Present perfect...

My Name is Winnie, and I’m a Travelholic

2010-10-25T01:41:00.007+08:00

It had been over a year since I last travelled, and that was back home so technically it didn’t even count. God knows I needed a vacation and gave me a good excuse to just go for it. Who could turn down a flight and 4-night hotel package for Sabah at HK$1,999?

October marks the beginning of the rainy season in Sabah, Malaysia. Yet we were blessed to have only seen the slightest of precipitation on our last day there on the way to the airport. The climate is similar to Singapore; the people are similar to Thai. As for the attractions, think rainforest meets island adventures. Plus plenty of seafood meals and foot massages.

And now, all I have to show for it are a few good pictures and the itchy peeling skin on my shoulders.

Kinabalu Park

Tanjung Aru Beach

Borneo pygmy elephant at Lok Kawi Wildlife Park

T Minus Five

2010-09-10T17:35:00.003+08:00

...workdays till I say Bubye to what is hopefully my last full-time job. I am giddy with excitement over my future plan. Freelance is the way to go, and this time, I plan on sticking to it.

Unlike how I went freelance in the past, this time it's on my terms. I chose to (as opposed to being forced to) resign from a white-collar job to go...well, collarless. I made the decision to give up the title and a large chunk of money in exchange for control over my own time. It's the most liberating thing I've ever done without taking my shoes off.

Never again would I be caught dead trying to market an unmarketable business with a zero-based marketing budget. By no means would I have to hear another accountant tell me I can't start a sentence with "And". No more would I be constantly challenged by Miss Know-It-All – "All" except 1) who makes the iPod Touch; and 2) how to spell "Chris".

I'm not complaining. I'm really not. Every shitty job is an eye opener. I can truly say I've gained invaluable experience here over the past nine months that I just wouldn't have elsewhere. And (*accountant gasps*) for that, I am grateful from the bottom of my heart.

I Wish for World Peace

2010-08-25T17:26:00.002+08:00

Killing was supposed to be a last resort. If Mendoza meant to take innocent lives, he didn't have to wait 10 hours to do it; neither would he have released the old lady, the mother and her children, a total of nine hostages.

Mendoza was not a terrorist. He was not a martyr. He didn't try to take over the world. He didn't want 100 billion dollars. His demand was clear: he wanted his shitty job back.

As the hostage situation unfolded, more than I feared for the Hong Kong tourists on the bus I was sympathizing with Mendoza. All I could think of was the desperation he must've felt losing his job and his pension at such an age, even if it were a consequence of his own wrongdoing; the self conflict he must've gone through as he deduced that threatening to kill a bunch of tourists was his only glimmer of hope; the gravity of his solemnity leading up to the morning of the incident well knowing that he could end up dead by sundown.

This wasn't a spontaneous act of some teenager who's spent so much time playing video games that he one day loses sight of what's real and what's not and decides to take a knife to his mother's neck. This was a 55-year-old veteran with a wife and two children whom he once worked as an honored police officer to support. He was not a cold-blooded killer. The incident was thought out. He made a conscious decision to wager all that he had left. He just failed to realize that the lives of 15 tourists weren't enough for him to use as a bargaining chip.

"Poor handling of the hostage negotiation", "inadequate capability, skills, equipment and planning of the assault team", "improper crowd control", "inadequate training and competence of assault team leader," and "non-compliance to media relations procedures in hostage situations" would have all been good excuses if the incident wasn't dragged on for 10 hours. With that amount of time, a new assault team with younger and stronger members could have been assembled; they could have received basic training on things to look out for in dealing with hostage situations (e.g. when kicking down a door, do it in one go); additional equipment could've been sourced; they could've called a friend.

Knowing squat about negotiation tactics, I would imagine the first few hours in a hostage situation to be the most critical in determining the outcome. Considering the lack of action taken by the PNP during those critical hours, was it really any surprise that Mendoza reportedly "went berserk" in the end? My guess is that Mendoza, who set out to negotiate, went from being eager to calm, then anxious, and finally distressed — much like anyone would in any situation where they've waited 10 hours for something they feel they rightly deserve. Why any law-enforcement or government authority would wait 10 hours with 15 innocent lives at stake and allow a hostage-taker to become distressed and berserk is anybody's guess. No attempt was made to leverage Mendoza's act of kindness and negotiate for the release of more hostages. No attempt was made to manipulate or at least control his emotions. No attempt was made to lure Mendoza near a window so the sniper who ended up taking him down with a single clean shot could have done so a lot sooner. No attempt was made to minimize casualties.

Whether Mendoza's ordered dismissal from the force was just or he was a helpless scapegoat, it really doesn't matter anymore. But I do look forward to seeing some gutsy investigative journalism on corruption in the PNP and the Philippine government.

I am very, very sorry for the deaths, injuries and trauma suffered by the Hong Kong victims. But I am more saddened by this world that could push someone so far over the edge that drastic measures become the only measures; a world in which one's desperations could be so grave that human lives — his own or others' — could lose all value. This is happening everyday all around the world. Mendoza's plan would've been the same had it been any other tour group that happened to had stopped at Rizal Park at that moment with a bus full of foreigners, in which case I doubt the Hong Kong people would have shown even comparable levels of compassion. This could've just easily have happened in China, with a Chinese gunman taking a group of foreigners hostage. Where would Hong Kong stand then?

Seriously, can anyone fathom the perversion of a world in which it's normal for someone who barely finished highschool in one part of the world to end up hiring a university graduate from another part of the world to do their dishes? I wish to stop hearing moronic comments like wanting to fire their domestic helpers because of this incident, or swearing never to visit "a place like the Philippines", or anything about a "nation of servants".

Let's Talk Girl-on-Girl

2010-06-04T12:37:00.004+08:00

Alright. That's it. I hadn't had a thing to blog about for the past seven months, but a comeback is in order. Why? Because I can't stand my own boyfriend, who by the way doesn't even like to read, reading that pathetic excuse for a column in that sad excuse for a newspaper (a.k.a. The Standard) and sharing that lame excuse for a columnist's "funny" "insights" with me at the end of a day like he's learned something from it.

On to the most interesting piece of news I've heard in a while: Secretary convicted of indecent assault for groping receptionist's boobs

33-year-old Ms Chung claimed she was just fooling around. The judge didn't buy it and neither do I. There has to be strong reasons for someone who's been with the same company for 12 years to all of a sudden molest a same-sex colleague, twice.

College years are there for good reasons. It's your last chance to be young and stupid (as opposed to being old and stupid thereafter), to act like a moron and try things, weird things, and be able to blame your behavior on peer pressure. For actual higher education, go to grad school. Unfortunately for some people, college is not an option, or the "phase" comes way later when the price to pay is much higher (maximum 10 years' imprisonment). I don't think it was coincidental that Chung's two offenses took place just months before she got married. It might have been an outburst of years of pent-up confusion over her sexual orientation, or she was perfectly clear all along and was making one last attempt to come out of the closet.

But let's say Chung is completely straight, there are still various logical explanations for her behavior:

1. It was recommended by the book 17 Things You Must Do Before Getting Married
Don't swear off homosexuality till you've tried. - Check

2. Wedding-planning stress got the best of her
People do radical things when they snap under stress. Some brides-to-be flee, others put their finger in another woman's cleavage.

3. She's shopping around for a boob job
She did comment on the victim's breasts "not looking fake" before making contact. Though there's no information on the authenticity or size of the victim's breasts.

4. She's soliciting a third player in the bedroom
Remember that episode of SATC when Samantha gave Richard the gift of 3P for his birthday? Investigation should look into Chung's special occasions with the hubby around the time of offense.

A follow-up article in Sing Tao interviewed a Dr Lai from the Mental Health Association of Hong Kong, who commented that in addition to "opposites attract", past research has shown the possibility of same-sex attraction, some even to the extent of rendering sexual arousal. Yes, for a report on this rare indecent assault case, they dug up past research from 1872.

Frites and the Corona Incident

2009-11-06T00:30:00.000+08:00

This no-blogging policy at my new job is starting to bug me. When I'm spending half my time in the office, there's really not much else to think about but work. Not that I have anything substantial to say just yet (it's only been two weeks), but just knowing that I can't channel whatever I'd want to say through my blog feels like, well, constipation.

Went to Frites for the second time last night and had a slightly less enjoyable meal than from my first experience there. The house mussels are still nice but this time there were at least four dead ones in our pot that didn't open. Since their mussels are priced by weight (either one or a half kilo per order) and I figured we only ate half a kilo minus four mussels, and I was sure if it had been scallops or a crab or any other seafood they would've made sure only fresh ones were served, I asked our server if he could ask the kitchen to replace those four. The problem is, none of the servers at Frites really speaks good English. We were really looking forward to finishing the meal and going home when the manager came over with a fresh new pot of house mussels, all half a kilo of them with the side fries and rye bread. The kitchen must've thought I was either the biggest bitch or the biggest cheapskate to send back four dead mussels and request a whole new pot. The manager's explanation was that the kitchen can't cook just four mussels; they have to make the whole pot... I may be the biggest bitch but that just wasn't something I could've accepted without feeling incredibly guilty. So we kindly declined their nice gesture as well as their offer for free dessert, and ended up leaving a big tip.

So why couldn't they cook just four mussels? Practically every table in the restaurant had an order of mussels. The kitchen could've easily dumped four extra ones in the next order they prepared and scooped them out for us.

This reminded me of the Corona incident, which happened about two weeks ago over happy hour with a bunch of bananas: Brit’s and Aussi’s drinks arrived shortly after I sat down ― two Coronas. Brit looked at the bill and quickly realized they’d been overcharged. The waiter, at first not realizing that Corona was listed for $55 on the menu, went to check why the total for two had come to $124. He came back looking all proud with a revised bill in his hands, and explained that their computer was showing the wrong price for Corona and to correct this they had put a 10% discount on the bill. “Uh, but this is clearly still more than what we should be paying,” Brit had to explain.

I was too busy getting happy to follow-up with how they ended up resolving the bill. But by the time Yank showed up and wanted to order a Corona, the waiter “reminded” him that there were other beers available and went on to recite a list of alternatives. “He wants a Corona,” C said. There was a pause just long enough for all of us to exchange confused looks with everyone else at the table. Then the waiter finally said something about their computer having the wrong price for Corona. And that’s apparently enough reason to forbid customers from ordering it.

Defeating the Purpose

2009-08-25T18:02:00.005+08:00

About two months ago I paid a visit to McDonald's in Cityplaza, where they’d adopted a single-queue system. I thought to myself “it’s about time” and stood in line behind a man while pondering the awesomeness of all the single queues I’ve ever come across: banks, airport check-in counters, Citysuper...

Standing at the head of the queue was a McDonald's staff, whose job was to direct customers in the queue to move up to the next available counter. The only problem was, she was asking people to move up to what she reckoned to be the next available counter before the counter even became available. So customers were sent from the single queue to stand in front of the individual counters in what were essentially separate mini queues. I couldn’t grasp the grounds on which this staff determined which counter would free up next, but she was dead wrong; because I ended up being served before the man who stood in front of me in the single queue, and after the couple that stood behind me.

It’s one thing to walk into a place with multiple queues and have to use my own best judgment to assess which line is likely to move the fastest ― the trick is to avoid lines with foreigners at fast-food restaurants, lines with people with bills in their hands at ATMs, lines with see-lai’s at automated customs channels, and lines with kids at manual customs counters. It’s quite another to be forced to comply with the best judgment of a high-school dropout who’s clearly pulling guesses out of her ass, witness a multinational chain completely defeating the purpose of such a simple system and wasting their underpaid manpower along the way.

Went back to the same McDonald's yesterday. To my surprise, not only is the traffic-directing staff still directing customers to move up before a counter is ready, but now there are two queues instead of one. Go figure.

Toronto

2009-08-13T11:01:00.008+08:00

Boarding the dreaded 16-hour flight to come back to Hong Kong was quite a struggle. I can no longer justify giving up the life I could be having in Toronto to be here.

Niagara Falls, Ontario

Main Street, Unionville

Wine Region, Niagara-on-the-Lake

Fort Henry, Kingston

Downtown Kingston

Fun-L-Fun, Avenue Road

Weekend in Macau

2009-07-02T13:39:00.006+08:00

It took seven trips to Macau for me to set foot in Wynn for the first time. We were drawn in mostly by the AC, but once inside I actually managed to find the casino hotel borderline grand. On the ceiling just inside the main entrance is a magnificent sculpture featuring the 12 Chinese zodiac animals, seemingly dominated by the tiger displaying its ferocious roar. Both the ceiling and the astrology-themed dome directly below were structured to suggest that they’d crack open to reveal something mystical. Soon enough crowds started to gather for what’s to come.

At 15 minutes past the hour, the show began. Lights dimmed and music played. Like the shutter of a film camera, the sculpture split into pizza-slice-shaped plates and slowly retracted into the ceiling to unveil a glow, which was simply a giant LCD screen displaying winding swirls of multicolored lights ― short of magical but would easily be the Mecca of any rave party. The LCD itself then split open and uncovered yet another bright light. This time it was a massive upside-down-pudding-shaped chandelier. As it lower from inside the ceiling, the astrology-themed dome on the ground split open. The crowd ooh-ed and ahh-ed as we braced ourselves for the moment of truth. Who knew the fancy 15-minute buildup would be followed by the ultimate anticlimax of a Styrofoam tree spray-painted gold rising from the underground, for people to throw spare change at. I think it’s safe to say this has constituted my WTF moment of the year.

As we window shopped our way through the Wynn Esplanade, we made every effort to zone out the rowdy chitchat in oh so many different Chinese dialects that were echoing past Hermès, Rolex and Ferrari. One conversation in particular was interrupted by the distinctive sound of someone hocking up phlegm as if from the bottom of his knees. I quickly turned around and prepared myself to dodge what flying dagger could be coming my way. I was one of at least four people including a Wynn staff who witnessed as the foamy puddle landed on the mosaic marble floors, right there in front of Prada. The shooter must’ve seen my look of disgust and kept his ears away from his phone just long enough to hear my loud exclamation of “Oh my God”, because he quickly looked away, picked up his pace and returned to his tongue-rolling prattle on his Vertu, only now in a much lower volume than before. Sadder yet, the Wynn staff was even quicker to flee the scene.

We didn't stay at Wynn, but at Rio (don’t ask) where everything screams Mainland: Complimentary breakfast with flies (Not in the food, just hovering around. Just.); hookers roaming the lobby; gamblers filling up the casinos with clatter, cheap smoke and booger darts; spitting hookers handing out business cards to gamblers; spitting gamblers in the casinos straight-out eyeing you as if ready to ask your price. What more could you ask for?

Until Cirque du Soleil debuts its second resident show at the Venetian Macau, I’m done with the so-called Vegas of Asia. Like with every other potentially wonderful thing in the Greater China Region, Mainlanders have taken over Macau and contaminated it with their sheer inconsideration for the existence of everything that’s not them.

ROARRR

Moving Backward

2009-06-16T03:30:00.003+08:00

I've never enjoyed crowds; I wouldn't be caught dead in Mong Kok if Jesus himself promised to make an appearance. But when they raised the reward for identifying the acid thrower to HK$900,000, I thought: Now there's a reason to start hanging out in MK more often.

The area so essential to Hong Kong's identity has long been a death trap, with sketchy small shops somehow profiting off of the latest cell phones at irresistible discounts, food stalls right next to double-decker bus stops selling mouth-watering battered organs deep fried in thousand-year-old animal fat, reckless drivers and even more reckless pedestrians roaming the streets, Hello Kitty-tattooed "landlords" cruising and cursing entertainment venues with their gangs, and menopausal women slicing passersby with flyers promoting $88 "massage" services. Not to mention druggies, pickpockets, con artists, young men carrying unsightly women's purses (sometimes for their girlfriends) and girls dragging along really, really tiny miniature toy poodles.

With my luck, had I really been hanging around MK I would’ve escaped the plummeting loudspeaker just so I’d be back a couple nights later to get run over by the minibus. With my ear-raping noise cancellation earphones pumping phat tunes on my eardrums, I probably wouldn’t even have seen it coming. And with my luck, the odds of my in-case-of-emergency person being able to fork out over HK$20,000 for the doctors at QEH to start administering Novo Seven on me before I bled to death would be pretty slim.

I used to think there were only two places that would allow public hospitals to put money before someone’s life: China (they’ll need a deposit before you could even be admitted) and the US (“Sicko” stirred up more sympathy from me for Americans than did the re-election of George W. Bush).

How the hospital authority in Hong Kong could’ve allowed the existence of such a lethal gray area in something as fundamental as the protocol on administering necessary drugs in life-or-death situations is beyond me. Was it not one of the first (hundred) things to consider before playing doctor? Makes one wonder what would’ve happened if the victim had no family, or the family couldn’t afford the meds.

