Goodbye America

Dear Diary,

It's been a week, but I've still not really gotten onto American time. I slept from 9 pm last night until 1 am, then I didn't fall back to sleep until 4. I suppose there's no use in trying anymore as I'll be flying back to Hong Kong on Monday morning.

Goodbye America, so long and thanks for all the fish!

I remain respectfully yours,
Stephen

Eating dinner at 3:30

Dear Diary,

I forgot how my parents like to eat at weird times.

We were driving to Virginia to see my mom's side of the family. We stopped at a fast food restaurant at 3:30 for dinner. Yes, 3:30! Or maybe it was a combination of lunch and dinner, I'm not really sure, but it was definitely at least dinner, since we didn't eat again today.

To be honest, I'm still not used to the Hong Kong way of having dinner at 9:00 pm, but I don't like dinner at 3:30 either. Personally, I'd rather meet somewhere in the middle.

I remain respectfully yours,
Stephen

Thanksgiving Menu

Dear Diary,

I'm never going to eat again. No, I'm serious this time. Stomach so full!


Today's Thanksgiving Menu:
Turkey
Ham
Barbecue
Mashed Potatoes
Gravy
Baked Apples
Corn
Peas
Rolls
Celery with Peanut Butter
Red stuff

This was all for only nine people (grant it we're Dennis's so you've got to add a little more). Oh wait, I almost forgot the deserts:
Pumpkin Pie
Pecan Pie
Coconut Cake
M&M Cookies
Crunchy thing

Now, that's a lot of food for one meal, no doubt. But to me, that's the great thing about Thanksgiving dinner: leftovers. Yes, there will be turkey and ham for dinner for an entire week!

I remain respectfully yours,
Stephen

The Things I'm Thankful For

Dear Diary,

With Thanksgiving quickly approaching, it's time for the obligatory 'What are you thankful for?' question. For me, I guess I've got a lot to be thankful for.

For starters, I'm not dead. If I were dead, I couldn't be thankful for anything I suppose. So, I'll start with being alive.

Next, I'm thankful that I'll be home for Thanksgiving for the first time in seven years. I'm thankful for getting to spend time with my family (although I've slept through so much of it).

I'm thankful that I got to see my grandma again on this trip. Both my grandparents on my mother's side died while I was away, so you never know when will be the last time you get to see your grandparent. So, I'm thankful I could see my grandma again (even if she couldn't hear me).

I'm also thankful for my awesome girlfriend, as well as Lando and Charlotte, back in Hong Kong.

Well, in this time of reflection, those are the things I am most thankful for. It's funny, I didn't think of any worldly possessions or anything like that. I guess the thing that matters most in this world is people (and dogs), not money or any of the stuff you buy with it.

I remain respectfully yours,
Stephen

Everything is bigger

Dear Diary,

Everything is bigger in America. The houses, the restaurants, the food portions, the random stuff ... everything is big.

I'm used to being comfortable in my cocoon of an apartment. Here in America though, my parent's living room is as big as my whole apartment. I guess they need all that extra room because they have so much more stuff than me.

Heck, even the garage where they store all their junk is as big as my apartment. "What do they need all this junk for?" I keep asking myself.

I suppose I've become used to living in a small space. I'm used to only keeping those things which I absolutely need. There's not much room in my apartment for sentimentality.

I wonder what the point is in keeping things you no longer use. The only time we look at those old things is when it's time for a garage sale. Then we look at those old things, and we have a few memories, and we decide we need to keep that old thing. But why?

I'm not talking about old photos or letters, I'm talking about things like old toys, old school projects or even old mouse pads. "Don't you remember this old mouse pad? This was the mouse pad we had for our first computer. Don't you remember playing Lode Runner on that computer? Ah, the memories!"

Well, I suppose if you've got the room to keep all that junk, it's your right to do so, but as for me, I'm just going to throw mine away.

I remain respectfully yours,
Stephen

Jet lag

Dear Diary,

I wanted to write about all the interesting things I've been doing since I arrived in America. Unfortunately, though, the majority of my time has been spent snoring. I just can't seem to stop falling asleep on the many different sofas my parents own. They are just oh so comfortable.

