy voice saying...

"Get up, Boy! You gotta go on the treadmill! I'm not going to leave you alone to sleep so you might as well just get up...fatty!"

Grrrrrrr. Having weighed the pros and cons and coming to the conclusion that knocking her out would be a decidedly bad thing to do, I dragged my humorless demeanor and astonishing girth out to the living room to do battle with the unholy TX-2000. The Devil's Treadmill.

Later that day, both of us having the day off, we decided to go out for lunch somewhere near out apartment. We chose a Chinese restaurant that I really, really Love- mainly because they make the best spring rolls and Har Gau on the planet - and settled in with a cup of tea while we waited to order. I asked a passing waitress for a menu and she said "more?" which baffled me.

As if on cue, the waiter came with our food....that we hadn't ordered??? Turns out The Girl faxed our order in advance so that she could order for me. Son of a....

There were vegetables, many of which I'd never seen before. There were three kinds of tofu, all of which I never want to see again. And there was rice. Lots and lots of rice. Sadly, it was steamed rice. Not fried- steamed. As was I right about then.

And so this is how it's been going since we got back from Chicago. My Honey Nut Cheerios? Banished, replaced with a small bowl of plain oatmeal with a couple of bonus blueberries thrown in there like some kind of twisted joke. My Ben & Jerry's Chubby Hubby? Gone, she ate it with her girlfriends. No word on what happened to my bratwursts but it doesn't look good.

I gotta put a stop to this, reclaim my own free will. Gotta walk right up to her like a man and say...

Ooops, sorry, gotta go!

She's calling me for evening calisthenics.

Bozo, Gar & Ray

2008-12-25T19:55:00.007+08:00

I got an unexpected present while I was home in Chicago for Christmas this year- I got to be 7 years old again, at least for a little while, and it was fantastic.

I had a chance to relive my childhood a little bit in the form of a retrospective of some Chicago-area children's entertainment shows. Long after my wife and our host had gone to bed (fortunately for me, separately) I sat up watching a WGN television show recalling the heyday of such Chicago area children's shows as Bozo's Circus, Ray Rayner & Friends and Garfield Goose. And since these shows were really mostly vehicles for running syndicated cartoons, I got to watch some of them as well.

All the classic cartoons known to every kid who ever watched TV in Chicago in the 60's and 70's were represented. There was the 1954 UPA version of "Frosty the Snowman" along with such holiday stalwarts as "Suzie Snowflake" and "Hardrock, Coco & Joe: The Three Little Elves".

Back in 1974 I would watch these shows, Bozo, Ray Rayner and Garfield Goose, every morning before leaving for school, looking for signs that my school had been closed for a snow day.

As I watched it all again the other night I felt, juuuuuust for a minute, as though I had a big yellow bus to catch. And, it was the damnedest thing, at some point I suddenly had the conscious realization that I had been watching with a big smile on my face the entire time- as if I was 7 years old all over again.

Lame? Perhaps...but it felt pretty good all the same.

Hello, America- IIIIIIIIII'm Home!

2008-12-10T09:50:00.014+08:00

At 14 1/2 hours, thanks to good weather and a pilot who flew our plane like he stole it, it was a shorter flight than we had expected. This is good because, as anyone who has been on one of those long flights knows, after the first 8 hours it becomes a kind of endurance test and at some point you find yourself looking at the time more and more often, first in amazemnent, then in frustration and then, finally, in resignation.

At some point, you've watched all of the movies and television show episodes that you care to, read every magazine and newspaper on the plane, created your own "playlist" using the onboard music channel, re-arranged everything in your carry-on luggage and read the in-flight shopping magazine. Twice.

Admittedly, I have less right to complain about than most people since I have always flown these long hauls while sitting in Business class. Flying business class deadens the pain, for sure. This time, however, I was even luckier than usual. On this trip our plane was a brand, spankin' new 777 and Cathay Pacific upgraded me from Business to First class.

Folks, this was a S-W-E-E-T ride and I would not have minded if it had lasted another 15 hours. Hot towels? Check. Real silverware? Check. Champagne and caviar (seriously) ? Check. Pan fried Sea Bass with Tomato Concasse and black truffle oil? Check. Constant attention from the flight attendant in the way of pillow-fluffing, immediate refills of Champagne or Coke Zero? Check.

Best. Flight. EVER.

I spent most of my time reading, watching episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm, watching movies, doing crossword puzzles and pinching myself. If I have any complaint at all it's that I was having so much fun that I couldn't sleep.