Simma Down Na

2009-06-02T03:18:00.004+08:00

So someone decided to go medieval on my doorbell yesterday at 8:53 in the morning. Big mistake. But with the time it took me to fight to keep both eyes open long enough to not drift back into my sweet dreams, peel myself out of bed and prepare for the reciprocation of medievalness in the event that there wasn't a fire in the building, of course nobody was there when I got to the peephole.

Turns out it was our downstairs neighbor complaining about our supposedly dripping AC. After harassing my doorbell to no avail, he/she complained to the security guard.

I'm sure our landlord will find someone to come check out our AC soon enough and fix whatever dripping there may be. Until then, the fan will have to do. It's no biggie, really. But the only thing I could think of when I learned that someone was bitching about our AC was how we've put up with the dripping of someone else's AC from upstairs night-after-night since temperatures started flirting with the 30°C mark, and how it has never even occurred to me to complain.

I thought long and hard about the process of attaining this level of serenity as not to be bothered by the minor things that could drive some people crazy. Minor things like the rhythm created by falling droplets of dirty water hitting the AC that’s mounted on the window against which your bed is placed ― a rhythm that’s just slightly faster than your pulse and starts making you nervous once the lights are out because it resonates like the beat of the background music in the first kill scene of a horror movie, and throughout the course of the night bullies your heart rate into syncing with it.

The thing is, with a “Fortress” brand AC that’s at times as noisy as my washer on its 900-spin cycle, my upstairs neighbors’ ACs could’ve been popping out gobstoppers for all I know. It’s only when it occasionally quiets down that I manage to hear the soccer fans' uproar from the cha-chaan-teng across the street in the middle of the night.

Ironically, one of the first things I’d had trouble adjusting to when we first moved to Toronto was the deafening silence at night. The ticking of the clock in our living room would echo through the house and that would be the only sound we hear until the birds start chirping at dawn.

We have birds here in North Point too. One in particular has a distinctive call that sounds like a defective noise-maker and starts at precisely 4:07 every morning, as if to warn nocturnal creatures like me of the impending sunrise. We also have dogs, one of which must be the victim of serious neglect as it’s heard either whimpering or barking at any given time. Unfortunately, the surrounding buildings create such an echo in the area that I can’t make out where the cries are coming from.

I’m surprised that the familiar clacking of mahjong isn’t heard more often here, considering how local the residents are. More often I just hear my next-door neighbors conversing in Hokkien, and their toddler running around the apartment in her squeaky shoes (they like to leave their front door open to let air circulate). Then there's 1305 banging their metal gate close and sending shudders down everyone’s spine; 1304 coming home and giving verbal commands through the door to his wife inside to let him in instead of using keys or the doorbell; and occasionally, 1303 blasting Alan Tam’s hits from the 80’s on his stereo that sounds like it could be from the same era.

Get Me a Pole and I'll Show You

2009-05-06T01:43:00.006+08:00

Finally got a chance to try out pole dancing with a couple of friends. $200 per pax bought us a 90-minute "trial party" where 17 girls plus an instructor shared five poles, some laughs and a lot of confused looks. Sexy, confused looks.

We weren't afraid to flaunt our firefighter moves, except for me with my wimpy arms. Soon before long we were thrusting hips and pouting lips. One girl in particular perhaps showed a little more potential for a first timer than called for. The most impressive move we learned had to be the twirling, much like that executed by Natalie Portman in Closer the moment Jude Law saw her in the strip club. It's surprisingly effortless and feels a bit like going down the swirly slide on the playground. I have such an urge to twirl some more I don’t think I’ll ever see a signpost the same way again.

Only towards the end of the class did the instructor put on music. By then we had learned a whole "routine" which we were to practise with supposed sexy music in the background. But soon as a remix of "Touch My Body" came on, all I could think of was this rendition of the song I recently discovered, regrettably:

Truth be told...

2009-04-30T02:32:00.005+08:00

...I remember very little about living through SARS in Hong Kong. Like every other sane person, I wore a surgical mask on my way to and from work everyday. And since I was working as a teacher, I had to keep the mask on during most of my workdays as well. Updates on confirmed cases and death toll then read like news on the Hang Seng Index last September. And with the exception of maybe a few bars in Lan Kwai Fong, a giant black cloud hovered over the city.

What I do remember is how I lost my job. I had handed in my resignation in December 2002 when I realized I wasn't going to make a career out of my first full-time job. But because another teacher had given her notice around the same time, and the owner is a friend’s friend, I offered to stay on till they found replacements. I was subsequently given some administrative duties that were supposed to give me hands-on experience outside of teaching and get me interested in staying longer. April came and schools faced mandatory closure for a month in an effort to contain SARS. However, all of three teachers including myself, along with the receptionist, were told to continue going in full-time even though there was no class to teach. With the endless amount of time we had every day, we prepped for classes through to the end of the decade, we played Scrabble, we exchanged life stories. No class, no income, someone had to go. And since my resignation letter was already conveniently in the owner’s hands, they didn’t even have to compensate me. My extended notice period was repaid with an order for immediate departure. The only thing more ridiculous than that was the owner calling me up a few months later asking me to go back to work for her. I had to suture my lips shut just so I wouldn’t tell her to put hers on my buttocks.

I was never one to stock up on canned goods when the typhoons hit, or rice before the price hikes, but for the past two days I went on a hunt for surgical masks. Mannings was out of stock. A staff at Park n’ Shop told me though they don’t normally carry surgical masks they just might start selling them in a few days. The local pharmacy downstairs my place had a waiting list for individually packaged masks selling at $100 for 60. I was lucky enough to get my hands on the last box of 30 adult-size surgical masks at Japan Home, which I’m ready to resell to good friends in need ― for a small profit, of course.

My travel plans have been put on hold since the announcement of confirmed swine flu cases in Canada. But since it's only a matter of time before there'd be confirmed cases in Hong Kong too and this is going to be a global pandemic, does it really matter where I spend my summer?

1301

2009-04-23T03:58:00.006+08:00

I got a letter in the mail a couple months ago. It wasn't addressed to anyone, but my full address was handwritten on the envelope, along with an actual HK$1.40 stamp. Inside was an A4-size photocopy of a handwritten note, with reference to a Mr Lui in unit 1301 owing some people some money.

Naturally I went to check out 1301. I hadn’t even figured out what I’d be looking for when I noticed an envelope right by their doorstep. Apparently, at least every flat on the 13th floor had received the same letter in the mail that day, and 1305 was naïve enough to think that the sender had simply written down the wrong unit number on the envelope.

Thinking it could be presented as evidence in court someday, I made sure the letter was safely kept ― on my refrigerator under layers of bills and multiple industrial-strength magnets. And there it stayed, forgotten, until today.

There’s something about the interior of our building that creates the biggest echoes in the corridors. Any talking, knocking or doorbell would be amplified and resonate through each of our flimsy front doors. So I’m pretty sure any of my neighbors who was home around 2:30 this afternoon would’ve heard the banging on the steel gate and the yelling in front of 1301. It only went on for a minute or so and I couldn’t even make out what they were yelling, but it was enough to make me contemplate putting on some pants just in case my safety was seriously threatened and I had to make a split-second decision to leave my apartment. Through my peephole I watched as two big guys came within three feet of my home to go into the stairwell. My guess is that they didn’t want their faces recorded on the surveillance cameras in the elevator.

I live in 1308, which despite being all the way on the other end of the corridor is actually physically right next to 1301. There’s but a single wall between my bedroom and theirs. I don't know if I should be more worried about the debt collectors upping their game with more drastic measures which I’m certain is bound to happen unless Mr Lui magically comes up with however many dollars it is real soon, or about Mr Lui being pushed beyond his breaking point and pulling drastic, tragic measures of his own.

I’m going to have a chat with the security guard tomorrow to try to get more info. But what more can one do in a situation like this?

Sweet Bitter

2009-03-30T16:25:00.008+08:00

I often don’t realize how badly I need a vacation till I’ve come back from one. Five days in Phuket left my spirit refreshed, lungs cleansed, muscles tenderized and skin toasted. I want more.

The land of a thousand smiles is every bit that. For whatever reason, the few people who didn’t readily offer us big beaming grins were either wait staff at overpriced western restaurants, or tourists. Now that I think about it, that’s probably a chicken-and-egg thing.

We were greeted by rain and thunderstorms every day that we were there, but the sun always managed to come through the clouds shortly after so you’d quickly forget about the bad weather. What’s more, the seawater’s so clear you can see the details on corals meters below; the sand’s so fine it turns into a smooth paste when met with water; the sky’s so blue it makes the fake sky ceilings inside the Venetian look realistic in comparison. What’s not to smile about?

It didn’t take long for this trip to take me back to a eureka moment I had while on a cab in Bangkok 11 months ago, the moment I realized how good life could be and should be, and that it just hadn’t been because of the decisions I was making. I think this trip also put J in perspective about just how toxic Hong Kong really is and made him appreciate the urgency of getting the hell outta here.

This awakening was reinforced as the trip came to an end. We’d barely settled into our seats on the return flight to Hong Kong before the guy sitting next to J spills hot coffee on him and takes a good five minutes to get a single “sorry” out of his mouth. But he didn’t wait five seconds before chatting me up while J went to clean up in the bathroom. This is the same guy who needed a flight attendant to personally come over and tell him to turn off the iPhone in his hands for takeoff, then later left it on where else but on his open tray table during landing; the same guy who despite being only 2/3 of J’s size, helped himself to 1/3 of J’s leg room by spreading his legs Sharon Stone style the entire time.

Our flight arrived 10 minutes late, so we had a hell of a time trying to make the very poorly planned out transfer at Bangkok. We ran like Forrest from one end of the airport to the other just barely reaching the gate before it closed, only to be in the uncomfortable presence of Thai Airways ground staff who neither smiled nor offered any verbal acknowledgement of our existence. No attempt to lift the corners of their mouths, no eye contact, no sawasdee, no good evening, no thank you. It’s strangely unsettling to see anyone working frontline in the service industry not even trying to be polite; to experience this in Thailand of all places was just surreal. It was as if they knew we were headed back to the land of no smiles and gave us a preview.

I saw it coming, but J was surprised and pissed that our overhead compartment was already full by the time we got on the plane. There’s always someone who buys too much and someone who brings everything carry-on. Soon as the seatbelt sign dimmed the woman sitting in front of J ― whose wardrobe, hair and full makeup screamed high maintenance ― got out of her seat, opened our overhead compartment and pulled out a bag. J and I exchanged a “that explains a lot” look.

I was trying to relax and hang on to my holiday mood for as long as I could by staring out the window into Bangkok’s evening skies, when I was nudged in the arm by a fugly foot in a pink sock that decided to use my arm rest as an ottoman. If it hadn’t made physical contact with me I probably wouldn’t even have noticed it, but once I’d come face to face with it, it had to go. So like I would with other pests I shooed it away with the in-flight magazine. This being my experience, of course the foot made its way back and I had to confront the face behind it with a clearly worded explicit request and a very sarcastic "thank you". It was either that or yanking the pink sock off the fugly foot and tossing it out the window. She's lucky the windows don't open.

Interestingly enough, neither the coffee guy nor the foot woman was Chinese. I'm starting to think there’s something in Hong Kong’s polarity that makes people less and less considerate as they draw near. No race is safe.

It was only fitting that we were cranky and stressed out by the time we set foot in Hong Kong again. And just like that, we’re home.

Phuket, Baby!

2009-03-30T16:08:00.004+08:00

The Search is On

2009-03-06T01:21:00.008+08:00

I don’t want a job, but society would have me believe that I need one. Recruitment agencies have never been really helpful in my job search, and none of them has stepped up to prove otherwise just yet. So I’ve been relying on good old JobsDB and its match-making magic. I’m reluctant to update my online resume because I always get bombarded with resume requests for days to follow ― requests from insurance companies trying to recruit insurance agents in its many disguises: agency manager, business manager, management trainee, financial planner, etc. And no matter how I set the filter, they always manage to creep into my inbox.

Not all job search engines are created equal. I’m barely amazed by the decent job JobsDB does, but why has the competition remained so far behind? I get “matched jobs” by email from Career Times and Classified Post too, but they are just almost never relevant.

The email job alert from Classified Post rang in with 10 jobs today, all but one of no interest to me. No surprise there. The only one that looked remotely relevant to my past experience left me very, very puzzled ― at first by poorly written tag lines, then by a sudden and total loss of sense.

TEACHERS WANTED

You want to be a “teacher” of your own will but not any curriculum?
You want to control your own career path but not your supervisor?
You want your devotion and effort be awarded with incentive?

We want members from the teaching profession.

After passing Paper I Principles & Practice of Insurance and Paper III Long Term Insurance during your Easter Holiday, we offer you an internship program as a financial planner during your Summer Holiday.

What? And more importantly ― What?

Valentine's Secret

2009-02-16T04:23:00.004+08:00

I just love this one:

(Borrowed from PostSecret)

The Crush of '93

2009-02-15T03:59:00.001+08:00

W was in grade 11 when I met him. To fulfill the compulsory art credit he was stuck in my grade 9 art class. I can still remember stealing glimpses of him from the other side of the big U-shaped table.

My then best friend H asked me to go to the mall one day. Her cousin’s boyfriend who was old enough to drive would take us there, she said. H’s cousin J went to a different school, a public school in the same district, where she had a reputation for her good looks. “You’ll never guess who J’s boyfriend is,” H said over the phone. I didn’t have to guess. With my luck, it could only have been the boy I liked.

It wasn’t till later that I told H about my crush. So there was no way she could’ve understood what hell I went through that day in the backseat watching J feed frozen yogurt to W as he drove.

Considering what an introvert I was, I probably would’ve never managed to befriend W if he hadn’t been dating my best friend’s cousin. Outside of art class, we might as well have been complete strangers. But in a unique and narrow dimension, he quickly became one of my best friends. We would sit together in class every week and doodle dim-witted notes in each other’s art books while the lesson went on with its business. For the rest of the year we exchanged letters back and forth, on school-related bits and pieces, general likes and dislikes, future goals and dreams. And as if that wasn’t enough, we would talk on the phone after school practically every day, which went on even after he switched to J’s school the following year.

It was the best non-relationship any teenage girl could have wished for.

Food, Glorious Food

2009-01-17T20:01:00.024+08:00

Degustation menu at Amber:

Old Bastard

2009-01-14T11:21:00.004+08:00

I can't help but feel a little apprehensive as I count down to the big 3-0. Naturally, I turned to the great King Google for words of wisdom. I looked up "turning 30" and found that the insightful Andy Rooney had this to say about women over 30:

As I grow in age, I value women who are over 30 most of all. Here are just a few reasons why:
A woman over 30 will never wake you in the middle of the night to ask, "What are you thinking?" She doesn't care what you think.

If a woman over 30 doesn't want to watch the game, she doesn't sit around whining about it. She does something she wants to do. And, it's usually something more interesting.

A woman over 30 knows herself well enough to be assured in who she is, what she is, what she wants and from whom. Few women past the age of 30 give a damn what you might think about her or what she's doing.

Women over 30 are dignified. They seldom have a screaming match with you at the opera or in the middle of an expensive restaurant. Of course, if you deserve it, they won't hesitate to shoot you, if they think they can get away with it.

Older women are generous with praise, often undeserved. They know what it's like to be unappreciated.

A woman over 30 has the self-assurance to introduce you to her women friends. A younger woman with a man will often ignore even her best friend because she doesn't trust the guy with other women.

Women over 30 couldn't care less if you're attracted to her friends because she knows her friends won't betray her.

Women get psychic as they age. You never have to confess your sins to a woman over 30. They always know.

A woman over 30 looks good wearing bright red lipstick. This is not true of younger women or drag queens. Once you get past a wrinkle(?) or two(??), a woman over 30 is far sexier than her younger counterpart.

Older women are forthright and honest. They'll tell you right off if you are a jerk if you are acting like one! You don't ever have to wonder where you stand with her.

Yes, we praise women over 30 for a multitude of reasons. Unfortunately, it's not reciprocal. For every stunning, smart, well-coiffed hot woman of 30+, there is a bald, paunchy relic in yellow pants making a fool of himself with some 22-year-old waitress. Ladies, I apologize.

For all those men who say, "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?" Here's an update for you: Nowadays 80% of women are against marriage. Why? Because women realize it's not worth buying an entire pig, just to get a little sausage.

It's always pleasing to hear words that work in my favor, especially when they're that close to being all true. But soon before long it hit me that when aging is what you're sensitive about, comments from someone three times your age may not be the best remedy (incidentally, Rooney himself is turning the big 9-0 this very day).

Another quick search revealed that Rooney had another piece on women over 40, except it's not another piece but the exact same piece with all the "30" replaced by "40". And the same fucking piece was used again on women over 50.