Yesterday, after lunch I slept for an hour or so. I even slept through my sister's arrival. Then I fell asleep for three hours after dinner, missing her departure. This afternoon/evening I slept for about seven hours, only taking a break to eat dinner and then promptly falling back to sleep.

Now the clock says that it's 1:20 am, but I'm not tired at all. Hmmm, guess I need to find something constructive to do ...

I remain respectfully yours,
Stephen

Get to work son

Dear Diary,

I guess I have jet lag since I woke up at 6:30 this morning despite being so tired. I tired to go back to sleep, but it was no use.

Not to worry though, my father put my early rise to use. First, we put together some equipment in the garage and then we hung some Christmas lights outside.


My dad told me that their new neighborhood has a reputation of always having wonderful Christmas light displays. In fact, it's so well known, people actually take bus tours to see it.

Although I never really liked going out with the family to look at Christmas lights when I was a kid, it's good to know that people still do that. It's easy to look around at the state of the world and think that nothing is the same as when you were growing up, but it's nice to see some old traditions still remain.

Speaking of traditions, it was good to have a home cooked meal and then promptly fall asleep on the sofa!

I remain respectfully yours,
Stephen

The Baby Silencer

Dear Diary,

I finally made it! What a long day of traveling! From the time I left my apartment in Sai Kung to the time I arrived at my parent's house in North Carolina was about 27 hours.

Sadly, I didn't get to rest much along the way. I've never been too good at sleeping on airplanes, and today was no exception. Of course, my new friend Jeremy didn't help much either.

Jeremy was the guy sitting next to me on the fifteen and a half hour flight from Hong Kong to New York. The first thing I should tell you about Jeremy is, he was probably on some kind of drugs, legal or otherwise.

He was out cold, sleeping like a baby before the plane had even taken off. He leaned on the guy sitting by the window, then he leaned on me. I tried to wake him up, he mumbled something and then went to a neutral position. This went on for about eight hours.

Finally he woke up and began to mumble again unintelligibly. He tried to talk to me, but, honestly, I couldn't understand half of what he was saying. One time, the flight attendant spilled a bit of water on a passenger. Jeremy proceeded to tell me about his idea for clothes that didn't get wet. I suppose the idea was that water would just bounce off it; I really don't know.

Then, about ten hours into the flight, a baby two rows in front of us started crying. It cried and cried and cried. The crying didn't bother me too much as I was listening to my iPod, but Jeremy insisted on telling me about his idea for a baby silencer. I never really could get him to explain how it functioned, but he insisted that if a gun could be silenced, then so could a baby, because after all, guns are louder than babies.

If nothing else at least, I can sure say that it was a trip I won't soon forget! But now it's time for me to get my beauty rest.

So, I remain respectfully yours,
Stephen

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Dear Diary,

At this time tomorrow, I’ll be flying somewhere over the Pacific (hopefully). Yes, I’m going home for Thanksgiving.

I’ll be leaving my apartment in Sai Kung around 7:00 am to catch my flight which takes off at 11:30 that morning. Then, I’ll sit back and enjoy 15 hours and 15 minutes of PSP, Nintendo DS, reading and (hopefully) some sleep.

That will all be followed by 3 hours and 45 minutes in the luxurious Newark, New Jersey airport — always a pleasure. Then I’ll hop on a 2 hour flight from Newark to Charlotte, NC, arriving at about 7:30 pm.

So let’s see here … my flight leaves at 11:30 am on Friday morning, and I arrive at 7:30 pm Friday night … why, that’s only 8 hours of travel time! Excellent!

Don’t worry though diary, I’m taking you with me, so I can update you with life from America. No, I won’t be able to update you everyday, but I will do it when I can.

Until next time …

I remain respectfully yours,
Stephen

Still sick

Dear Diary,

My sore throat is trying to come back. Not a great time for that as I'm flying to America on Friday.

I went to the doctor this morning and he gave me a bunch of medicine. I also stayed home from work today hoping to recover soon. Hope I can make it here.

I remain respectfully yours,
Stephen

A handbag???

What was my last entry about again? Oh, that's right ...

Old lady handbags

Dear Diary,

Why is everything always slower when it rains? You’d think people would want to go faster to get out of the rain, but actually it turns out to be the opposite.