The first class seat is really more of a personal space than a seat. I suppose this is why the airlines calls it a "suite". It has a good sized desk area, a movable flat screen tv hooked up to a state-of-the-art entertainment system, and a super comfortable seat that can be set in all manner of positions- the most useful of which is flat. Like a bed. What's more, there's ample closet space at every seat and tucked away in there I found a mattress about two inches thick that could be put over the seat as it lay flat, an eider down comforter and a nice, flufy pillow. All of them smelled fresh and clean, naturally. Fantastic.

So, anyway, after our flight we had a car arranged to pick us from JFK and drive us for another hour to our hotel around 57th Street and 8th Avenue near Central Park West in midtown Manhattan.

Dunno what it was, perhaps perpetual motion and sleeplessness had finally caught up with me, but as soon as we got into the lobby I received a rather demanding message from my stomach, insisting that I find a bathroom. Immediately. Quickly I turned to The Girl, said "I think I'm gonna puke", followed it up a fraction of a second later with "Yep, I am" and sprinted off toward the men's room.

I didn't make it.

Actually, that's not entirely true. I did manage to make it into the men's room but that was as far as I got before I redecorated the formerly well-appointed walls and floor with chocolate mousse and Red Bull. As you can well imagine, the new color scheme wasn't pretty.

Howzat for making a grand coming-home entrance?

Everyone Poops- Even Hugo Chavez!

2008-12-04T04:22:00.010+08:00

The world really is a strange and wondrous place. Some years back, one of my many former wives bought a children's book for her nephew called "Everyone Poops" which, because I am incorrigibly childish, I found extremely funny at the time and still do. So imagine my delight when, during a recent foray on the 'net, I came across a photo essay from Barcelona in the Telegraph, the subject of which are Caganers. What are those, you ask? Yeah, me too.

Well, it seems a Caganer is a small figurine that makes up a portion of the nativity scenes in Catalan. Caganer, literally, means "defecator". Intended to symbolize fertility and equality, the Caganer is usually put off to the side of the nativity scene itself. Thoughtful, I feel. The Magi seem like they may have been easily offended, being all wise and all.

Anyhow, according to the Telegraph, where once the Caganer was typically represented by a peasant with a red stocking cap, they are now made in the likeness of well-known public figures.

Nothing says "Merry Christmas" like Gordon Brown or Hugo Chavez squeezing off a dookie. Why, there's even Barack Obama with the phrase "Yes We Can" on its base. I think it should read "Yes I Can and I Promise I'll Never Eat Cheese Again" but whatever. Strange, I don't see President Bush in there. Perhaps that's because the world wants to forget.

Or maybe they couldn't figure out how to make a tiny, little US Constitution to put underneath him.

Home for the Holidays

2008-12-01T15:20:00.013+08:00

Well, it's that time of year again. Next week The Girl and I will be boarding a plane and heading off to New York City for 5 days and from there we'll head to Chicago for a couple of weeks.

I don't spend much time here in Hong Kong pining for the states but I have to admit that I do get more and more excited the closer I get to wheels-up at Chek Lap Kok (Hong Kong International airport). For me, going home always feels great. Like slipping on a pair of old shoes, it's at once comfortable and comforting.

And, I have to say, Christmastime in New York City is a pretty cool thing to experience. Christmas in Chicago? Yes, please.

One of the worst things an expat can do is to spend time thinking about what their new country lacks or the things that they really miss about home. Too much of that will make you miserable, doesn't really allow you to grow much or to appreciate those things that are great about your new country and, ultimately, will likely drive you a little bit crazy. Life's too short for that, I feel.

That said, the closer I get to going home, I do allow myself to fantasize about the things I'm going to revel in during my time back in the USA. Things like:

- Having breakfast at a good, old fashioned diner. A place where the owner is named either Nick, Gus or Stavros and the waitresses are all old, wear orthopedic tennis shoes and call you "hon". A place where there's always cakes and pies under solid, clear plastic covers that nobody ever seems to order. Where the coffee is strong and you can just sit and read the newspaper amid a cacophony of clattering dishes and silverware while you wait for your eggs, toast, hash browns and the obligatory side of bacon. Perhaps even a half-order of biscuits and gravy. And all of the plates will, as a matter of course, be of massive, American-sized portions. ;-)

- Large elevators. We need these in the US because of our massive, American-sized asses- a direct result of eating at Greek diners.