Not so insightful after all! And I used to wonder how this guy never seemed to run out of material. Turns out the trick is to out-live your audience and reuse your stuff unnoticed.

Now I'm miserable. Damn you, Rooney.

Failing Attempts

2009-01-12T00:24:00.007+08:00

I'm having the hardest time grasping this new policy on the medium of instruction in secondary schools.

Our government is setting aside HK$640 million to brush up the English-language skills of teachers. Not students, but teachers. In addition to the subject(s) specialized in, secondary school teachers must also strive to be fluent English speakers. It's so that a science teacher could focus on something other than science and teaching and instruct his classes in broken English; and students could struggle more than they already do by trying to decipher local accents, grammatical errors and mispronounced vocabulary. How did sticking with the language everyone's comfortable with become less than ideal?

In enhancing one's language skills, the importance of exposure cannot be denied. Sesame Street and other children's programs, story books, songs and playgroups work wonders. If I were a parent, the last thing I'd want is for my kid to pick up a second language by listening to those who don't speak it. It’s bad enough that half the Filipino domestic helpers here already double as English tutors for their little masters. Why would you expect kids to learn English from teachers who were never meant to teach English, most of whom were probably educated locally in Chinese?

I would think that HK$640 million is plenty for establishing a bona fide language immersion program as part of our city’s education system ― one that employs qualified native-English-speaking teachers in each subject area; one that truly surrounds students in an English-speaking environment in and outside of the classroom. Or better yet, set aside some space at the West Kowloon Cultural District for an English Village.

Even more baffling is how this new policy is supposed to reduce the labeling that is so deeply rooted in Hong Kong’s education system. Starting with the first year of kindergarten, students are distributed based on their abilities ― “A” being the class with the supposed brightest students. I can still remember being placed in the “D” class in fifth grade as a result of getting a D grade in one subject the previous year, even though I had all A’s and B’s otherwise. It was such a big deal; I thought I was doomed for life.

It's precisely this competitive environment embraced by parents, educators and students alike from the very early stages of life that makes Hong Kong "Hong Kong". This is the place with an established banding system for secondary schools. Chinese or English as the medium of instruction, one school will always be more prestigious than another. You just can't have your Ivy-League-breeding education system and eat your neutrality across the student population too.

Step Brothers

2009-01-05T13:20:00.010+08:00

Two single parents with sons the same age experience love at first sight. They tie the knot and merge the two households into one. The two kids are forced to share a bedroom and their toys, and natually have trouble accepting the new parents/rules/arrangements. As the story develops, however, they make a 180 from archenemies to best friends. All in all, a fool-proof plot to a Walt Disney summer flick. The only quirk is that the kids are Will Ferrell and John C Reilly.

If you think 14-year-old boys were bad, try watching a couple of 40-year-olds act 14 and take obnoxiousness to a whole new level. You really have to be sick in the head to find some of these things funny (spoilers alert):

One of the first things they discovered they had in common: favorite non-pornographic magazine to masturbate to.
Ferrell ignores Reilly's warning about touching his sacred drumset, chips one of the drumsticks, denies it, then goes on to vow and make good his promise to put his nutsack on the drumset. As much of Will Ferrell's ass I've seen on SNL and Old School prior to this, I was NOT prepared to see nutsack in this movie, rubber or otherwise.
They pass by an elementary school and not only get bullied and beaten up by the kids on the playground, but were also forced to lick white dog poop off the ground.
They go to a job interview together, during which Reilly lets out the longest streak of fart. The interviewer tastes it on his tongue and asks "Is that onion? Onion and ketchup..."
Ferrell's brother played by Adam Scott leads his model WASP family of four to sing "Sweet Child of Mine" in perfect harmony in the car.
Scott provokes Reilly and gets sucker punched in the face and falls off the treehouse. Scott's wife played by Kathryn Hahn gets aroused by Reilly's gutsy endeavor and finds the opportunity to hump him in the man's bathroom, then goes on to take a leak at the urinal with one leg up on the wall.

The worst movies deserve a happy ending. The stepbrothers go on to form their own music group, with Reilly on drums and Ferrell in vocals with his "angelic voice like a combination of Fergie and Jesus".

Random Pix

2008-12-29T03:35:00.012+08:00

The most enjoyable holiday I've had this year ended when my sleepless night began. It's 4 o'clock Monday morning and I'm getting reacquainted with my old friend Insomnia.

I won't be getting my iPod Touch till Tuesday. So, for the time being, I really have not much more than my toes to entertain myself with.

The focus is on the watch... Nice watch, J!

Chilling in DBay

If I had a soccer ball, would you kick it with me?

The worst-tasting molten chocolate cake I've ever had (in some cafe in Wan Chai)

Forget which bar inside the Venetian Macao

Taken on my way to Stanley

Newfound Happiness

2008-12-27T12:14:00.001+08:00

The anticipation of getting the boot is as big a bitch as my boss. Over the past two weeks I've seen what I had been working on being gradually shifted onto the hands of several colleagues. Despite the fact that those were never meant to be my duties anyway, it's a clear sign that the devil is scheming to pull a Donald Trump and that my head is on the chopping board. Guess I had it coming for being the only one with the balls to talk back at her when she’s wrong.

"Scheming" is the word because based on what I've heard from the few people left who've been with the company long enough, the devil has a reputation for going out of her way to stint any entitled compensation and make the last days miserable for staff who are about to leave, those she wants gone as well as those who decide to leave for better offers. People in the industry ― people who know or know of the devil ― would find it impressive of me for having stuck to this job for a whole year.

I took a detour from my "career in editorial" last year for a taste of the business world. The bitter and sour were expected. More importantly though, it's been an interesting experience witnessing how people ― including those considered friends ― can turn on you with the flip of a switch. I’m tired of being forced to be the I in the team, and really sick of being miserable five days a week plus overtime. I honestly can’t wait for it to be all over. Nonetheless, the resignation letter I'd had ready in my drawer since a few weeks ago is now in the shredder. I'm going to leave anyway, might as well get compensated without the month’s notice.

Knowing that I won’t be at this job for much longer is actually a big relief. I must say, I’m enjoying my Christmas holiday so much more now then I would’ve if I had to worry about going back to being the devil’s biatch.

Ha Ha

2008-12-07T22:01:00.004+08:00

Went to TakeOut Comedy last Friday for their standup. As what founder Jami Gong called a “comedy virgin” I didn’t know what to expect, and ended up having a good laugh and found the $150 well spent for the 90 minutes of entertainment.

The show featured quite a few comedians, some less funny than others. They are clearly amateurs with no good reason to quit their day jobs, with the exception of the only Chinese comedian featured who claimed he’d been unemployed for 24 months. Andrew Chu looked like your typical loser Chinese kid who if not for his caveman dimensions would get stuffed in the locker in highschool at least four times a day. But man, I think I speak for the entire audience when I say he was the single funniest comedian featured that night. No doubt his Chinky accent, low-budget props and personal loser stories all added to the humor meter. But more importantly he was the only one with material truly localized for the Hong Kong experience, which really stood out from the other, more-or-less-the-same expat encounters in Asian communities.

The show would’ve been much better if Jami Gong himself would have spent more time on stage than the 20 seconds between each act. I reckon he’s the only real deal in the whole comedy club, and I’d be the first in line to see him in a solo show.

Went to TakeOut Comedy again this past Friday for their improv show, which they associate with Whose Line in their market materials. How dare they. If anything, it resembled a first rehearsal for a school play by a bunch of obnoxious 14-year-olds. Couldn't figure out if it was a bigger waste of money or time. I laughed twice the whole show.

FFF...AAAAA.....CK

2008-11-17T22:39:00.006+08:00

For the first time in a long time, I got off work shortly after 6:00 tonight. Hopped on a cab to Taikooplace for a not-entirely-unnecessary visit to the dentist before they closed at 6:30.

The trip wasn’t necessary because I already went for my appointment last week. It was not entirely unnecessary because I had forgotten to get a record for my visit, which I need in order to claim the $400 dental scheme fee back from my company’s medical insurance plan.

Arrived at the clinic at 6:15 and, since I had called in advance to make the arrangements, I was outta there in 10 seconds.

One second I was walking out the door of Oxford House, the next second I was on the ground in excruciating pain. I don’t actually know what happened, but apparently I didn’t see the curb and had stepped off it, sprained my ankle and fell. I could barely get up from the ground. Thank God there were a couple of bystanders nice enough to help me up.

I sat on the curb right on the top of the slope where cars come charging up from the underground parking lot. Naturally, I caused a scene curled up in a ball on the side of the road while trying to think of the closest place I could go to for proper treatment. Before long, someone from the building management office attended to me. He was more attentive than the dream boyfriend. I mean, he had every reason to be nice to me considering the liability that could translate from my unfortunate incident. But he could’ve easily fooled me for being genuine and sincere.

He asked if I worked in one of the offices above, I told him I was only there for the dentist. Then it occurred to me the clinic I just came out of had an attending general practitioner (along with a Chinese medicine practitioner and a physiotherapist.) It was only a couple minutes before their scheduled closing time, so Mr Nice called the clinic and made sure they waited while he escorted me there.

I don’t know if it was the pain, or the adrenaline from the trauma, but I was so dizzy I almost passed out. So I caused another scene curled up in a ball on the lobby sofa for another few minutes before making my way to the third floor.

The doctor was ready for me soon as I filled out the patient’s info form. As ironic as I thought it was that I just happened to have painted my toenails yesterday to kill time in the middle of November which I consider way past sandals season, I was glad I did. Bless the doctor who had to miss his 6:30 off time to wait only to smell my stinky foot. He asked which way I sprained the ankle and I couldn’t tell him. The inside and the outside of the ankle throbbed about the same, and judging by the amount of pain I was feeling, I was pretty sure my foot had done a full 360, snapped off at the ankle and magically reattached itself all in that one second’s time. Dr Kwok said to me more than once that it’s rare for people get a fracture from a sprain. But I’m quite sure I’d be going back to prove him wrong two days from now.

Back to the lobby sofa was as far as I could get to unless I were to resort to crawling on my hands and knees. It’s starting to look like the $400 I expect to get reimbursed may not be able to cover the cab fares.

Uninspired

2008-11-15T19:44:00.004+08:00

I'm turning 30 in two months and I don't think I've ever been this lost in my life.

I'm not worried about getting laid off. I'm not at a dead-end job. But I just don't like it, anymore. The economy's crap and no matter how good an opportunity looks, it's probably a bad idea to switch.

I'm making a comfortable living, but I'm not living. I spend my weekends catching up on sleep and Prison Break, recovering from one form of illness or another, and googling activities that might have the slightest chance of putting some meaning or at least passion in my life. I'm thinking dance lessons or volunteer work or something. With my weeknights I try to figure out how to fit some combination of these activities in my schedule and where to find the energy to follow through with them.

I'm in desperate need of a long vacation. But I've been told that this time of the year is off limits when it comes to taking leave from work.

The only things I'm looking forward to now is my year-end double pay, the opening of New York Fries in TST, and Will Ferrell's Cowbell skit in tonight's episode of "Best of SNL" coming up in 15 minutes. But with retailers all over town folding faster than you have time to pay last visits, New York Fries may be a long shot.

There's No Place Like Home

2008-10-26T17:50:00.000+08:00

I’m absolutely thrilled to hear that C and T have decided to tie the knot next year. But I gotta admit I’m even more excited at this perfect excuse to set foot in Toronto again for the first time in seven years. I’m going to take as many days off as work would allow, and spend as much time as I can roaming around Toronto, New York, and wherever else I can afford to travel.

Seven years is a long time to be in Hong Kong. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t done with this land of imbalance ― imbalance between the population and space availability, work hours and leisure time, workload and salary, rent and square-footage, days with pleasant weather and days of unbearable heat/humidity.

It was a good thing my mom’d been so eager to kick me out. If I wasn’t forced to pack up all my belongings from her apartment, I would’ve still thought I’d lost my Canadian passport, citizenship card and driver’s license. Now I just gotta renew my documents and my exit strategy would be half ready.

Reporting from North Point

2008-09-24T21:20:00.000+08:00

The bed and closet are scheduled to arrive sometime between 10am and 2pm this Saturday. Then I'm just a mattress, a shoe cabinet, some curtains and lamps and a DSL line away from being settled into the new flat.

I like the new flat. It's a newly renovated unit in a 26-year-old estate. It's better than new. And it's walking distance to work, for the time being anyway.

***

Other than the few dollars a month I put in funds which I have no plan to touch anytime soon, I have no investment. So the biggest impact the "financial tsunami" has had on me so far is the headache from having to disperse standard communication emails reassuring the security of AIA insurance policies to clients whose email addresses we don't have.

I don't know if it's the undying headache, the wind that blew me off the sidewalk last night, or my recent indulgence of various chocolates from J and his sisters which may or may not contain milk content from China, but I'm pretty sure I'm coming down with something.

Fools

2008-08-24T11:18:00.005+08:00

Had I known about the minimum age requirement for the Olympic gymnastics competition, I would've said the very first time I saw the China team "Those girls aren't 16!" In reality, having undergone years of China's boot camp training, mentally they're all 45. And you can be sure the kids inside are long gone.

Sore second-place winners with desperate measures may have uncovered evidence on the girls' real age, but China would encourage freedom of speech before they'd admit to issuing fake IDs to their athletes, lose face and be stripped of what gold medals are already in their pocket. And come on, if you found out you'd lost to a bunch of little girls, isn’t it better the reason to keep your mouth shut?

Through the Beijing Olympics, China’s demonstrated not only its determination to fulfill its role as the host to this world event and its capacity to turn at least Beijing into a modern city of international standards; but more importantly, China's shown its true ability to fool the world, and get away with it. With just one day to go, all eyes are on China to see how quickly it turns right back into the communist nation it’s so good at being. I hear they’ll be sending in the Fuwas on inflatable tanks at the closing ceremony.

Chapter Two

2008-08-21T23:59:00.001+08:00

I didn’t think I could be this happy for M’s new baby. Little Julien’s profile looks just like his daddy-o. But the picture I like best doesn’t show Julien’s face at all ― only his father’s adoring smile. That face of excitement of all the things he’s got mapped out for the first 20 years of this kid’s life, the face of apprehension of screwing him up, the face of realization of the miracle.

M was even bigger a mess than I was when we first met a couple of years ago. The heartbreaker met the heartbroken and we became each other’s best listeners for a good while. I remember wondering how anyone could ever come back from the fucked up place he was in.

Turns out he wasn’t that fucked up after all. In fact, he’s always known what he wanted, and he’s one of the rare species of men who realize that their clocks are ticking too. When we reunited he’d already gotten married and the missus pregnant. Though it wasn’t till a few days ago when he told me he would start being a better man so his kid could look up to him that I realized what a long way he’d really come.

We’re all children until we have children. Sadly, only some of us are eager to grow up.

Thanks, sexy boy, for giving me hope.

I wish I was special

2008-08-15T23:27:00.002+08:00

Reuniting with "Creep" was as liberating as it was depressing.

When you were here before
Couldn't look you in the eye
You're just like an angel
Your skin makes me cry
You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
I wish I was special
You're so fucking special

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here
I don't belong here

I don't care if it hurts
I want to have control
I want a perfect body
I want a perfect soul
I want you to notice
When I'm not around
You're so fucking special
I wish I was special

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here
I don't belong here

She's running out again
She runs
Run run run run run...

Whatever makes you happy
Whatever you want
You're so fucking special
I wish I was special...

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here
I don't belong here
I don't belong here

The First Time I Laughed Today

2008-07-28T20:05:00.004+08:00

It's 7:45pm. My phone rings. It's a private number. It can only be one thing. Rarely would I bother picking up under these circumstances. Even rarer that I find myself talking to a telemarketer, however briefly, in English.

Me: Hello?

Her: Hello. Can you speak Chinese?

Me: Can you speak English?

Her: Oh, I can't speak English. Bye bye.

Time to Move, Again

2008-07-01T01:00:00.000+08:00

Our lease ends in a little over two months’ time. Thank God. I can’t remember the reasons I said yes to this place last year. Probably because I was too busy thinking about my Europe trip and was running out of options.

MHV has nice trees and water fountains in the podium area, friendly security guards I haven’t seen anywhere else in Hong Kong; I’ll give them that. But for me, the problems with this place list far longer than the fact that the nice podium has turned out to be a public area.

1. Other than the Circle K and a doctor’s clinic, the “mall” downstairs just doesn’t bring any convenience. There’s a Wellcome designated for selling other branches’ leftover produce; there’s a Chinese restaurant serving food so crappy it’s only still in business because of its monopoly; there’s a cha-chaan-teng with a $40 minimum to deliver food right upstairs; there’s a tailor that handily closes at 6:30pm; while the rest of the mall doesn’t open till noon.