Yes, everything is just slower on a rainy day. If I’m waiting outside for the bus, I’m going to be waiting twice as long. If I’m walking to my office, everyone on the sidewalk is making baby steps (and then proceeding to dump their umbrella water all over me). The lift is slower, the guy making my dinner is slower, everything is slower.

I wish things would slow down that much on sunny days. On sunny days, people can’t seem to get wherever they’re going fast enough — especially old ladies, as it turns out. They love to push me out of the way with their giant handbags — it’s rudeness by proxy but rudeness nonetheless.


I’ve found that those old ladies love to hear themselves talk too. I can be sitting in the front of the upper deck on the bus and I’ll be able to hear an old lady talking on her mobile phone from the back of the lower deck. Thankfully, I won’t be able to understand what she’s talking about, but, whatever it is, she sure is happy to let the whole bus know about it.

I guess I shouldn’t give those old ladies too hard of a time though. After all, some day I’ll be an old man, and there’ll be hair growing out of my ears. Yikes!

I remain respectfully yours,
Stephen

image credit: wikimedia

Staring Contest

Dear Diary,

I haven’t shaved in a couple of weeks. Am I just being lazy or is it a new style?

As if I didn’t get stared at enough, the beard seems to be making it worse. Everywhere I go, there are always eyes on me. I look back at them, and they usually look away. USUALLY. Every now and then there’s someone who just keeps staring at me even if I’m staring right back at them.

I guess it’s like that staring game we used to play as kids — the first one to look away loses. If I make a funny face though, I will usually win.

Sometimes I get some weird comments about my beard as well though. I was riding on the train the other day and this woman was talking to her kid, and she kept saying ‘bear’ and looking at me. The kid started pointing at me and saying ‘bear’.

Hmm, maybe they were trying to say ‘beard’. Anyway, I growled at her.

I remain respectfully yours,
Stephen

Sick weekend

Dear Diary,

A sick weekend is not fun. I had a sore throat on Friday and Saturday. Today, my throat mostly feels better, but I’ve got a bit of a cold now.

It’s turning colder outside too. I’m wearing a sweatshirt and a hat. I guess it will be much colder in America though.

Even though I still felt sick today, I went out for a Chinese style dinner. On the menu was chicken, vegetables, noodles with lobster, shellfish and something else. At a Chinese dinner, each dish is served all together, so everyone at the table shares. I’d write more about it tonight, but, well, I’m sick so I don’t feel like it.

Hopefully I’ll feel better soon.

I remain respectfully yours,
Stephen

Sore throat

Dear Diary,

I’ve got an aching sore throat today. I shouldn’t even have gone to work, truth be told. Yet still I go, hoping for a well-deserved promotion that will likely never come.

Oh well, at least it’s Friday, and that means I’ll be up in the air in just a week’s time. Yep, that’s right; I’m going home for Thanksgiving! If memory serves, it will be the first time I’ve been home for Thanksgiving since 2002, and it’ll be the first time I’ve been back in the U.S. for almost three years.

That’s a long time to have been away. I have a feeling I might even get a bit of reverse culture shock — you know, going to Wal-Mart or something like that. Well, at any rate, I just hope I can recover before next Friday!

I remain respectfully yours,

Stephen

P.S. I’m going to try to fit all of my luggage in my backpack and a carry-on! Crazy times are back baby!

image source: wikimedia

A Good Watchdog

Dear Diary,

It seems that many of my neighbors are scared of dogs. Whenever I take the dogs for a walk, there’s always someone getting as far away from them as possible. It doesn’t matter — little kids, adults and old men alike — lots of people in Hong Kong are scared of dogs.

To me, it’s difficult to understand. I can’t say that I’ve seen a lot of mean dogs in my time here. Most people’s dogs are well-behaved. The only time they usually bark is when they see another dog. Even the stray dogs in Sai Kung are not usually mean. (Except for a couple of those out past the football pitch, but they’re all bark and if you look at them they’ll run away.)

So, why are some people so afraid of dogs?

Well, come to think of it, I suppose they might have some reason to be afraid of my Chihuahua, Lando. Yes, he’s small, and he couldn’t reach above your ankles, but he’s got some fight in him. Whenever we pass another dog, no matter the size, he spins around like a washing machine and barks hysterically.