- Knowing that I can talk to (almost) anyone in English and they'll understand me and not having to worry about my Cantonese or whether I just asked a stranger where I can find a dispensary (pharmacy) or asked them to help me find my knees.

- Seriously good Pizza. At the risk of offending the whole of New York City, this will have to wait until I get back to Chicago where the real pies are. Deep dish, strained plum tomatoes on top, 37 pounds of cheese.....HELL yeah!

- Getting in the car and just driving somewhere out in the country. Route 30 in Kane County, Illinois will work just fine for me. After so long in crowded Hong Kong, the open spaces of the American suburbs and countryside will be a tonic.

- Breathing clean(er) air.

- Watching college football on Saturday afternoon. The crowd, the sound of those beating drums- oh yeah. Fantastic!

- Looking up at the big Christmas tree in New York City's Rockefeller Center at night when it's all lit up and people are skating on the ice rink next to it.

- Having a beer (or seven) at the Naperville VFW post with my brother Charlie and sister-in-law Gretchen. Hopefully there will be a meat raffle as well. Long story.

- Those salvation army volunteers clanging their bells and collecting donations on the street corners

- Fig Newtons. I know, I know- weird.

- Snow. Notice I didn't say "cold" but you take the bad with the good, right?

- Watching my beloved (and God-awful) Chicago Bears play while sitting in a sports pub gnawing on chicken wings, surrounded by hundreds of other like-minded fans who are also yelling obscenities at the television.

- Enjoying a massive, big-as-yer-freakin'-head steak burrito from one of the many El Famous restaurants in the Chicago area or Naperville's El Centro. If I'm really feeling motivated I might stop in the town where it all started- Summit, Illinois and get one from El Farol's. DEEEEEEE-LICIOUS!

- Not haggling when I buy something. In America, the price tag is the freakin' price tag, end of discussion.

- Ordering a combo with cheese. That is to say, a combination of a Chicago Italian Beef and Italian Sausage sandwich. Covered in melted cheese and giardiniera. You may be saying to yourself "He seems to be focusing on the food more than anything else" and, if so, you would be correct. Chicago has the best, and most dangerous, food in the world. Last year I gained, I kid you not, 17 pounds between when I left Hong Kong and when I got back. And that was, like, three weeks. So, you know, kudos to me. I'm hoping to see a personal best this year by gaining 20.

- Calling soccer "soccer" and being understood

- Milk that tastes like milk.

- Shopping at Jewel or, really, any other massive grocery store that has wide aisles and just about anything you could ever want. As always, I'm going to see how much Crystal Light Iced Tea I can fit in our suitcases to bring back to HK. Hopefully it will get me through half of 2009.

- Being in a place that calls the punctuation that comes at the end of a sentence a period and not a "full stop". Period.

- Reading a date like, say, December 21st as 12/21 rather than 21/12 which freaks me out.

- Most importantly, having another chance to see my friends and family who I miss more than anything else when I'm back in Hong Kong.

Leave the light on, America.

An Amphibious Assault...on Hong Kong

2008-11-23T16:02:00.011+08:00

Hong Kong, like other countries the world over (including China- who's government had very recently claimed that the economic meltdown of the US, Europe and Asia would not affect them), has been hit by the economic downturn. People here aren't spending as much as they once did and unemployment is going nowhere but up. So it was with great relief that the Hong Kong government received word that 4 US naval ships would be making port calls at Hong Kong over the upcoming week.

Why? Because the sailors spend, on average, $100 US dollars per day here. The bars, restaurants and shops (as well as "that other profession") always rake in the cash- hand over fist, day after day, night after night.

This week the 7th Fleet's flagship, the USS Blue Ridge, along with the USS Essex, USS Denver and USS Harper's Ferry, will be pulling into the Fragrant Harbor for some R & R.

Last time the US navy was here, it was a single aircraft carrier and the leaves were timed; staggered so that the ship could be repaired and maintained in shifts. This time, all of the ships (one who's sole purpose is troop transport) that will be docking in Victoria Harbor are, aptly enough, from the amphibious assault part of the 7th fleet and those doors will open to everyone aboard, all at once.

Fantastic.

The USS Essex alone carries 2,000 Marines. Now, historically, Marines like alcohol. And women. Oh- and fighting. Not necessarily in that order. Yikes.

I'll try to get some pictures and video this week. Perhaps I can talk to some of them to see what's on their minds- particularly in light of the recent election.

But seriously, Hong Kong, lock up your women.

And perhaps it might be a good idea to go ahead and lock up your farm animals as well.