2. Minibus no. 12B runs a well-designed route between MHV, the MK MTR station and MK train station, but the queue for what must be the most infrequent minibus running in Hong Kong is at least 50-person long in the morning. The Olympic station is a good 10-minute walk away, through a narrow street lined with auto shops, hardware stores, dry cleaners, more auto shops, and one of those places that gathers paper and metal scraps from garbage for reselling. The walk leaves me drenched in sweat every morning before I even reach the station. Not to mention one can never feel the AC on the platform of the Olympic station, except for the blast that leaks out the doorway whenever the control room staff comes out of his glass house.

3. I don’t need to study fengshui to know that it’s a bad idea to live next to a funeral home. Mind you I already work next to one. I’ve been too squeamish to go through the details, but one can easily find online lists of “haunted flats” in MHV where residents/visitors have committed suicides.

4. The flat’s most definitely infested; I just can’t determine whether it’s with mold or dust bunnies. I haven’t seen this much mold since my friend’s science project in grade six. And for the amount of dust on my floor, it may as well be the cover of an antique book of witches’ brew recipes hidden in some geeky kid’s attic. I’ve given up hope of ever getting the place clean again, and can’t bear using the apartment for much more than sleeping and showering in. The situation is so hopeless I think I’m starting to grasp the reasons behind the high suicide rate here.

5. J’s skanky ex-coworker lives in Tower 3. Not that I’m threatened by an unattractive divorcee, but to this day I just can’t think of one good reason for her to have called up J at midnight to borrow a hammer. I’m as tired of trying to figure out what her problem is as I know she is tired of having to force phony smiles at me in front of J. This point was proven on Saturday when I bumped into her in the lift lobby and caught her looking away as if she didn’t see me after we made eye contact. It might not even have been her bitchiness, but just the fact that she came out of the elevator with a married man I’m acquainted with.

All this and the big rent hike that’s sure to come our way. The landlady’s taking her good old time coming up with a lucky number percentage to raise our rent by. But I’m not going to wait for her decision. I’ve already made mine.

Now if only I knew of a good place to move to.

Fourth Row

2008-06-11T21:48:00.002+08:00

I hadn’t screamed that loud since summer 2000. And even then at Leslie Cheung’s world tour, I refrained from jumping up and down too much in fear of making a scene tumbling down the inside of the Coliseum from my binocular seat ― so called because you need binoculars to actually see the performer.

This time, I made sure I felt every spit.

The plot isn’t the best, even boring at times; the punch lines are rarely funny; and the dancers aren’t synchronized enough to create the theatrical effect I’d expected to see. But the phenomenon known as We Will Rock You is every bit Queen.

While no-one can replicate the charisma of the Freddie Mercury (duh), MiG Ayesa was so fantastic in the lead role that had they allowed alcohol in the venue I would’ve thrown my panties on stage.

I went on a Sunday night and was surprised to find that it wasn’t a full house. What a waste. They’re here till the 22nd, so if you haven’t already, go!

Next month, I’ll be in my fourth-row seat at the Cirque Theater in Venetian Macau for Cirque du Soleil’s first permanent show in Asia. I have a feeling I’ll be visiting Macau a lot more often from now on.

Eight-Thousand Words

2008-06-11T19:28:00.008+08:00

Had-to-have-em overpriced cupcakes from Petits in Elements: New York Cheesecake and Dark Chocolate Truffle

(No clue why Blogger insists on uploading this image sideways)

The only course I didn't finish at Aubergine in Bangkok: A very sour lemon tart

One of the few desserts I don't like, but had it anyway: Millefeuille by Bostonian

Mr Durian at the lobby of Arnoma Hotel, Bangkok

Smelled as delicious as they look: Tropical-flavored body scrubs from Spa de Bangkok

Top Deck

Lobster jaccuzi at Top Deck

Ronald flour figurine, aka $35 well spent, from the streets of Causeway Bay

The Office

2008-05-21T23:12:00.005+08:00

At my first interview for this job, I was told that the company was planning to move in a few months' time ― still in Wan Chai but closer to the MTR station.

We're moving to Quarry Bay next month ― No, not to Tai Koo Place. In place of the current office location somewhere between Wan Chai and Causeway Bay, we're taking one between Quarry Bay and North Point, right in the center of the imaginary oval formed by the Eastern District Policy Headquarter, the North Point Fire Station, the ICAC and the Hong Kong Funeral Home.

When our MD, the fake McCoy, gave a PowerPoint presentation on the new office, he said one of the reasons why we had to move was because our current office location didn't reflect our company brand value.

So far, 90% of the clients / business partners who've heard about our new office location have shown nothing but skepticism on our company's financial situation. I myself am having a real hard time justifying working for a multinational company whose brand value is dropping this far, this fast.

The nameless building is a good 240m's shelterless walk from the closest MTR exit; the exit is some 300m from the platform measured in a level straight line. Yet, the fake McCoy had the guts to tell us, repeatedly, that he'd personally tested and confirmed that it takes a mere seven minutes to walk at a graceful pace to the office from the moment you step off the train on the Quarry Bay platform. One of these days, everyone in the office is going to get an anonymous email with a YouTube link to a real-time video of a journey called "Seven Minutes My Ass".

To ensure nobody breaks his record for the biggest load of crap that's ever come out of an MD's mouth, the fake McCoy told my boss that the staff wouldn't care how inconvenient the new office location is because we’d be busy dropping our jaws for the beautiful interior.

I'm dying to see the emerald-studded carpet.

Have you seen ‘The Devil Wears Prada’?

2008-04-29T23:13:00.001+08:00

I've found myself citing that same question in response to just about every friend who’s asked about my new job in recent weeks. "My boss is the devil," I'd then say, "except she wears Armani."

Just for the heck of it, I rewatched the DVD last week. Sure enough, minus the sample room full of couture and the Paris trip, I'm pretty much the size-six editor-turned assistant to the dragon lady.

Fortunately, I think it's safe to say I've passed my Harry Potter manuscript moment. There was no distinct mission impossible; the turn of the story was simply marked by a clear change in the devil's attitude towards me. For starters, getting my name right, saying "thank you", and all those little things that would be considered common decency. Then, to my surprise, gifts! Well, more precisely, re-gifts, but good gifts nonetheless.

In turn, she's directing her devilish ways to my colleague.

What's more discouraging than the fact that the latest scapegoat will be resigning tomorrow? That it wasn't her decision, but the dragon lady's.

From 5 to 10

2008-03-29T17:07:00.005+08:00

It’s been an eventful three weeks.

Adam Lavine’s pseudo-angelic voice wasn’t enough to make up for the poor venue choice for Maroon 5’s concert in Hong Kong. It was the first time and very likely the last I’d pay to see a live music performance in that sorry excuse for an arena. Not to mention the supposed two-hour concert only lasted one-and-a-half; unless you count the background music (including the likes of “Sex Machine”) played over the PA system over the 40-minute grace period while half the band’s fan base in Hong Kong took their good old time getting their fat asses to the venue. “When’s the show going to start?” I asked. “It won’t be soon before long.”

Three days ago, two of my good friends got married. Actually, they got married exactly a year ago in Guam but only had the reception in Hong Kong now. It was the second time I’d been a bridesmaid and the first time I was actually happy to do the bride the favor. Don’t get me wrong, I was still bitter as hell about having to get up at 6:30 just to be someone’s bitch over the next 18 hours. But at least this time around, a dress was provided, albeit a one-size-fits-all nightgown look-alike I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing again. Nonetheless, I’m very happy for C and F. And I genuinely wish the two of them the ever-lasting loving relationship I can only dream of.

The following day, J and I tagged along as his boss’ guests to watch what was going to be my first live sports game. The Tens is nowhere near as exciting as the Sevens ― which I’m watching on TV now as I type, but that didn’t stop me from enjoying the free wine, meat pie and eye candy. Those guys in the last game were so buff that, at first glance, I thought they were wearing football gear. It was no surprise that the NZ Metro won by a mile and took the cup for the third consecutive year. The surprise came later when I got to stand face-to-face with who must be the hottest player on the team and shake his sweaty hand, which was a huge discount from what I really wanted to touch.

Okay, so that was hardly “eventful”, but it was more excitement than I’ve had in a while.

Role Model

2008-03-24T23:37:00.000+08:00

Saw a family of three on the bus today. Nothing special there, except it was on one of those long bus rides that leaves the mind wandering boundlessly. The couple was sitting in front of me so I only saw the back of their heads, but the child on the mom's lap was facing me the whole time. I'd say he/she's about 10 months old.

That's how old I was when my mom was my age.

By 28 my mom was already married with two kids. I'm almost 30 with no foreseeable plan for marriage. What a failure I've turned out to be.

My mom told me today that she started working again, five days a week. Besides that, she continues to do what she loves ― floral arrangements, and has a steady group of friends to hang out with. For a middle-aged widow, my mom probably has the best rocking life.

I think this is the first time in my life I've seen my mom as a role model.

From Words to Numbers (Continued)

2008-03-11T23:24:00.002+08:00

The office is divided into two sides: our side and their side.

On their side, a massive thundercloud hovers permanently. With the exception of the occasional phone call of two individuals and the enraged phone slamming of one other, their side doesn’t make a sound. Their side could easily be mistaken for being down with serious work, and our side for all fun and games.

In spite of the unpredictable fluctuations in temperature, our side is always sunny. We make lame jokes and sarcastic comments, share laughs and snacks, all at the same time that we produce enough profit to cover for their side's loss.

I like to think of the space in between the two sides as a rapid stream. One would travel upstream to reach the conference room or the MD’s office, and downstream to get to the pantry or the copy room, but rarely would anyone make their way across the slippery rocks to the other side.

From Words to Numbers

2008-03-05T12:19:00.001+08:00

Two months into this new job and I still feel like a complete stranger to the insurance broking industry. And as if an invisible hand has been tightening the tap since I decided to switch fields, my creative juices have run dry altogether. I haven't been able to feel inspired creatively, let alone write. I feel constipated.

(To be continued...)

Updates

2008-02-10T01:16:00.000+08:00

On the last day of my three-year warranty, I finally took my Toshiba Portégé to the repair center in Kowloon Bay. And on the last day of the Year of the Pig, it was returned to me, with a brand new keyboard and hard disk. It's a bitch having to reinstall everything, but at least it no longer takes half an hour to boot up my computer.

***

After too many days of suffering from the icy toes syndrome despite constantly hiding under the weight of multiple layers of insulation, J and I decided to get two pairs of fuzzy slippers to keep our feet warm at home. We walked around all day today between Women's Street in Mong Kok and Temple Street in Yo Mama Tei looking for the shoe-shaped kind that wrapped around the heals as well, but had no luck finding ones big enough to fit J's fat feet. I finally settled for a pair of Totoro slippers and J a pair of Yoshi (which was still too small) just before dinner time, at $50 each. Of course, it's only natural that winter ended at the precise moment the $100 left J's hands.

***

If I were still working at MPL, tomorrow would be a day of red-packet collecting, gambling, company-paid dim sum lunch, and leaving early for more gambling at the boss' home. This is the first time since I quit that I miss my old job.

***

It's amazing how little time it takes for someone who despises tabloids as I do to turn into a complete sucker for everything Edison Chen.

Summer of 2000, I spotted a cute guy at Pacific Place one day and made a casual comment about him to my then boyfriend. I had been out of touch with Hong Kong's entertainment industry for too long and was only told later ― when I no longer remembered the incident ― that the cute guy was Edison Chen, a then new singer/whatever. Despite his mediocre work, I’ve always thought he was at least pretty to look at. Just hadn’t thought I'd get to see so much of him one day.

Coincidentally, my then boyfriend thought Cecilia Cheung was a goddess. I can't imagine how happy he is now.

It's Cute, I Guess

2008-01-26T21:17:00.000+08:00

J: There’s Transformers at IMAX!
Me: Really?
J: Yeah! I saw an ad in the paper today. Do you want to watch it?
Me: Sure.

***

J: Ke ke ku ku ke ke (Transformers noises)
Me: Oh, I almost forgot we were going to watch that.
J: Yeah! In 2D!
Me: You mean 3D.
J: 2D.
Me: It’s in 2D? As in the one we’ve already seen 20 times?
J: What? Wasn’t that 1D?
Me: …

What We Consider Foreign

2008-01-17T01:04:00.000+08:00

I forget if it was Inside Story or something else on ATV World, but I remember watching this program where they included subtitles when a Singaporean interviewee spoke in perfect English with a typical Singaporean accent, but not when a local interviewee spoke in broken English with a typical Hong Kong accent.

I thought that was hilarious.

There's No Such Thing as a Free Lance

2008-01-10T00:56:00.000+08:00

Applied for a freelance proofreader gig with a video production company a couple of weeks ago. Only yesterday did I get an email from them with a “test” I was to complete within two days. I was instructed to rewrite, in Native American English, a six-page script.

Six pages, single-space.

The last six-page test I took was the mid-term exam for Psychology 101, and that was all multiple choice.

So I sat in front of my handsome white laptop, and mulled over a one-line reply to send to the email signed “HR Dept”—something along the lines of “How many applicants actually fall for this?” or “I actually charge double for tests.” I also considered telling them about my experience of spending some eight months hunting down a measly $1,300 from the publisher of a certain piece-of-crap magazine for an article of mine they published without my consent.

Like most other pointless matters, I spent too much time to finally snap out of this. It wasn’t like I was really going to decline the “test” invitation with a sarcastic comment anyway. Because while they included what looked like a legit domain name and email address in the recruitment ad, the “test” was sent out from a hotmail account. And even though applicants were to feel free to contact them with queries, no contact details were given. Not even a contact person to whom I can address my one-liner.

If I ever take a six-page test again, it’d be to unflunk that Psychology mid-term. I reckon if I had passed that one, I wouldn’t care about $0.0002/word freelance gigs now.

It may be too soon to say...

2008-01-07T20:01:00.000+08:00

...but it’s likely that I’ll be starting a new job within the coming week. The job offer hasn’t even been finalized and I’ve already started thinking about possible vacation spots for the Chinese New Year holidays. Outstanding credit card bills and the upcoming tax payment aren’t enough to put out my fiery urge to travel.

It’s almost embarrassing to have been back in Hong Kong for six years and not having visited Thailand, ever. For 98.5% of Hong Kongers, Trannyland is the number-one destination for a cheap holiday. For someone who loves the sun and beach as much as I do (albeit terrified of open waters), it’s a mystery how I’ve managed to be a stranger to the tropical paradise for so long.

So for 2008, I’m promising myself at least one amazing trip to Thailand. I’m not big on Thai food, but I heard there’re fantastic French meals to be devoured there at dirt-cheap prices. And to make the trip even more worthwhile, I’ve already been saving up months of tension, mostly in my upper back, to be released in a land spa, spa away.

Happy Rebound

2008-01-02T14:41:00.000+08:00

As reluctant as I was to splurge on celebrations this past holiday season, I am rejoicing the New Year. I can't wait for all the new beginnings and exciting opportunities to emerge. 2007 for me ended at just about the worst time. I've been without a full-time job for longer than I'm comfortable with, which made me realize how the lack of a job I'm passionate about affects my ability to enjoy other things in life.

One of my New Year resolutions is to focus more on the positive side of things. So instead of lingering on the three months of zero productivity in 2007, I'll recap the things I did manage to check off the list:

Got my third and final promotion at MPL, reaching an acceptable salary level at last
Set foot in a total of 10 foreign cities between April and November—nine of which for the first time, not to mention realizing my long-awaited four-week trip to Europe
Ate 10 hairy crabs
Saw Tony Leung’s balls
Completed level 5 French with a mark of 84% (though I've put lessons on hold for so long now I might have to retake it before moving up to the next level)
Tasted the world’s best tiramisu, twice
Reunited with three old friends, thanks to Facebook and amazing coincidences
Mastered the drunken shrimp recipe

I almost always feel a little miserable at the turn of the year, because it means my birthday is not far away. While I’m perfectly fine with turning 29 in two weeks’ time, the mere thought of being so close to the big 3-0 gives me goose bumps. There’s much to be accomplished in the coming year.

2008 is a good time to put my chunky thighs to good use. My rebound from the bottom shall be one hell of a mighty one.

The Perfect Foursome

2007-12-29T15:41:00.000+08:00

Congratulations to MAmiMamA, whose book is coming out today. I can only assume it’s every blogger’s dream to have a publisher offer to turn their blog into a book someday.

It takes no more than my limited Chinese skills to know that her writing is nothing special. But the simple stories she shares on her blog, along with the photos, are so very appealing. Every blog entry is proof that she’s living what I’d again assume to be every woman’s dream. She has a thriving career, and a loving husband who shares her aspiration to be the world’s best parent. The two of them are precisely the foolproof mom and dad that would raise perfectly happy kids. Naturally, taking full advantage of their relentless urge to give affection are two of the most darling kids I’ve ever seen—the exact adorable kids that would make good parents out of anyone. The four of them make up this perfect family that could easily make anyone jealous.