I’ve tried everything to make him stop, but I guess he figures he is protecting himself, or me, or something. Usually, though, if I pick him up before he starts barking, then he will be calm. Sometimes, however, that doesn’t work, and I get a nice reminder of just how much power is in his little jaws.

I suppose my neighbors might also be afraid because, occasionally, he’s aggressive towards people as well. I don’t know, but I think sometimes he just doesn’t like the look of someone; he’ll just start barking madly at them for no reason — last night he almost gave an old man a heart attack.

Oh, there he goes now, barking at a noise outside the door. Make no mistake about it, then, if anyone ever asks me to recommend a good breed for a watchdog, I will definitely tell them to get a Chihuahua.

Chihuahua: Five pounds of terror!

I remain respectfully yours,

Stephen

Riding the Tram

Dear Diary,

Hong Kong is a sleek, fast-paced, modern city; there’s no doubt about it, but, for me at least, it’s the quaint, simple things that make this a great city. It is for this reason that I find the tram so charming.

The tram car is basically a small, double-decker carriage. It runs on tracks placed in the middle of some of Hong Kong Island’s busiest streets. To the best of my knowledge, the tram only runs on Hong Kong Island.

Of course, to say that it ‘runs’ is a bit of an overstatement. A journey from my office to Central (the downtown area), for example, could take up to an hour on the tram. Compare that to the MTR (subway), which could get me there within fifteen minutes, and you will see that its pace is rather leisurely.

That, of course, is not always such a bad thing. It’s a great way to see the city — at least when the carriage isn’t packed full of people. That’s what happened to me the other day.

I got on the carriage, but there were no seats available, so I had to stand. That was not good news for me. I can say without any shadow of a doubt, the tram was not built with foreigners in mind.

The top of both decks stand less than 6 feet tall. I’m always stooped over like some kind of ogre, but that doesn’t stop me from bumping my head at least once every time I get on.

It happened to me again the other day. Some of the elderly folks had a bit of a chuckle. I would have joined in on the laughter, but my head hurt a bit. I started to rub the sore spot when an elderly woman offered me her seat. That was so kind, of course, but I refused, allowing her to sit back down.

She continued to smile at me though. “So tall,” she said. I had no idea what to say in reply, so I just smiled back at her.

In this technologically driven modern age, I hope Hong Kong never loses its quaint little charms.

I remain respectfully yours,

Stephen

image credit: wikimedia

A Rebel Fairy

Dear Diary,

I wrote a short story recently. I'm going to write it out here. It sure would be nice if I could get some comments and criticism about it. It's called 'The Rebel Fairy' and it's about, well, a rebel fairy.


The Rebel Fairy

“Any last words?” the old guard asked me.

I couldn’t help but to let out a grin. I couldn’t see their faces behind the two-way mirror, but I’m sure that infuriated them even more. Good. Let them be angry. Let them lust for my blood.

I bet they thought I’d beg for mercy. I bet they thought I’d show fear. Truth is, I am afraid — but I ain’t about to give them the satisfaction. No way. I’m too close to give it all up now.

You see, for those of you stuck in Neverland for the past two decades, I am the one they call Jack, the leader of the resistance, the rebel fairy. They tried to silence me, they tried to control me, they tried to buy me off — but this horse was meant to run free.

“How’d you get so angry?” they used to ask me.

“I’m not angry,” I’d say. “I’m alive.”

Funny, the looks I’d get. You see it all started about twenty years ago, when I got my first assignment — doe-eyed rookie, out to change the world. I get dropped in on this little girl. She goes on and on about this thing she wants, and that thing she wants. It was quite shocking to me really, cause I was looking around this little girl’s room and, to me, she already had everything: Barbie’s Dream House, My Little Pony, TV, VCR, Easy Bake Oven — you name it.

So I looked up at her and I says, “What you need all this for?”

Well, I was back on the yo-yo string up to the council before the tantrum had even started. “We don’t ask why,” they told me.

So this goes on for about another year or so — they send me down, they bring me right back up. “Attitude problem,” they says. “Not fit to serve.”

But all I wanna know is, why do we keep getting sent down to these fussy little rich girls when there’s poor kids with not enough to eat on the other side of the town? Nobody’s got an answer for me.

They don’t wanna deal with me anymore though. They ship me off to some godforsaken children’s book — an extra among extras. They hoped that would ¬shut me up. Big mistake.

You see, when they stuck me with all the other “rejected” fairies, I found I had brothers. Getting them to join me was easy. Hell, I don’t know, maybe I joined them.

Anyway, we started off small — ruining some little rich girl’s birthday, buzzing around in the Queen’s ear. But it wasn’t enough. We needed to go big.

That’s when we decided to start hitting the council where it hurt. We started infiltrating into their new recruits — get in their heads before the council could. Pretty soon, temper tantrums were being raised all through the Western Hemisphere.

The council, they didn’t know what to do. Fairies had never stood up for themselves before. Fairies had never asked “why”. So they decided we should have a “meeting”, if that’s what you wanna call it. My lieutenants, they didn’t want me to go. But I couldn’t be afraid. I had to go; I had to see them face to face.

So I get to their “meeting”, and would you believe it, those suckers tried to buy me off. They didn’t understand me or the resistance at all. We never cared about money, or power — we wanted to shake up the money, shake up the power — we wanted change.

See, the council could never understand that. The world’s changed man. But the council, they’re stuck in their little box, in their own little world. I told them as much. And when I tried to leave their little “meeting”, they weren’t having it. They tried to stop me; they tried to take my wings. But I got out of there. Yeah, sure, they got one of my wings, but I still got the other one — and that’s all I need.

After the “meeting”, things got intense. It was open war between the resistance and the council. Who’d have thought it? They preached about love and peace and happiness, yet here they were, going to war over a difference of opinion. Funny how folks can justify just about anything to get what they want.

Hell, I don’t know, maybe you could say the same thing about us. Maybe we never should’ve gone to war. Heh, maybe I am gettin soft. But I tell ya, nothing would have ever changed if we weren’t willing to fight for it.

So no, I can’t see them behind that mirror, but I know they’re seething. Maybe that was all I needed to do — to strip away the mask, to show them for what they truly are. They’ll stop at nothing for their power, so now those “happy, peace-loving” fairies are gonna fry me. Let them! Let them show their true colors.

So I look up at the old guard and I tell him, “I am Jack’s happy ending.”

“Huh?” he says back to me.

“Hurry up,” I grin into the mirror.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt!

Japanese Video Games

Dear Diary,

There’s something I’ve often wondered about since I came to Hong Kong — why do the video game shops here usually prefer to carry the Japanese versions of games instead of the English versions of games?

Of course, I understand that if a game is only available in Japanese, then we would get it in Japanese, but what about games available in both languages? Why does Japanese seem to be preferred?

Why am I even curious about this? Well, it seems to me that more people in Hong Kong speak English than Japanese. Sure, some Japanese live and work here, and yes, some local people can speak Japanese. However, English is the preferred second language in Hong Kong, and it is taught in every school. So again, why the preference for Japanese language games?

This intrigues me even more when I find myself looking for a RPG (role-playing game). These games are usually dialogue heavy, and the story is often one of the key factors of the game. Yet, of all the game genres, this seems to be the one where the Japanese language is most preferred.

Wanting to understand the phenomenon more, I decided to try a Japanese RPG for myself. I bought myself a copy of Final Fantasy XII International. (This game had the bonus of allowing me to watch the cut scenes in English while the menu/commands were in Japanese.)

To prepare for my experiment, I printed out some Japanese/English translations I found for the game online. So, dictionary in hand, I started to play the game. It wasn’t too bad at first, but the deeper and more involved the game became, the more I was forced to pause to look at my dictionary. In time it just became too tedious and I eventually stopped playing.

I wonder what local Hong Kong people do to play these games. Do they print out similar dictionaries? Or have they been playing these games in Japanese for so long that they have sort of learned all the important words?

Curiously, though, not all games are preferred in the Japanese language. For example, most games in the sports genre are only available in English (in my experience at least).

So, for now, (at least until I can get an answer to this interesting bit of video game news) I’ll go back to playing Fifa 10.

I remain respectfully yours,

Stephen

PS: Thank goodness I can buy the games I want online.

PPS: And thank goodness I have loving, sweet, great, awesome parents who will buy me games for Christmas.

Freezing office

Dear Diary,

People keep asking me why I need so many long-sleeved shirts. “It doesn’t usually get cold in Hong Kong,” they say. Of course I agree with them; it’s not usually cold in Hong Kong, but my office sure is.