Before being introduced to her blog, I didn’t think any family outside of a TV could really be that ideal. I can honestly say that MAmiMamA has been a big influence in my growing urge to have my own family. But to have one half as sweet as hers is a far-fetched fantasy.

(Image borrowed from MAmiMamA)

Me Me Me

2007-12-28T12:23:00.000+08:00

A big part of the fun I had playing Wii was creating my Mii. This looks so much like mee with my Chanel glasses I can use it as passport photo.

In South Park, 5'6" and 6' would appear to be the same height as long as you're in the same age group.

Springfield is possibly the only place where Chinese people are whiter than Caucasian.

Mmm...

2007-12-27T11:31:00.000+08:00

Last night’s pseudo trans-European meal of foie gras pâté, chicken quesadillas and fettucini bolognaise left me severely dehydrated by the time I had my eleventh dream. After downing what later felt like half a gallon of water in my stomach at precisely 4:42am, I began developing a craving for that thick layer of bright-orange goo left on your fingers after eating Cheetos. Not the actual Cheetos itself, just that last burst of artificial cheese flavor you can scrape off with your teeth to conclude a session of sinful munching.

Thick goo aside, my favorite cheese snack is Evon’s Cheese Balls. Sadly, I haven’t spotted it anywhere since they stopped selling it at UNY.

My Two Cents

2007-12-20T21:54:00.000+08:00

Originally wrote this as a comment on Joyceyland's "Chinglish grammar and Hong Kong slang" entry. But it's not often that I feel so motivated to write something this lengthy for someone else's blog, so I finally decided I should also post it here.

There is a Chinese character for "doot", but it'd be considered a Hong Kong word. There's also "ding" (to microwave).

I think the verb-"one"-verb construction in Chinese is used to indicate the brevity of an action (kan-yi-kan to take a quick look, deng-yi-deng to wait a moment, shi-yi-shi to give something a try). Like in the Oreo commercial shown in Hong Kong, the narrator says "ling-yut-ling", "lam-yut-lam", "jum-yut-jum" as the three ballerinas twist, lick, and dunk the cookies. Each action is meant to be swift. In colloquial Cantonese, the "one" is often dropped (tai-tai to look, dung-dung to wait, si-si to try). My guess is that Hong Kongers are just in too much of a hurry. For actions that are meant to take longer than a moment, the repeated verb is replaced by "down" (kan-yi-xia in Mandarin and tai-ha in Cantonese).

English-Chinese code switching has become very common in Hong Kong, even among the non-English-speaking population. Words like "book", "check", "double book", "double check", "call", "send" have come to sound more natural than their bulky Chinese equivalents. However, it seems to be—and should be, with good reason—limited to words that sound close enough to Cantonese pronunciations. So nobody really says "try-yut-try", because the tongue rolling makes it more difficult to say than its Chinese equivalent. In any case, I really think code switching should be limited to verbs and nouns. It bugs me most to hear "for" in the middle of a Chinese sentence.

English verbs always remain in the present simple tense in code switching; the actual tense is indicated by a Cantonese particle (send-joh for sent, send-gun for sending). But I'd argue that just like -ed and -ing, -joh and -gun are bound morphemes. And incidentally, the opposite is not unheard of. I have heard people say things like “I deng-ed a table.” Whether or not that’s pushing it is another question. Similarly, English nouns should remain in the singular form no matter how many you’re talking about. Other than number-counter combinations, plurality can also be indicated by a preceding D for some or ho-doh for many. As in “Send-joh ho-doh message ah!"

I'm either the King of Chinglish or just really geeky.

Shut Up Already

2007-12-11T12:54:00.001+08:00

Kudos to the Golden Horse Awards committee for the generally convincing results this year (Aaron Kwok finally didn’t win best actor and, despite all the hype, Tang Wei didn’t get anymore than best new actor). Then again, the climax of the event was, sadly, marked by the few tricks of Japanese street magician Cyril, which have been seen millions of times on YouTube but still proved to be enough to wow the crowd.

I can’t recall ever having seen the live broadcast of Taiwan’s Oscars on TV before this past Saturday. But I pray that the next time I see it, whichever broadcaster airing it would get it right. I’d like to know which dumbass at aTV thought it was okay to have viewers switch back and forth between its two channels to watch what one could only hope to be a bona fide live coverage with minimal interruption; and which other dumbass thought it was a good idea to have two unattractive “hosts” narrate the Mandarin award show in Cantonese by reading of uninspiring tidbits from cue cards and blocking out what witty comments the Taiwanese emcees had to make.

Since when do award shows need narrating? It’s not like viewers are getting immediate interpretation of what was being said by the emcees, presenters or winners. When nominations are being announced, the narrators are merely reading the names of nominees and films that are already appearing on the screen in Traditional Chinese characters.

The funny thing is, when the live broadcast was aired on aTV World, viewers with Nicam facilities could choose between Mandarin and English narration. Thank God the Mandarin narrator kept her mouth shut for most of that hour and a half. That makes one person at aTV who understands the stupidity of narrating a Mandarin show in Mandarin.

It seems to me that aTV will never be able to pull off “grand”. For something as prestigious as the Golden Horse Awards, they decided to have Patricia Liu and Vinci Wong “host” the live broadcast, neither of whom showing any improvement from their days as disenchanted TVB staff. To go with the cheap cardboard backdrop, Liu wore what looked like a Statue of Liberty costume made from the backside of grandma’s old drapes.

My guess is that an award show of this scale brings aTV more viewer numbers than any of its regular scheduled programs could ever hope for. Yet aTV’s regular scheduled programs are apparently too important to be preempted to make way for an uninterrupted live coverage. The fanciest logo change can’t fix what stupid decisions like this break.

***

On a different note, does anyone else think Tang Wei’s become a big fake? She’s given nothing but model answers to every question in every interview I have seen her in since Lust, Caution was released. You don’t have to be charismatic to be a good actor, but she tries so hard to speak with her eyes every time she’s in the presence of a camera it’s just uncomfortable to watch. When Lust, Caution won best film and the cast was invited to accept the award on stage, Tang Wei said, with tears rolling down her face mid-way, that she made a wish on her birthday that they (the cast and crew) would remain like a family forever.

And that makes her the best actor of the night.

The Call

2007-12-04T00:37:00.000+08:00

Why is it that when someone’s about to die, friends and relatives, no matter how distant, are called to the hospital to say goodbye? Having to see a dying person, who’s usually skinny, bald, hooked on to multiple machines and has tubes sticking out of various places, with barely enough strength to blink, is awkward enough; let alone the fact that you probably haven’t seen this person in years and didn’t even know he was sick until you get the call and learn that he’s about to kick the bucket.

The whole “saying goodbye” thing is so overrated. What is the point of seeing someone one last time if you haven't cared enough to see him for so long that if it weren't for the call, he could've died years ago without you ever knowing? I think most people just do it for the sake of having something to talk about later at the funeral, and avoid any possible guilt trip for not having responded to the call.

When I'm on my death bed, the last thing I’d want is for my most vulnerable side to be put on exhibit. Not to distant relatives, not to old friends, not to anyone who hasn’t been close enough to know firsthand about whatever condition I'm suffering from, which is probably going to be a combination of cancers resulting from cell phone radiation, toxin intake from fast food, and constant emotional distress.

And when I’m about to go into the light, I certainly don’t want to hear “so and so are on their way here”. I wait for no one.

Coin Toss

2007-12-01T01:03:00.000+08:00

I'm terrible with paperwork. So two years after moving out of my mom's apartment, I'm still registered to vote in the Hong Kong East district. This Sunday, I'm going all the way to Tai Koo Shing to exercise my right and duty as a citizen of Hong Kong—I'm going to stamp a check mark next to the name of the seemingly less evil one.

Snow

2007-11-23T00:52:00.001+08:00

It started snowing today in Toronto.

I miss snow. I remember the first time I saw snow like it was yesterday. I was just outside my classroom in sixth grade. We had one of those portable classrooms made out of cargo containers, placed some distance outside the school building. It was lunch, kids were playing, and all of a sudden someone said "snow."

The snowflakes landing on my clothes stayed intact just long enough for me to observe their different patterns; before that I had trouble believing each snowflake was unique. I looked up and watched as they floated and slowly made their way down. I was very, very happy. Maybe that’s when I started developing my thing for snowglobes.

My sentiment for snow gradually changed as I got older and was handed such chores as shuffling and getting snow tires.

I miss Toronto.

Porno-pop??

2007-11-16T22:14:00.001+08:00

Just what the fxck is this?!

Fear Factor

2007-11-15T18:14:00.001+08:00

Just received a New York Life 2008 desk calendar from my insurance agent. I'm sure she meant to use the calendar as an excuse to see me, just to get a chance to re-ignite my interest in saving a million dollars in five years' time. She had worked out the math for me five months ago, but because I decided to ditch my job and spend a month in France and Italy, the million dollars had to wait. I could almost hear her jaw dropping over the phone two days ago when I told her that I had quit my new job and was—again—in no position to invest.

Usually by this time of the year, I'd be giddy in anticipation of my favorite holiday season. But having spent all my savings over the past three months and with no real job prospect in sight, I'm feeling less and less prepared for even another day.

Definitely not ready for the New Year.

I've noticed that my insurance agent is almost too eager to talk about illnesses and death every time we meet. She'd start with harmless info sharing like where she just purchased a wok for $99; property prices around the area; her mother-in-law's habit of collecting cans from garbage bins… but then she'd always find a way to bring up her health problems, her husband's health problems, her friend's health problems, and her friend's friend's health problems.

This time, it was lupus.

I don't think it was a coincidence that the girl she talked about died from the disease at around my age. There must be a module in Insurance 101 called "How to keep your clients scared shitless".

I've been contributing a good amount to my insurance policy every month for over three years now, and (knock on wood) the calendar is about the most I've gotten out of it. What I need now is insurance against unemployment, unsuitable employment, underpaid employment and the like—insurance that will save my ass comes January when I need to feed the government with money I don't have.

The New Drama Queen

2007-11-14T15:25:00.000+08:00

How bad is it that whenever my TV/computer starts buzzing from a nearby cell phone signal, I immediately find myself secretly hoping it's not a certain person calling me to tell me more about her problems.

I never use up the 1,000 minutes of talk time covered by my monthly mobile service package. I simply haven't liked talking on the phone since I left highschool. I'm not a talker. And I'm a very selective listener. Your drama is hardly ever worth my time. The only advice I have to give, if any, is probably not what you want to hear. Comforting words are not my thing; I'm really more the sarcastic comments kind of girl. Bottom line is: If I cared enough, I'd call you.

Maybe if you were a little less self-absorbed, you'd take a minute to note that I don't always have the time to hear you out, regardless of the power talking skills you flaunt, and that I have my own problems to deal with. Not that I'd tell you much though.

Embarrassing Execution

2007-11-05T02:15:00.000+08:00

Had the opportunity to talk to the six judges for the HK4As Awards. It would've been nicer had I had the time to prepare for the valuable encounters to make actual interviews out of them instead of looking like a complete dumbass in front of these amazing creative masterminds with my brainless questions. If only I were crazy enough to stay at this new job of mine, I reckon I'd eventually get to meet some of them again.

I only hope that during their stay in Hong Kong none of them had seen the colossal wall ad for Elements in the MTR Hong Kong station. While "Why be dull?" makes sense as a theme for the new mall's marketing campaign, the ad itself is the dullest and absolutely the fugliest I've seen in Hong Kong in a long, long time.

Lust, Caution

2007-10-16T22:02:00.000+08:00

Forget the Chinese Communist Party Congress, or the infamous haircut Anson Chan ditched a democracy rally to get. Besides that 30,000 mark the Hang Sang index wouldn't stop flirting with, Tony Leung's balls are the talk of the town.

I've always liked Tony Leung, not just for his looks, but because he's one of the very few in Hong Kong who manages (in most films anyway) to convince me to really see him as the character he's playing and not the actor who's trying so hard to do his job well.

Seven years ago, I took a summer job in Central. On my way back to the office from lunch one day, I stopped in front of The Galleria waiting to cross the street. The traffic was always a little congested on Ice House Street, and thank God that it was. There, in front of me a black Mercedes came to a stop. The window was rolled down on the left side of the back seat. Looking out the window, or staring at the blank while facing out rather, was Tony Leung. For a few seconds, just until traffic moved again, I was no more than two feet away from Tony Leung, whose eyes, without even trying, were more mesmerizing than I've ever seen them again.

So despite what J thinks, I didn't watch Lust, Caution to see Tony Leung's balls. It's his eyes that are like no others'.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

2007-10-08T17:10:00.000+08:00

On my Rome-to-Hong Kong flight, I watched the "Straight Guy in a Gay World" episode of 30 Days, where they sent homophobic Ryan to San Francisco's rainbow village—the Castro District.

That the Christian conservative's homophobia would somewhat subside by the end of his stay was expected. What amazed me was that as accepting of gay people as he'd become by the end of the 30 days, he held on to his conviction that homosexuality is a sin and a choice.

It's always upsetting to see protestors with signs and slogans condemning homosexuality as a monstrous sin; the words they use convey so much hatred that it makes anyone question just how much of Jesus' preaching they really understood. It's quite another level of frustration to see kids as young as six or seven participating in these rallies. You know their "beliefs" are spoon-fed to them by ignorant parents.

Teaching children to hate—that's a monstrous sin.

As much as I enjoy watching Adam Sandler and Kevin James, I can't say I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry was anything more than a cheesy good laugh. But I do appreciate such a comedy touching on the gay rights subject matter, hence giving an introductory lesson to their mainstream audience who could otherwise be uninformed.

I wish guys like J who've had little to none encounter with gays could have something more profound than an Adam Sandler flick, perhaps a similar experience as Ryan's, through which to learn once and for all that aside from homosexuality, gays and lesbians look for the same things in love and life as the next straight person.

And to the many a straight guy who thinks he's once been come on to by a gay guy, please. Just because a man across the bar so much as looked at you, it doesn’t mean he's gay, and it certainly doesn't mean he wants to hump you.

LV vs CX

2007-09-28T02:21:00.000+08:00

Read from Apple Daily that Cathay Pacific is considering revising its in-flight safety policy about carry-on baggage, to accomodate its semi-influential tai tai passengers so as to safeguard the significant portion of business the airline has with their husbands' companies. It all started with "a high profile incident when a lady passenger got very upset when asked to place her designer handbag in overhead storage", i.e. when Mrs Kwok—wife of SHK's vice-chairman—refused to have her beloved LV bag so much as come within two feet of other passengers' cheap non-designer carry-on luggage.

What I'd like to know is how the revised policy would be enforced. Could all passengers choose to hold on to their hand baggage during take-off and landing, or would it be a waiver applicable only to Marco Polo Club members and an exclusive list of European designer labels?

Either way, Cathay Pacific can say goodbye to in-flight safety. The whole having to stow away your hand baggage during take-off and landing thing has been as strictly executed by flight attendents as it's been greatly appreciated by even momentarily annoyed passengers. God forbids, in the case of an evacuation, the last thing I'd want is loose items flying around and blocking my way to the nearest exit. But it's pretty clear that in the case of an evacuation, prestigious passengers like Mrs Kwok are the exact same people who would insist on first retrieving their beloved LVs and Fendi's even if they had been stowed away in the overhead compartment.

I think this opens up exciting new business opportunities. Cathay Pacific could look into baggage fares for designer bags—for an additional fee, passengers can make use of a velvet-lined slot next to the passenger seat that provides a cushioned fit for most designer bags. Whereas LV, Fendi and the like could look into new lines of in-flight protective bag storage for the S/S '08 collection—clamshell cases specially engineered to protect their designer bags against bumps and scratches inside overhead compartments.

NB:
1. I like Cathay Pacific. Getting bumped up to business class on my Hong Kong-to-Rome flight was a highlight of my Europe trip.
2. I like Louis Vuitton. Before I even saw the Eiffel Tower I went and spent a small fortune at their shop in Lafayette.

Picture Time

2007-09-23T17:51:00.000+08:00

Considering I was away for four weeks, I really don't have that many pictures to upload. But still, I expect it to take me a week or so, what with the high speed internet service I'm stealing from my new neighbor and all.

These are some of my favorites. The rest will be uploaded to Shutterfly (I just realized that imagestation is closing down).