Rainy or sunny, summer or winter, there is one thing you can be sure of — my office will be freezing. I’m not talking slightly below ideal room temperature — I’m talking you’d better wear a coat to the office. In fact, I wish I could type while wearing gloves, because I surely would. God only knows how much of my potential productivity is lost each day by me just blowing into my hands to warm them up.

Of course, management is “aware of the situation”, but it’s been like this for the entire two years that I’ve worked in this office. Oh, we humble workers try to correct the thermostat, but, mysteriously, as if by magic, it remains frigid despite our best efforts.

So yes, I do need my long-sleeved shirts. And yes, I do need to grow a beard. Alright, that last bit may just be because I’m lazy.

At any rate, I remain respectfully yours,

Stephen

An op-ed publication

Dear Diary,

I had my editorial published in the Sunday edition of the High Point Enterprise. That's kind of nifty.

Stephen

Afternoon tea

Dear Diary,

No Sunday afternoon in Hong Kong is complete without going out for afternoon tea. It’s a central part of the Hong Kong life really. I’d even go so far as saying that if you’ve not had tea in Hong Kong, then you’ve never really been to Hong Kong.

My favourite place for tea is a cute little diner not far from my home in Sai Kung. Many foreigners are afraid of these local restaurants, or cha chaan teng, as they are known locally, but they’re an essential part of Hong Kong culture. The prices are fair and the food is yummy.

Now, despite it being called “afternoon tea”, you don’t have to drink tea at all — which is a good thing for me since I don’t really like tea to be perfectly honest. My drink of choice — Hong Kong style ice coffee. And what do I eat with my coffee? French toast and fries.

Hong Kong people seem to love French toast. You cannot go to a cha chaan teng without seeing French toast on the menu. Other menu items you will also often see include chicken wings, sausages (think hot dogs), toast and noodles.

Mmmm, just remembering all this is making me hungry again! I simply cannot wait for next Sunday afternoon!

I remain respectfully yours,
Stephen

Fishing in Sai Kung

Dear Diary,

I found myself having trouble sleeping last night. For some reason, I kept waking up every couple of hours. Rather than getting frustrated about it, though, I decided to make lemonade out of lemons.

What to do at seven o’clock in the morning though? One word: Fishing!

I’ve been fishing several times since I moved to Sai Kung, but, I must admit, I’d never caught anything before. Once, I had thought that I’d caught something, but it turned out that my line was just stuck on something and I had to cut it.

“This time will be different though,” I told myself. So I grabbed my trusty rod, bought some bait at a local tackle shop, and headed for the pier. Thankfully, it’s November now so there are a lot less tourists around.

So I set up my line and assumed my normal position on the pier. “Ah, the glorious outdoors,” I thought to myself. “This will be great.”

Hour #1: No fish.

Hour #2: No fish.

I was just about ready to pack it up and go back home. Just then, however, I felt it — a tug on my line. I was so excited I nearly dropped the rod. I gathered my composure, though, and began to pull back on the rod. This was a big one!

I pulled and reeled and pulled some more — this fish wasn’t going to give up without a fight. It seemed my catch was beginning to draw the interest of some of the locals as well. A crowd began to gather around me as I battled the fish. There was no way I was letting this one get away — I had an audience to please after all.

I lost track of time as I battled that fish for so long. Had I been fighting it for a minute or an hour? I had no idea.

Finally, though, it began to tire. I started to reel it in. The great fish was finally visible at the top of the water — only, this wasn’t a fish at all — it was an EEL!

Yikes! I reeled the long, snake-like creature in over the pier rail. The crowd was shouting at me. I couldn’t understand them at all. One man was stamping on the ground as he shouted.

I suddenly remembered that eels could be electric, so I let the eel rest on the pier floor. I then raised my shoe and stamped the life out of that sea beast! The crowd cheered. I’d never felt anything like that before in my entire life.

Slowly, though, the crowd dissipated, and I found myself left with this slimy, nasty-looking eel. “What am I going to do with this thing?” I thought.

As I stood there, trying to figure out what to do with this thing, a kindly old man walked up to me. “Twenty dollar,” he said to me.