I spent many hours chilling in front of this birdbath (Aix-en-Provence)

La 2CV, I learned about these in French class not too long ago (Paris)

The view from the dome of the Sacre Coeur (Paris)

Under the Eiffel Tower (Paris)

The painting that gets everyone stopping, staring, whispering and photographing, at the Musee d'Orsay (Paris)

The infamous pyramid at the Louvre (Paris)

Stencilled road signs work magic against the sun (Monterroso)

The lookout from Ponte Vecchio (Florence)

Outside the Pitti Palace (Florence)

Bad angel (Florence)

Scary veggie faces in one of the many markets I walked through (Florence)

Many a kid tried to get close to the pigeons (Venice)

I flew half way across the world and mainlanders still make the best models, I simply couldn't resist (Venice)

Doge's Palace (Venice)

Sunset in Venice

A symbol for good luck, at another one of the many markets I walked through (Venice)

Giant meringues (Venice)

Giant skull made of what look like coffe kettles, in front of a modern art museum (Venice)

Inside the Pantheon (Rome)

The problem of stray cats in Rome is especially evident at the ruins

Inside the Colosseum

Ceiling frescoes at the Vatican Museum

The dome at St Peter's Basilica (Vatican City)

If they only serve one dessert in Heaven, it'd be this tiramisu (Rome)

"Fruit Salad"

2007-08-29T18:05:00.001+08:00

I think I just got an invitation to a threesome.

Standing in front of the fruits section in the supermarket across the street from the hotel, I noticed this guy checking me out. At first I wasn't sure that was the case, and I never want to think too highly of myself in this regard. But he walked back and forth past me a few times, deliberately brushing against me, until I looked at him. He smiled and started talking.

He's tall, buff, and quite handsome. If it weren't for the week-old ashtray his breath smelled of, he would've been what I consider very attractive. Quicker than I could've imagined, it went from "Is this your first time in Paris" to "My friend and I would like to invite you to our place". At first it just seemed harmlessly friendly. He did mention that his friend was a girl. But before I knew it, he asked "Do you like men or women?"

"What?"

And he repeated his question in the exact same words.

"What do you mean?" I was hoping his bad English would justify for the inappropriate interrogation. "Sexually, do you prefer men or women?" He made himself clear.

I was in disbelief, and still in front of the fruits section, with children and old ladies around me. Not wanting to lead him on with any kind of an answer, I said, "I'm going to buy some fruits now."

"You prefer fruits?"

"Yes, I prefer fruits," the moment those words came out of my mouth I was kicking myself. I did NOT just say that.

He left me his number, said he wanted to take me out, to the opera perhaps. (He claims he sings in the opera, but I can't imagine chimneys singing vocals.) He even offered me a place to stay (his).

"Tomorrow, I will make you fruit salad."

Screw You Guys...I'm Going to Europe

2007-08-16T16:36:00.000+08:00

Yes. Finally.

One week into my long vacation I'm busy planning my France/Italy trip. I'll be spending four weeks traveling around Paris, Provence, Cinque Terre (Thanks for the tip, S), Florence, Venice and Rome.

It obviously took me too long to go through with this trip. I could've saved a lot of money if I had seized the opportunity when I was young enough to be entitled to youth discounts and to think hostels were cool.

Okay, I never really thought hostels were cool. The only thing remotely cool about them is the affordability. Call me "no fun", but I stayed in dorm rooms at camp in elementary school and didn't like it back then. Now, at the ripe age of 28, I really don't think I could bear sharing anything with rowdy kids. So to steer clear of "young travelers" who make alcohol a core ingredient and getting laid a priority of their journeys, I'm opting for B&Bs and budget hotels. I’m hoping to meet some mature and even senior travelers, who should have more to share on life and everything else; and hopefully some locals with stories about each of my destinations.

Otherwise, it’s just me, myself, and Europe. And I’ll be perfectly fine with that.

D(ating)UI

2007-08-01T00:39:00.000+08:00

F said he was visiting Hong Kong for “work stuff”. But S and G knew him better than that and pried into his real motives: to avoid his girlfriend in Toronto, and at the same time woo another girl in Hong Kong.

TOgirl was a drunken mistake, so F claims. He never liked her to begin with; he was just too drunk and horny to not sleep with her. Then he took responsibility for his actions the only way his little brain knew how. Not counting the gap in January when he tried to end the relationship, they’ve been together for a whole 10 months now. She’s a party girl and a smoker, anything but F’s type. And, she’s using a lot of F’s money. “How is she using your money?” I asked, “You got her a supplementary card?”

“No. I buy her stuff.”

A laptop, a PDA phone, an LV purse, he started counting. “That’s just how I treat girlfriends,” he sounded almost proud.

F recited a long list of reasons to justify for wanting to break up with TOgirl. But the point is: he didn’t. He could’ve broken it off before his trip to Hong Kong, and started with a clean slate with HKgirl. But he didn’t.

“I’m trying to get her to break up with me,” he said it like he was the first man to have ever thought of that.

Having been stuck in a relationship for 10 months with someone he doesn’t like and pseudo-unwillingly spending how many thousands of very expensive Canadian dollars on her, I would have thought breaking up was the easy part.

“You said you broke up with her once in January, how did you end up back together?” I asked my scumbag friend.

“I sent her flowers."

And women are supposed to be the incomprehensible species.

Losers Weepers

2007-07-25T20:18:00.000+08:00

Reader's Digest should've saved some time and money running their honesty test in Hong Kong. Without even knowing that only four out of 10 people would return lost cell phones to their owners, 10 out of 10 could've told you that Hong Kong is the single most dishonest city outside of Mainland China.

Again, Toronto ranked among the top of the honesty chart, with 28 out of 30 "lost" cell phones returned. I'm really starting to think I made the wrong move leaving Toronto, not to mention choosing to settle in Hong Kong of all places.

It should be noted that used cell phones are worthless in most North American and European cities. If it's not worth anything, there's naturally no urge to keep it, right? I'm not trying to justify Hong Kong's deficiency of good Samaritans with our happening second-hand electronics market. I'm just saying.

The more interesting find is that most people who see an unattended cell phone would simply walk away, no matter in which city. Apparently honesty can be nourished by the cultural setting we're in, but lack of concern for others is innate in humanity.

Anyone who's ever lost a cell phone would understand the agony of having to retrieve all the contacts, semi-important messages, photos, and what not nowadays with the unstoppable boom of the almighty digital device. I think anyone who's been blessed enough to have a lost cell phone returned to them would know better than to keep someone else's lost phone, because they would understand that a cell phone's value is not in its going rate on the second-hand market, but the content that's stored inside.

Pay it forward, anyone?

It's an Option

2007-07-25T00:09:00.000+08:00

"Euthanasia is an extremely complicated subject associated with important values in society and medical ethics which requires in-depth social debates. Due to a lack of consensus in society, we do not intend to propose anything changing the current state," said a spokeswoman from the Food and Health Bureau.

I just can’t seem to grasp how extremely complicated a subject euthanasia is.

The value of a life is determined by the one who lives it, not the society, and certainly not medical personnel. The only debate over euthanasia should be among a patient’s family members, but in the end, the only consensus that's needed on the matter is between the patient’s left and right brains.

In the age where medical mishaps accounts for as many unnecessary patient deaths as we hear about everyday, plus the cases authorities manage to keep under wraps, it's all too ironic that the one person who has every natural right to decide on the fate of a life needs government legislations to allow him to exercise that right.

Sick pets are put to sleep every day because it's inhumane to keep them suffering knowing that there’s no chance for recovery. Just as often, anti-abortion voices are broadcasted on mass media with the message that nobody has the right to decide an unborn child’s right to live.

Ultimately, life and death are parallel truths. One exists only with the other. To truly support the right to life, we need to respect the right to death just the same.

It’s simple as that.

Would Love Some Suggestions...

2007-07-17T13:15:00.000+08:00

I've only seen five places so far, but apartment hunting is already wearing me out. While I'm not ready to give up the convenience provided by a serviced apartment/hotel, the rent seems to be getting a little too high to call affordable.

"Serviced apartment" seems to be the buzzword of the year. Two of my friends fresh off the boat from Toronto are staying in the new Royal View Hotel in Tsuen Wan. They both live by themselves and hence can feel comfortable in 4XX sq ft studio flats. The rent is reasonable because they signed up a few months back, but has already gone up considerably since.

Another friend not as fresh off the boat but also from Toronto is sick of her snobby roommate and is now looking for a serviced apartment to move into. She will also live by herself, but after seeing The Lodge in Jordan last night, realizes that she will have a difficult time feeling comfortable in anything smaller than 600 sq ft. Good luck to her.

Both Harbourview Horizon and Harbourfront Horizon in Hung Hom are nice. But their self-claimed occupancy is so very high, making their advertised rate is as big a lie as their billboard outside the Hung Hom train station.

The bigger problem is that regular apartments aren't really any cheaper, considering all the rates and deposits. Not to mention all the extra purchases of furniture and upholstery.

This weather hasn't helped the apartment hunting experience one bit. When it's not pouring it's simply too damn hot. With less than two months to go before my current lease term ends, the pressing need for a decision is eating me up.

Seriously

2007-07-10T00:47:00.000+08:00

Finished season 3 of Grey’s Anatomy this past weekend. Sadly, I think this is where I’ll stop. I was hooked on the show for the doctors' passion for saving lives and the pretend doctors' eagerness to learn (I’ve had enough first-hand experience to say that interns are NOT real doctors). I remember watching some of the first episodes and wishing I worked with people like that. But having become the hit series it is, the producers just had to throw in the complicated love/lust relationships and pollute what sheer adrenaline the show used to bring. So it’s goodbye to the Nazi and onto the next TV series.

I’m hoping to get answers to at least one of these questions:

1. How does one avoid becoming a DVD junkie in a place such as Hong Kong where there’s no good TV to watch and even less good bad TV?

2. What’s a good series to watch after Grey’s Anatomy?

Very Funny

2007-06-28T23:29:00.000+08:00

Whoever said Hong Kong could accommodate a 10 million population has obviously had his bowtie around his neck a little too tight for a little too long.

If bold suggestions like this are ever acceptable, it'd come from someone who makes no more than a middle-class income; who lives in a rented rat hole; who takes the bus; who works 50 hours per week excluding overtime; who can't afford to shop for groceries at City Super; who doesn't have a chauffer nor a chef nor Kois nor a friggin pond to keep Kois in.

In which new world thesaurus is "overcrowding" synonymous with "strength as global financial hub"? Do we not have enough mainlanders as is? Do we really want to take in more immigrants? Or are we going to rely on the 40 households that actually have both the money and time to take Donald's advice to have at least three children each?

The UN's latest report has just confirmed that Hong Kong has the world's lowest birth rate. We are barely refilling the death rate. Following the logic that the higher birth rates usually come from underdeveloped regions, we're one hell of a super city.

The younger generation of today, which we're so counting on, is already being brought up by foreign domestic helpers. To compete with New York and London and other big shot cities, Hong Kong hasn't had time for sex for the past five decades. More often than not, the babies that do come into the world through Asia's world city are results of low-quality, copied-in-China contraceptives. Making ends meet for one person is hard enough here, where would we find the time, money and energy to raise a kid, let alone three?

You wanna compete with New York and London? Give us democracy.

A Belated Goodbye

2007-06-17T02:18:00.000+08:00

I finally found out who A was referring to in her 2006 recap blog entry—which highschool friend it was that killed herself. Because I had left Toronto for so long I was no longer in the loop to stay up-to-date about the gang. Only today, almost eight months later, over dinner with R who’d recently come back to Hong Kong did I get hit with the ton of bricks.

I had tried to decipher A’s blog entry before, horrifically running a list of names in my head. But never would I have thought it was Eva.

Eva was one of the first friends I made at BA. I had just switched schools and she was in my grade 11 homeroom Religion class. We were never particularly tight, but I’ve always liked her. Everyone liked her. She truly was the sweetest girl I’ve ever known: smart, pretty, genuinely kind, just perfect in every way. From what I heard, everyone who knew her went to her funeral.

It’s devastating enough to hear people dying young. But nothing is sadder than to learn about someone’s suicide. I’d think a lot of her friends felt some level of guilt for not being able to recognize the amount of emotional distress she was under and reach out in time. Even I do, and I had seen her no more than three times since highschool graduation. The last time and the only time in a long time I’d heard from her was a brief message on Friendster in 2005, in which she sounded just like the cheerful positive Eva I knew.

Whatever it was that drove her to end her life, I really hope she’s free from now.

Beat This, Diamond Energy Water!

2007-06-12T22:53:00.000+08:00

Because having a water filtration system that effectively removes lead and other contaminants and reduces chlorine is not enough, and putting a bunch of unpronounceable ingredients and preservatives back in is only the logical next step? What the fuck is this?!

Jail Time Barbie

2007-06-09T12:01:00.000+08:00

For every four days of good behavior, the rest of Paris Hilton's 45-day sentence can be reduced by one day. That means she could be getting out before they could bring in Nicole Richie, whose verdict isn't till the end of the month. The court should've ordered the filming of the next season of "The Simple Life" to take place in the LA county jail. I'd like to see these girls try and charm their way out of this.

That's hot, alright.

The princess was released early by Sheriff Baca, who has a reputation for giving special treatments to celebrity inmates, after spending just three days in stripes, on the grounds of an unspecified medical condition that was later quoted by Fox News as a "nervous breakdown". This is not a medical condition or even a scientific term but simply defined as an "incapacitating emotional disorder". For someone who's had but one single stressful episode in her life known as "A Night in Paris", jail time must wear her out more than it does anybody else. In severe cases, a nervous breakdown could lead to the mental detachment from reality. So really, Paris has nothing to worry about, since she's already suffered from this condition her entire life.

This is poor parenting at its worst. Which loving mother would let her kid drive under the influence multiple times on a suspended license? Just how much more time, money and energy must Californians waste on educating the world's most spoiled brats and stupid parents? Hopefully this lesson is hard-leaned enough for Paris. And the Hilton family really has judge Sauer to thank for teaching it.

Screw You Guys…I’m Going Home

2007-06-05T00:22:00.000+08:00

I can’t even remember what the last straw was.

For the longest time I’ve wanted to leave this hellhole. But I was tied down by a contract for two of the four years I’ve been here, after which my boss has managed to give me just enough incentive every six months for me to look forward to more. Here, I’ve done the work of three people; been betrayed by my colleagues; been let down by my own boss, repeatedly; and worked with the subordinate from hell. I’m more proud of myself for having survived all this than having gone from the lowest position to the highest in under four years’ time.

I will forever have my former ed-in-chief T to thank for all the things he’d tried to teach me, and even more for those I’d actually learned. I will forever be grateful for the opportunities I’ve gotten here (I can’t imagine myself moving up this fast anywhere else.) And I will forever treasure the handful of good friends I’ve met from this company.

But T’s recent retirement has all of a sudden made me the company gweilo; everyone comes to me with their English problems while I have nobody to turn to for help. His retirement also translated to my taking over, so the title that I once so wanted now signifies a dead end. And my handful of friends, well, they’re all smarter than me and have one-by-one successfully found their ways out of the hellhole.

I once heard that in any work environment with five people or more, there’d be office politics (I’d think it’s more like three.) But what I find most intimidating here is that it looks so harmonious on the outside; it’s friggin Pleasantville with everyone getting along so well with their prêt-à-porter phony smiles. Only in the past couple of years have I learned to consider the real motives underneath people’s seemingly harmless actions, and to treasure my limited ability to make small talk, which doesn’t hide my reclusiveness so well as it does the fact that people’s stupidity pisses me off.

And what’s with the constant gossiping?! The thin line between being concerned and being nosy is so easy to define. If you’re concerned about someone, you talk to him/her directly. If you find yourself asking someone else, you’re just nosy and disrespectful. Though my “concerned” colleagues have shown me one exception: There are possible justifications as to why my boss told at least three colleagues about my wish to resign back in March when negotiations were still underway, but I never would’ve thought those colleagues could be so unprofessional as to come pry me about the news. In the end, I stayed. But I knew that I could no longer trust the people I’m supposed to work so closely with.

I must say I was much happier when I was underpaid and did all the work anyway. I was hella naïve and having something to work toward made me feel alive.

I need to reunite with my high.

The Importance of Being Eccentric

2007-05-26T11:19:00.001+08:00

Some $100,000 of taxpayers' hard-earned money went to sustain the extravagant lifestyle of a retired judge and his barrister wife, who all along had a house in Vancouver and more cash in the bank account than a lot of people make in a year.

Jackson-Lipkin sure got a hell of a birthday present. His eminent buddies worked their magic and transformed the old couple's "eccentric approach to life" into two get-out-of-jail-free passes.

This is likely the only time in history someone sentenced for welfare fraud has gotten successful appeal and immediate release. The act of mercy on the grounds of old age and poor health makes perfect sense, had the couple pleaded guilty to begin with. But we're talking about well thought-out and executed fraud, with every intention to delay court hearing.

This is one distressing example of how much power the social elite has on, well, everything.

So Maid

2007-05-17T23:03:00.000+08:00

Growing up in a traditional mid-income household, I’d never had a domestic helper. Mom, being a full-time housewife, took care of all the cooking, cleaning and laundry until I was old enough (i.e. the age of six, according to the rule book in this traditional mid-income household) to share some of the chores while my dad and brother focused on maintaining those ass prints on the couch.