Baffled, I could only smile back at him. “Twenty dollar,” he said again, this time pointing at the eel.

“Twenty dollars?” I said, pointing at the eel as well.

The man nodded and pulled out a twenty dollar bill from his wallet. I cut my line and we made the exchange. He had a big smile on his face as he walked away.

“Was I just ripped off?” I thought to myself.

Oh well, I made twenty bucks and I have a great story to tell. It will now and forever be known simply as, “The Big One”.

I remain respectfully yours,
Stephen

Copy Watch

Dear Diary,

Needing some warmer clothes for the coming winter, I went to Temple Street tonight.

Why is it called Temple Street anyway? I didn’t see a temple anywhere! (And I don’t think any religion would approve of some of the things on sale there!)

Thankfully, I quickly found what I needed — three long-sleeved shirts. Those should keep me warm in my office this winter.

After finding my clothes, I wanted to get out of there quickly — those shopkeepers are like vultures. So I’m walking down the street, minding my own business, when I hear, “Copy watch”.

I didn’t stop.

Then I felt a tap on my shoulder. I heard that voice again, “Excuse me my friend, copy watch.”

“Ah, an old acquaintance, perhaps?” I thought to myself.

I turned around to see who it was. Then I saw the man behind the voice, looking up at me with those tender doe-like eyes. “Copy watch,” he said to me with a smile.

Why, I didn’t know this man at all. “Excuse me, do I know you?” I said to him.

He looked at me with a blank stare. “Copy watch,” he finally said again.

I began to quickly walk away. The man shouted after me, “Sir, copy watch, copy handbag!”

I didn’t turn around. I left that false Temple Street as quickly as my long legs would allow me.

Note to self: If someone claims to be your friend and says “copy watch” in the same sentence, they are most definitely not your friend.

I remain respectfully yours,
Stephen

Living in a Cage

Dear Diary,

Note to self: The next time you feel like complaining about your small apartment, watch this video first.

Stephen

Cutting the queue

Dear Diary,

What’s the point of having a queue if people can just jump into the front of it? On my way to work this morning, someone cut in front of me in the bus queue, and then a woman nearly stepped on my foot trying to get in front of me to get on the train. How rude.

Although I’m a big guy, and some might even say scary looking, I’m not particularly confrontational. I didn’t say anything either time — although I did stare evilly at the back of that woman’s head. That’ll show her.

No, I’m just not one to pick a fight. I guess it’s a good thing I don’t live in China though — they love to jump the queue over there.

When I went to Ocean Park, a local amusement park, on my birthday, there were many mainland Chinese — and many of them seemed to love jumping the queue. I remember standing in line for the Ferris wheel. A group of elderly women just started jumping all the way to the front of the line. Finally, someone in the back of the line scolded them. I couldn’t understand what they were yelling about, but finally the women relented and left the queue.

I guess I just don’t have it in me to yell at everyone that jumps in front of me though. And so I remain respectfully yours, forever from the back of the queue.

I remain respectfully yours,
Stephen

image credit: Wikimedia

Buckle up on the Minibus

Attention friends, family and everyone else: the author of this little site may be going away for a while — three months to be more specific. The reason for my absence — I may be going to prison. That’s right, yours truly faces a potential three months in the slammer.

What did I do to deserve this punishment? I’m glad you asked. The reason — failure to wear a seat belt on a minibus. Yes, I admit it, I’m guilty.

The maximum penalty in Hong Kong for this egregious offense is a fine of HK $5000 (US $645) and three months imprisonment.

So, why did I do it? Honestly, I usually do buckle up (when seat belts are provided). Perhaps I should have mentioned that little fact earlier. You see, about half the minibuses in Hong Kong don’t even have seat belts. It seems a bit odd that the government deems seat belt use important enough for bus passengers that they could go to jail if they don’t wear one, but yet they don’t even require all minibuses to have them.

Still, that doesn’t forgive my transgression I suppose. In truth, it was early in the morning and I was tired. I hurriedly got on the bus and sat down next to a woman with a kid on her lap. I didn’t feel like asking her to excuse me so I could get the belt. I guess I learned my lesson. I’ve also learned the lesson that — if in a similar situation again — I should quickly fasten the seat belt before the police officer can board (like three or four of the locals managed to do).

Now, to ease your worries, I’ve been told that I probably won’t be going to jail and I probably won’t need to pay the maximum fine. Still, that would make a great story, wouldn’t it?

“I’m Stephen W Dennis, blogging to you live from a prison in Hong Kong!”

Old Hong Kong Airport Extreme Landings!

Dear Diary,
Don't you wish you could have been on one of those planes? RIP Kai Tak.

Stephen

Bear 2 - Terrorists 0

Dear Diary,

I saw this crazy story in the news today. Apparently, a bear, or a group of bears, killed two militants in Kashmir. Police believe that the incident occurred when the militants decided to use a bear cave as a hideout.


This is great news! Finally, the U.S. has a partner in the war on terrorism. Unleash the bears!

Can you see it now? An army of bears sent to kill Osama bin-Laden. They don’t have to worry about all those pesky issues of sovereign borders and whatnot. They can just go in, sniff out their mark, and kill. And the best thing of all — they work for honey!

I remain respectfully yours,
Stephen

Would you like my money?

Today I’d like to take a break from my normal rants about news and politics to share something a bit more personal. It’s my site so I guess I can talk about whatever I want, right?

Anyway, as I was on my way to work this morning, I was hit by a thought (more on why I came to this thought at another time), what if I didn’t have any money? What if I just went to the ATM, withdrew all my money, and just threw it all on the ground? I’d love to watch the mass of people fighting over my last dollar.

Let’s be honest, that’s all most people care about — MONEY. When I go to work everyday, I must pass at least 1,000 people. Has anyone ever said “Hello” to me? No. Does anyone care when they push me out of the way to get on the train? No. I’m just a hassle, after all, something getting in their way of making more money.

But what if I emptied my bank account and started throwing money at them? Would they care then? Well, just long enough to scoop up the last dollar I suppose.

You see, I’m a walking dollar sign. My level of “importance” is determined only by the number of zeros in my bank account. What if there was only one zero though? What if I could strip away this pursuit of the almighty dollar? Would the vultures leave me alone then? Could I just live, the way a person was meant to?

I’m fairly certain I could live a decent life off the “garbage” of the rich in this city. What do I need this job for? Oh right, to pay off my massive students loans and alimony. Well I guess that if I have nothing, they can’t take it from me, can they?

So, as a celebration of this epiphany, this site will now be advertisement free!

Beijing snowstorm created by "artificial means"

Dear Diary,

No wonder it's so cold today. According to the news, Beijing’s first snowstorm, coming nearly a month ahead of normal, was caused by “artificial means”.

I guess this has also affected us here in Hong Kong. I was greeted to quite a chilly surprise when I took the dogs out for their walk this morning.

Although, seeding clouds to induce precipitation is nothing new for China. They did the same thing prior to the Summer Olympics last year to improve air quality.

My concern is, is this really something we want to dabble with? Is it smart for people to try to control the weather? We can’t even reliably predict the weather a couple days into the future; are we ready for this responsibility? I don’t think so.

I remain respectfully yours,
Stephen

Hong Kong plastic bag tax under review

Dear Diary,

I saw some interesting news today. On July 7, the Hong Kong government implemented a new tax on plastic bags. The 50 HK cent (about 6 cents US) tax is paid at point-of-sale and goes straight to the government. From July 7 to September 30, the Hong Kong government has collected HK $3.2 million (US $413,000) in revenue from this tax.

I’m proud to say that none of that money has come from me. Why does that make me proud? For me, it has nothing to do with the environment. It has everything to do with not paying a fair tax. Would you pay six cents for a plastic bag? It’s a sin tax that goes far and above the value of the product itself. It’d be like a smoker in America paying a $30 tax on a pack of cigarettes.

The stated reasoning behind the tax was to discourage people using plastic bags, and thereby keeping them out of landfills. However, according to estimates, the total reduction in usage will only drop by 6 percent in 2009.

Another point of contention, for me at least, is that even though I’m not using plastic bags from grocery stores anymore, I’m still putting just as much plastic into landfills as before. Why is that? Well, before the tax, I always reused the plastic bags from grocery stores as garbage bags. Now, I’m just using regular garbage bags. So, really, my “carbon footprint” hasn’t changed at all, has it?

I remain respectfully yours,
Stephen