I don’t mind cooking the occasional meal provided that there’s enough room in a well-equipped kitchen for me to move around in. But other than that, I never really enjoyed housework. Once in a blue moon I’d go in a trance and clean Monica style, but then my stamina never lasts long enough for me to clean anything more than one room. So I knew that the only way for the dust to not accumulate at my new home is to hire a cleaning lady.

Thanks to K, I was introduced to Ms So. She’s one mysterious lady who kind of looks like Melinda Doolittle (who sadly just got booted). All I know about her is her last name and phone number. Yet for some reason, I don’t feel as insecure about leaving her my key as I do about her making an attempt to clean up my really messy desk. I hated it enough when my mom “cleaned up” my mess, which always resulted in lost items and disputes. I really don’t need a cleaning lady who reminds me of my mom.

K had warned me that Ms So was somewhat weird; she doesn’t just accept any job that comes her way but had to interview every potential employer and inspect their place before she’d make a decision. I was so afraid she wouldn’t want to work for me that I actually cleaned my place before she came over for the inspection. Unfortunately, after two weekly cleaning sessions, I just don’t think Ms So is as clean as K said she was. I don’t like to clean but that doesn’t mean I’m not picky about cleanliness. I honestly expected whoever I paid to do my cleaning to do it Monica style. But is it rude to show a veteran how to do better in her own terrain?

What might eventually make me go psycho bitch on her though is her inability to just follow instructions. I just need someone who’d put things back to their original places, someone who doesn’t stack heavy ceramic bowls on top of thin glasses, and someone who wouldn’t repeatedly question why I want my bed sheets and towels washed every week, why I don’t wash them at home, and why I can’t take them down to the laundry room myself. Is that too much to ask?

Rat Race

2007-05-15T22:57:00.000+08:00

Which is the sincerer form of flattery? Farfour the Jihad non-Mickey Mouse, or the state-owned we're-not-imitating-Disney amusement park in Beijing?

To some, China's status as the world factory is still debatable. But from soy sauce to Ferrari, its indisputable rank as the world copier gets Xerox jealous.

Chinese people are too smart. They do only what they do best—manufacturing—and leave the costly marketing to Disney. It doesn't even matter that the imitation mouse's ears are smaller than Mickey's, because the imitation outnumbers the genuine article so many times over people accept it as norm. And as if a population of 1.3 billion is not big enough a market, these imitation goods can be found worldwide. Factory workers are already pulling overtime now that every Muslim child has Farfour on their wish list. If only Disney could their hands on some of this newfound revenue, the loss made at Hong Kong Disneyland is but spare change.

HCMC

2007-05-01T01:38:00.001+08:00

It may not be fair, but it's hard not to compare two trips taken just two weeks apart. The city was just as ghetto, the streets were just as dirty, the traffic was just as chaotic, the cab drivers were just as dishonest towards tourists, if not more; but Ho Chi Minh City was every bit better than Shanghai.

Because I was only one of four decision makers on this trip, we ended up doing more spa treatments than touristy stuff. But that was just fine. Afterall, how could one say no to a four-hand Vietnamese massage?

I was pleasantly surprised that I did not once get an upset stomach from the Vietnamese food

But the French food was just divine

Beautiful French colonial buildings are all over the city

Interlaced with the most basic of lifestyles

The cabling system was chaotic

But nothing was as confusing as the traffic

What Women Wouldn't Do...

2007-04-27T21:51:00.000+08:00

To look good, that is. Came across this line of product spec twice today:

Variable temperature control: 130°C to 190°C

The first time in the features list of a 2.5L deep fryer; the second time in that of a hair straightener.

I haven’t been able to shake this image of a woman dipping her hair in a deep fryer out of my head since.

Shanghai

2007-04-10T23:52:00.002+08:00

Had my hopes up too high. Way too high. It only took the first four hours of a four-day trip for Shanghai to disappoint me. May be the most metropolitan city of China, sadly enough, but Shanghai is still very far from sophistication, and even further from civilization.

Can’t deny the beauty of many of the buildings there, colonial and modern architecture, with the obvious exception of the Oriental Pearl TV Tower. If only the city wasn’t so far enclosed inside the bubble of filth, overlooking the Huangpu river would’ve been just a little more pleasant than looking at the Hong Kong island from TST.

Considering how little time I had to prepare for this trip, I actually made a lot of effort to research for places to go and, more importantly, places to eat. But in the end, two of the only three decent meals I had there weren’t even Shanghainese.

The people—oh my god, the people. And I thought Hong Kong and Shenzhen were bad. Kudos to their very well developed metro network, including China’s very own Maglev; but it will take a lot more than high-speed train to drive this city away from the barbarianism so deeply rooted in all of China. Not only do people push their ways into the train before passengers get a chance to get out, but they turn back after they’ve entered the train to give an extra shove to those trying to get out.

The most enjoyable part of the trip was probably the walk through an “antique” street lined up with stall after stall selling fake watches, Chairman Mao playing cards, and a bunch of other dirty useless junk. The goods weren’t nearly as interesting as the neighborhood. Just a couple blocks away from the hip and cool Xintiandi, the area around the antique street was the oldest part of the city I saw. With residents just chilling and playing mahjong on the street, and kids running around laughing while attacking tourists with their water guns, it was as genuine as Shanghai could get in this century.

China will forever be China

Jesus Christ!

2007-03-27T22:09:00.001+08:00

Too many times have I been greeted with a surprised smile along with the question "Are you Christian too?" when seen bowing my head in prayer before a meal, which is too often followed by a disappointed "Oh" when I reveal my Catholic identity.

It seems to be very common a misunderstanding here that the act of saying grace makes someone a follower of the Christian faith, when the truth is, I'd been reciting Grace Before Meal everyday over the seven years that I received education under the Roman Catholic school board in Toronto.

People get even more confused when I tell them I go to mass at a Christian church every now and then. Some even feel violated by my having accepted communion in a Christian church although I've never been baptized as Christian.

As far as I'm concerned, all that matters is that I believe in God. And as far as I know, this is the same God my Christian fellows believe in, whether they be Evangelical, Baptist or Evangelical Baptist. The little biscuit I received in the Christian church looked and tasted different from the ones I remember from Catholic churches, yes. But oh God, does it take an apostle to figure out that they essentially symbolize the same body of the same Christ, the only Christ?

"US Body Power"

2007-03-16T13:44:00.000+08:00

To me, the selling point "Buy one and you can use if for life. Why not give it a try?" sounded like a cheap shot to get the uneducated, over-the-hill portion of our population to spend a couple hundreds of dollars on a useless piece of crap in exchange for a tiny shred of hope to miraculously stay disease-free. I was truly amazed to learn that those assholes have been charging $4,000 for that piece of crap known as the "US Body Power" necklace, and even more so to hear that at least six people have made this luxurious purchase.

Come on, was anyone genuinely surprised to hear about the Consumer Council's report on the fact that the claims made by the advertisements for the necklace was all crap? I guess for the superficial, carrying a little pouch of shattered crystals around should at least provide peace of mind, considering others carry pieces of yellow papers around and achieve no less. But from what I know, those yellow paper cost no more than one's voluntary contribution to a temple.

I've always imagined that the only reason why anyone would buy this amazing necklace only does so in hopes that if they sell enough units they'll stop running that bloody revolting TV ad. I sure am glad I don't have to hear Ah Dee's voice again.

Open Season

2007-03-15T23:43:00.000+08:00

A new level of hell known as H&M hit Hong Kong like a storm last weekend. I knew better than to set foot anywhere near the store within the first three months of its debut. But with a friend in desperate need for new work clothes, I sucked it in and ventured into Hell&More last night.

Hong Kongers are suckers for queues. The longer the queue, the stronger the desire to be in it. It doesn't matter what they get in the end, the mentality being that it must be something good if so many people are already lining up for it. While I stood at the end of the line just a few steps away from the escalator that leads up to Soho, I couldn't help but wonder how those old ladies feel every time they line up for those ironically named "fortune rice".

Much like the bouncers at Volar, the crew of security guards outside of H&M had too much authority. There were at least seven guards along the queue, and so many more inside the store. No idling was allowed in the queue, so I was practically pushed into the store even though my friend hadn't yet arrived. No idling was allowed anywhere near the entrance of the store either, so I was stuck peeking at the doorway from afar behind racks of Madonna's designs. And of course, when my friend finally arrived, I couldn't just bring her in. "Your names aren't on the guest list," the guards might as well have said. Their excuse was that their supervisor was watching and they couldn't just let people in. After a lot of reasoning on my side and not listening on theirs, they finally turned their heads away and my friend arrived safely in Hell&More.

Like a mass burial site for poor-quality clothing, the mediocre work of various designers lied around tables, racks and the floor. Shoppers in autopilot mode dug through the piles like maggots in a lettuce. The ruins were too grave for the staff to recover in time; I'd imagine them working through to midnight every night trying to put everything back where they belong after the store closes. Some of the racks were placed so close together that with the crowds in there create giant lab mazes. We're the lab mice, of course. I found myself feeling claustrophobic trying to get out of the white shirts corner. All but one staff refused to offer any help to shoppers, who are told to find their own sizes, with hints on which corner of the store the item was originally placed. It was like a very challenging treasure hunt, only without a treasure map or a treasure.

What I witnessed last night was a phenomenon, one much more remarkable than the clothes that are currently being hunted by half of Hong Kong. There were basic tank tops I could've gotten for mixing and matching purposes; I could've even picked out a few accessories if I wanted. But there was nothing I wanted more than to get the hell out of there. My friend made the wise decision to try on the clothes right there in front of the first mirror she saw, instead of waiting for a fitting room. But there was no avoiding the 30min queue to ring up her kill.

fŏn'ĭks lĕs'əns ĕn'ē-wŭn'?

2007-03-01T22:33:00.000+08:00

I'm so sick of hearing common English names being mispronounced. There's a Kevin in my office who everyone refers to as Calvin; and a Vicky who everyone calls Ricky. What's worse is that there's already a Calvin and a Ricky in the office. So Kevin is stuck answering to the name "little Calvin" and Vicky "female Ricky". Talk about loss of identity.

Puke

2007-02-28T00:22:00.000+08:00

Ran into the eating-disorder woman for the second time today. I still don't know who she is. All I know is that she's from the social welfares department next to our office. She seems to only appear when I'm busy taking care of my own business and cannot come out of the bathroom stall in time to get a glimpse of her. Both times I was greeted with belching noises followed by the sound of her lunch moving in reverse into the toilet bowl, accompanied by the lingering odor of her stomach acid.

I can still remember bawling uncontrollably as a kid every time I vomited from a stomach virus. I cried because I felt sorry for myself, because I knew I didn't deserve to feel as nasty as it did to have acidic content gush upward in the esophagus. As a grownup, I don't get stomach virus as often as I get drunk. It's the same unpleasant feeling of having to regurgitate a meal that makes everyone say "I'm never drinking again", though most of everyone easily caves the next time around.I was the star of a memorable puking episode that took place in a drinking buddy's basement. I knew I had to puke but I could never get to the bathroom in time. Took me well over half the night to maneuver my drunken body over what seemed like 15km from the living room to the bathroom. Nobody was willing to pause their drinking long enough to offer any help, but the owner of the house did eventually provide me with a plastic bag, a roll of paper towels and a bottle of carpet cleaner. I ended up leaving three giant orange stains on her beige carpet anyway. What can I say, I was too drunk to aim for the inside of the bag, and red wine stains are a bitch to clean even for a sober person. The stains were really orange though, because of the Cheetos I'd been snacking on with the drinks, and the odor of its half-digested form made everyone swear off cheese forever. I'm not proud of this story (except when I take into account that the little bitch stole my boyfriend a couple months later).

What I don’t get is why anyone past the age of 23 would put themselves through this kind of agony when they have the option not to. And it’s not even like she gets to enjoy the high from the alcohol. Sure she gets the high from tasting the food, but for me, satisfaction from eating includes keeping it down. From what I hear, this woman is middle aged and average looking. She works for the social welfares department, which is about the furthest thing to modeling. There isn't any obvious reason for her to be 90lbs. Recalling the first time I’d heard a colleague’s complaint about the smell of puke in the bathroom, this woman must’ve been belching like this for at least two years. Either she's down to her skeleton by now or she's been doing it wrong all this time. I feel sorry for her. I wanted to talk to her, mostly because I believe she'd have an interesting story to tell. I feel like she and I would have some kind of a connection, since I’m having a similar problem with my eating habits, just to the opposite extreme.

It's Hot Hot Hot

2007-02-19T01:35:00.000+08:00

Though most people would describe today's weather as "pleasant", a highest temperature of 25.3°C in the middle of February--the highest ever recorded for a Chinese New Year's Day--is hella scary. I can't imagine what summer's going to be like in the Year of the Pig.

While we continue to ignore the pressing need to save our planet, I couldn't help but notice the final sale going on around town. One of the perks global warming brings is the earlier and bigger sale of fall/winter fashion. If we could just get a couple more days below 20, I wouldn't have to wait a year to show off my new coat.

It's official that we've passed the point of no return. My plan is to make the most out of as many more of the premature fall/winter season-end sales as possible before I get the hell outta Hong Kong and migrate somewhere where winters are still cold and residents at least aren't as shortsighted as to keep the air conditioner at 16°C everyday, all year round. I'll also make sure I don't have any offspring, because unless we can afford to move to Mars, my grandchildren won't be able to live past adolescence.

Travel, Food, Currency

2007-02-07T23:51:00.000+08:00

"Travel" is my new buzzword. Shopping just doesn't cut it anymore. Shoes and bags can rip, but the satisfaction of cutting a big chunk of your savings out in exchange for a few days of fobbish life in a foreign country lasts forever. Unfortunately, I hit the buzz at the wrong time and my long vacation around Western Europe (plus Belgium and Italy) will have to be postponed yet again.

Though I've been on quite a few myself back in Toronto, I can never understand those bus tours to Montreal, New York, Boston, etc organized by the Chinese travel agents. Minus the few washroom breaks, you're stuck on the bus on some highway 80% of the time, "entertained" by either an old Hong Kong film shown on the 10-inch screen overhead, or the tour guide’s idea of karaoke on his one-way radio. Lunch is but a little longer than a washroom break, at a fast-food restaurant that's so small it takes twice the allowed time to just buy food from the counter, let alone find a spot to eat. As the "value for money" factor, dinner's usually included, and more often than not you find yourself indulging in this delicacy known as the local version of that same Wong's Chinese Buffet you pass by everyday back home.

It might be a while before I could truly travel in style, but that doesn't mean I'm going to live off of leftovers wrapped in spring rolls. For me, food makes up on average 50% of traveling. What I eat must not be expensive but must be local.

From what I hear, a lot of people in Hong Kong think eating at McDonald’s is a good way to save whenever they travel outside of Southeast Asia. What’s more pathetic than people who outright refuse to adapt to the bread-and-cheese diet are people who use the price of a McDonald's meal as a country's standard of living, as if mistaking the golden arches for a currency unit. The fact that a Fillet-o-Fish meal somewhere in Europe costs five times more than it does in Hong Kong doesn't mean the standards of living there is fivefold of ours. McDonald's prices at any corner of the world have to do with so many factors, most of all the locale's demonstration of anti-Americanism.

TV Guide

2007-01-22T23:11:00.000+08:00

The first week of the newest season of American Idol proved to be the simple no-thinking-required entertainment it set out to deliver. If only Starworld hadn’t been pulling the 12-hour marathon of non-stop reruns everyday, I might actually want to see more of it.

It would seem I'm already a blessed one to get "free" "cable" TV. But with a measly 17 channels in total to choose from, I find myself still stuck attacking the remote control with no good reason to stop.

My choices include:

Three American news channels featuring very loud anchors making supposedly witty comments at each other in between news pieces that too often have to do with their supposedly not retarded president;
Two Chinese movie channels that have been rotating between the same handful of Steven Chow movies from the last decade morning and night since 1999;
An English movie channel that would once every two months highlight a worthy old film like Jumangi, which will then be shown four more times before they find the next good film that's old enough to fit their tiny budget;
The four local channels 95% of Hong Kong is watching everyday, featuring either poorly done local productions or ratings boosters purchased from either Japan, South Korea or Taiwan, otherwise from ABC, CBS or BBC;
Starworld, who has sadly stopped showing Friends and The Simpsons but fortunately continues to show Seinfeld everyday, though in repulsive picture quality; plus a whole bunch of mediocre series and sitcoms I can never find the patience to sit through;
ESPN, in Chinese! Having to figure out which long string of meaningless Chinese words refers to which NBA player is very exhausting;
National Geographic, but there's only so many devastating moments of wild animals getting devoured on or men living through excruciating pain from life-threatening injuries captured on film I could bare to watch a day. Really. Think again.

Save Our Night Scenery

2007-01-02T23:21:00.000+08:00

Walked out the door this morning to my fresh start for the new year, only to be greeted by air that was anything but. As if a crew of burglars had swept the streets in the middle of the night and robbed the New Territories of its signature fresh air, my entire 10-minute walk to the bus stop smelled like Marlboros, although not a single smoker was in sight. Did I just get a taste of the new smoke-free Hong Kong? Is this what it's going to be like now that smokers are banned from huffing and puffing indoors?

Was lucky enough to countdown to the new year while looking at Hong Kong's beautiful night scenery under very clear skies. How long do we have till this famous sight gets completely eaten away by our city's infamous coat of smog? This is the equivalent of a terminal illness for any old hood, let alone "Asia's world city", and we're in the final stage.

Last picture taken in 2006

Ass Crack over Cleavage

2006-12-22T15:02:00.000+08:00

Have I not been looking at the right places, or did cleavage never make it to Hong Kong's fashion world? It's true that most Hong Kong girls are flat-chested anyway and those intending to show anything below the collarbones ought to be on full alert for ma-lud-los who'd outright stare down your neckline, but that doesn't mean we should resort to showing our ass cracks instead.

Why are girls here so eager to show off so much of their asses? Too many times have I seen a girl wearing super-low-rise pants whose top is never long enough to cover more than her bellybutton, who always has a reason to crouch in public with her back to everyone so nobody misses the sight of her ass crack. And I'm not talking about the subtle peak of the crack, but full-fledged "swipe card here" slits. What's up with that?

Obviously, not everyone has a good sense of style, but you don't need the Fab Five to tell you that some things are clear no-nos.

Earth to girls:
1. Technicolor eye shadow should be avoided if you wear glasses
2. Underarm hair is not sexy
3. You shouldn't be able to play the guitar with your toenails
4. (Super) low-rise jeans should be worn with (super) low-rise panties. And if you're going to show the edge of your panties, it needs not be branded but must not be off-white

Earth to guys:
1. Pinky nails shouldn't be any longer than the nails on any other finger
2. Blue jeans with black leather shoes is a combination only selected European male models can pull off
3. Even when you're wearing jeans, black leather shoes never go with white cotton socks
4. Helping your lady carry her Gucci bag may make you look like a caring boyfriend; carrying a lady's Gucci bag of your own makes you look like you have a boyfriend

Paris Je T'aime

2006-12-20T00:52:00.000+08:00

Minus the segment on Frodo meets Dracula, Paris Je T'aime was nothing short of charming. Though I must say Christopher Doyle's work was rather embarrassing. His representation of—by the looks of the happenings—a drugged China Town consisting of women and monks left me très très puzzled. He relied too much on his fancy camerawork and completely failed to take advantage of the beauty of the city on which the whole film is based. The segment could've been shot in Sheung Wan for all I know. And as much as I appreciate Faye Wong's music, it just did not go with the rest of whatever the hell it was that went on in those five dreadful minutes. Seems like Doyle's still entangled in the Wong Kar Wai's doodle.

But don't get me wrong though, I think this film is very much worth watching, dare I say even more so than A Night in Paris. Overall, the two hours of love tales in the city of lights was heart-warming. Excluding the aforementioned, even the bad parts were good, and even the melancholy and bitterness portrayed were pleasant. A background in the French language is not necessary to enjoy Paris Je T'aime, except maybe to grasp why Margo Martindale's accent was funny. In fact, the sans-subtitles segment with Steve Buscemi proved to be one of the best by putting the non-French audience right in the perspective of the apprehensive tourist he plays, no less.

2006

2006-12-12T13:28:00.000+08:00

Kudos to master So Man Fung. Every good thing that according to his predictions would happen to me in the year of the Dog has come true.

During that casual conversation everyone's bound to have near the end of every year, a friend's remark about feeling like having done nothing the entire year made me realize just how much I have achieved in 2006.

January: My 2006 started the crappiest way a new year could start; I'd been struggling with the worst case of depression I'd ever had for a few months, and the only friend I had been relying on ditched me. And having my 27-is-so-fucking-old birthday really didn't help.

February: Not that I had the intention, but the shortest month was the most eventful. The mere 28 days had in store two concerts, a funeral, a root canal, and the best first date.

And then it was cruising the rest of the way. I finally completed my master's study, which had seemed never-ending up to the day the transcript arrived in my mail, and felt like it never happened from that moment on. I got my long-awaited promotion at work, though without the presumed boost in salary or authority, and hence enthusiasm. I traveled to Singapore, Tokyo and Seoul and gained eight pounds from each trip. I spent four days in the hospital, felt a lot of pain, saw even more. I moved from Hong Kong Island to the New Territories, where I'm getting a lot more space, fresh air, homeliness, and air miles. I was found by my other half; and he helped me find my faith in God.

I had to take this opportunity to brag because it could well be the most someone as lazy as me would be able to do in a year's time, ever.

So Fucking Inspired

2006-12-01T13:09:00.000+08:00

It's been a while since I'd felt as alive as I did yesterday at HKTDC's Innovation & Design Expo. The experience was much like visiting the art museum, but better. Impressive works of photography, graphic design, poster ads, and less impressive fashion designs—all made in Hong Kong—were on display though in a small scale. The Hong Kong Invention Association has a couple dozen booths showcasing gadgets like a smokeless ashtray, which supposedly slows down the burning of a cigarette and reduces emission of second-hand smoke. It was too bad the exhibitor couldn't demonstrate in the smoke-free venue.

The seminars co-organized by Hong Kong Design Centre as BODW events proved to be rewarding. The experiences, case studies and design philosophies shared by the speakers were not nearly as practical as they were inspiring. I particularly enjoyed the background story of the 2006 FIFA World Cup logo design as told by design and branding veteran Michael Yu of Creation House; and the remarkable quest from making toy cars to developing, patenting and offering a whole new printing technology as shared by the charming-in-a-strange-way Victor Chan of UGT.

A couple of days ago a colleague had on his msn handle "Passion = the secret of success". I said to him, it's no secret; passion is the key to success. I've long grasped this truth and at the same time have continued to come across people whose complete lack of passion in their jobs makes you wonder why they bother doing what they do. So it was very comforting to see that there is in fact a lot of people in our city who still have that burning fire in their eyes.

Managing (barely) the editorial department in probably the one "Publications Ltd" who cares least about editorial has drained the life out of me. I need to get into a more creative field of work. Job offers anyone?

Swipe

2006-12-01T00:39:00.000+08:00

If it's not too late and you don't already have one, apply for a Standard Chartered credit card. They're giving away NDS handhelds as welcome gifts. It sure has made my bus rides to and from home a lot more entertaining the past two weeks. Of course, there's a catch. There's always a catch. You have to charge like two billion dollars within the first three months or you must pay them back for the game. But hey, free game for three months. Yey.

Recently had a bad experience with American Express. It's been resolved now but I just thought I should warn people here about this company. Soon as I got my card back in June I received information about a triple reward points promotion. For $240 I can get triple reward points for everything I charge in the following 12 months. With my determination to land a free holiday in Malibu some day, I jumped to the chance to collect Asia Miles three times faster. I paid my $240 and charged away. It wasn't till early October that I noticed my reward points never got tripled. I called their customer service hotline to query. The staff told me that for some reason, "the system" never enrolled me in the triple points program. I found it funny that the system would forget to give me the points, when it had clearly remembered to take the program fee from me promptly. The staff said she'd correct the problem and adjust my points; and when the next statement came I got my triple points.

On last month’s statement I noticed yet again that my points for the month were not tripled. I called the customer service again, this time to be told that because the system had failed to enroll me when I paid to get enrolled and I had to be manually enrolled by a staff only in October—by when the triple points promotion had already expired—I could only be enrolled into the double reward points program which was then in place. I asked this customer service representative multiple times if I got this right. She confirmed that there was nothing they could do about my missing points; that because the program I had paid to enroll no longer exists on the system it wasn’t possible to give me the triple points; that neither was it possible to manually adjust my points; that if the system hadn’t had the error back in June I would’ve been able to get triple reward points for 12 full months; and that because of a system error at American Express, I will not be receiving what I had already paid for.

It was the kind of thing you just wouldn’t believe you’re hearing from a credit card customer service, let alone American Express. I hadn’t had such a frustrating telephone conversation since calling a certain conniving publisher to ask for compensation for publishing my Ex-Men article in his overpriced magazine without my consent. I got so worked up I thought I was going to have a stroke. Me being me, I’d risk getting a stroke any day to make sure that justice is served. So I asked to talk to the manager. The manager called me back within the hour, presumably after getting the scope of the story from the stupid staff who outright said to an angry customer that she’d no way get compensated. The manager assured me that my points will get adjusted manually each month and I’d get triple points till June next year. And June next year is when I'll stop using this card.

Ashes to Ashes

2006-11-23T00:02:00.000+08:00

Those PR reps who continue to ignore my request to stop faxing over press releases I also receive soft copies of by e-mail should be glad to know that the paper they're so eagerly helping to consume have another good use to go to. The very action of my tossing paper into the recycling bin now has whole new karma, because our city might soon start making our very own cost-effective and environmentally friendly paper coffins.

During the few minutes of the radio program I caught this morning, a guest/caller commented that cremating the dead in paper coffins is highly problematic because the dead can feel what he/she is using. Immediately I was overcome with anxiety while images of various offerings flashed before my eyes. The clothes, shoes, gold watch, seven-story mansion, Rolls Royce, mahjong tiles and mahjong buddies we offered to my grandfather when he died were all made of paper! Has Grandpa been cursing us all these years for giving him flimsy furniture?

It sure is good to know that even up to the moment I burn into ashes, there's that much more I can do to help the environment. But if you really believe you can feel the difference between wood and cardboard after you die, you might not want to put yourself through the blistering cremation causes.

MA

2006-11-14T23:00:00.000+08:00

Some months ago I was asked to speak in a seminar and share my experience with prospective students of the distance-learning master program I had just completed. I didn't do it, because I didn't think I could live with myself for recommending to anyone the program I so wanted to get out of.

I still have nothing good to say about the master program, except that it's finally over. But to those considering getting themselves into distance learning postgraduate studies, I'll say this: Don't do it unless:

Your day job leaves you enough time and energy to do the shitload of reading and writing required for self-study programs;
The program is backed by word-of-mouth of students from past intakes, not just self-claimed "reputation" by the institution or the agent;
The curriculum is not from the last decade and is practical for your purposes;
The local tutor hired for your program, regardless of his/her credentials, speaks in a dialect you can understand;
The agent, which you'd rely on for all administrative matters, has a decent management and does not have a staff turnover that leaves you with seven people trying (some harder than others) to handle your administrative matters over the course of your program; and
That you can afford the tuition and all that they'll want to milk out of you before you break away:

Two-year master program in mass communications at the University of Leicester: GBP5,600
Graduation photos: HK$300
Rental of gown and mortar board at Victoria Uniform in Hong Kong: HK$125
Rental of graduation hood from U of L: HK$640*
One graduate ticket and three guest tickets for the simu-graduation ceremony in Hong Kong (HK$79.90 late dinner buffet included): HK$1,560
Not being able to enjoy my graduation ceremony tomorrow night due to preoccupation with kicking myself: priceless

* Rental fee does NOT include deposit (deposit is another HK$600). Yes, we must fork out HK$640 to RENT this worn out piece of cloth from U of L just to be allowed to join the ceremony. I'm used to seeing gleamy-fabric hoods in bright celebratory colors. But the blood-and-ash two-toned hood we got truly reflects the nature of our program. What can I say, it really brings out my...bitterness.

Woman On Top

2006-11-09T16:17:00.000+08:00

Finally, a Chinese from Hong Kong—and a woman—holds the top job in a major UN agency. I'm as ashamed as this "achievement" is remarkable. Makes me wonder if the adrenalin from this big promotion keeps Dr Chan awake at night more so than being haunted by 300 ghosts.

George W Bush's got a lot to learn from China on buying votes. Had Shih Ming-de seen what the world has come to earlier, he would've shrugged and said "The hell with it. Let Chen Shui-bian's wife keep her coupons, and throw in some extra gifts too."

Good luck world. It's a middle-aged woman behind the wheel, and this one's known for NOT signaling.

Kamsahamnida

2006-11-08T20:07:00.000+08:00

Because I was there to attend a wedding and didn't expect to have much time to roam around for sightseeing, Seoul became the first vacation I've taken without doing any research beforehand. Despite the fast spread of Korean films, drama series and songs throughout Asia, I've just never really been interested in the Korean culture. I'm not big on Kimchi nor Rain. The only Korean thing I can say I truly appreciate is their chopsticks. Maybe it was because of my lack of expectations that the trip ended up being such a wonderful experience.

Not the ice cream

As with any other of my trips, food played a major role in my visit to Seoul. The abundance of street food there is comparable to Taipei. I've lost track of the amount of sundae (vermicelli sausages with pig intestines inside) and tteokbokki (rice cake in spicy sauce) I'd eaten over the four days. Some vendors had better recipes than others. My favorite was the tteokbokki I had on the first day, which was cooked in a sauce that tasted like a thicker, spicy version of Campbell's alphabet soup. The restaurant meals were also very memorable, from the humble noodles, dumplings and pancakes to a full-blown seafood feast; from barbeque pork belly wrapped in lettuce to live octopus dipped in sesame seed oil. A drawback was that a lot of the food there is spicier than I can take. I must've eaten more chili powder on this trip than in my entire life up to last week.

"Ye!"

To my disappointment, the bride and groom chose to have a church wedding instead of a traditional Korean one. As good as the couple looked in their tux and white gown, their mothers in hanbok stole the spotlight. The ceremony was different from other church weddings I've seen in that there was a lot of bowing; that a 40-member choir, a conductor and a band were present, that two professional singers gave a performance in the middle of the ceremony, and that the pastor talked a lot—though I might've only gotten that impression because I understood none of it except for the occasional "Amen" and groom's ecstatic "ye" (Korean for "yes"). Everything else was short and sweet. Group photos were taken inside the church, and then one with all the relatives was done on the staircase outside. Guests were then led to the church's cafeteria for a buffet-style meal. There was no fancy reception, no toast, no games, no kissing.

Matchmaking

I've always known that all Asians are anal about traditions, but I hadn't realized that the South Koreans could be more conservative than the Chinese. Arranged marriage may not be as common now but matchmaking services are still very popular. The groom (a Korean American) and the bride (a local South Korean who's spent a few years studying in the US) were introduced through a matchmaking service earlier in the year. They communicated mostly via e-mail. The girl then took a short vacation to the states to meet the guy in person (anything more than a single short visit would've "devalued" the girl, according to her parents). They had but a few dates before their parents decided they should get married.

…And matchmaking

Arriving at Yongsan-ku we were looking for a good strip club to bring the groom to. But words were going around that we wouldn't be able to find any since cops have recently been busting these illegal businesses left and right. We finally settled for a Korean club in the basement of a hotel. A man can go in a Korean club and "book" any of the girls he sees inside, a waiter would then drag the girl over and encourage "communication", while they pour each other shots of whiskey or scotch. Interestingly, these girls do not work for the club, nor are they there to make money off anyone; they themselves are patrons who pay good money to get in. What the waiters hope to get are big tips off the men for introducing girls to them; what the men hope to get are young single girls to drink with and possibly bring to a hotel room upstairs (in which case the waiter gets an even bigger tip); and what the girls hope to get are free booze and, simply, the chance to meet young single men. Apparently, it's inappropriate for young singles to interact with members of the opposite sex and it's often necessary that some kind of a middleman initiates things. While those nearing the ripe age for marriage could pay professional matchmakers to do that, teenagers could only resort to these booking clubs and rely on the waiters.

What ends up happening sometimes though is that the men are neither young nor single, or they get too touchy and piss the girls off. A girl is free to excuse herself from the table if she dislikes the man/men for any reason; she can also refuse to be dragged around by the waiters, but few actually do. Because I had gone with a group that included men and we had a private karaoke room, I was immune from being booked. But every time I went outside to the bathroom or the dance floor, I risked getting kidnapped by waiters. As we were in the private room we couldn't see the girls outside, so instead of pointing out specific girls to book, our waiter just brought in girls from time to time. I'd been told that some girls could end up doing some crazy things in these booking clubs, but the ones that came into our room didn't do anything more than drinking, exchanging shallow conversations in broken English, and singing half a song. The waiter had warned us that some girls just dislike foreigners. I'd say we had about 10 girls in and out of our room throughout the night. Half of them tried to be a good sport and stuck around for a few minutes. Others clearly didn't want to be in our room and didn't take long before walking out of it.

Interesting stuff.

Oh, and we saw some Free Hugs people around a shopping district. I can never be sure whether they are soliciting or offering though.