Model Lunatic

I have acquired a strange addiction which makes me impervious to irritation. It used to be that after ten minutes in front of a Hong Kong TV channel with its inane, repetitive, badly made and totally predictable adverts which are shown every five minutes, I used to throw the TV out the window and stomp off in a huff. Now, because of my addiction, I sit glued to the set every Sunday from 20.30 to 21.25.

Instead of throwing the TV or any other object, I sit smiling with zen-like indifference at idiotic people being so happy to see a hamburger and a paper cup of fake Coke that they feel they have to start doing somersaults down a grassy knoll while cows look benevolently on (presumably unaware that they will be the fill in the next burger), and helium-voiced girls with neon-white skin getting proposed to because they use whitening underarm deodorant.

Not only that, whenever I am for example in China on a Sunday, and for example in the middle of a great massage, I keep an eye on the clock. No matter how much fun or point-kneading pleasure I’m having, come 4 o’clock it’s time to leap off the table. Every second counts when you live in a place dominated by ferries, and six seconds late across the border to Hong Kong may make me miss the ferry, which will in turn make me miss: AMERICA’S NEXT TOP MODEL.

Save Us From Improvement

The last two days’ South China Morning Posts have carried the following news: That plans for demolition of Queen’s Pier has “passed the hurdle of Legco” (The legislative council, Hong Kong’s so called lawmakers who are just another extended branch of the government, which is just an extended branch of the real leaders of Hong Kong, namely property developers) and that plans to demolish a charming area of Wan Chai called Wedding Card Street will go ahead.

To Baldly Go

Who said Hong Kong people are just shallow, Canto-pop loving, money-grubbing egocentrics? Oh, that was me. But I didn’t mean it. Actually it’s a well-known fact that Hong Kong people are huge contributors to local and world charities. And last night I saw another example of selflessness among Hong Kong people, and teenagers at that.
Three students of West Island School, three girls with long, healthy, shiny hair, had their locks shaved off in the middle of Lan Kwai Fong, for charity.

Shock and Awe-ful

Ploughing on through the semi-legal DVDs I bought in Shenzhen a couple of weeks ago (semi-legal meaning they are pirated copies but bought in a legitimate shop), last night I came to Still Life (三峽好人.) Set on the banks of the Yangtze, the film showed vignettes of displaced, getting ready to be flooded and trying-to-hang-on life around the Three Gorges in all its complexity. Quietly observing and in no way critical of the Three Gorges Dam, the film, not surprisingly, was not a big hit with the dudes up north, while winning the usual prizes at Venice etc.

Sexual Intercourse Can Sometimes Lead to Closer Acquaintance

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Denial is Bliss

Ouch – caught in customs! I’m never caught, or rather, checked, in customs, but this time I was, on the inside of the border between China and Hong Kong, and I had some DVDs. They were 10 yuan each, so I presume they were fakes, however when I said to the customs officer I had bought them in a shop he just smiled indulgently like a pirate-friendly uncle. After that harrowing experience I thought I’d better watch them, and I started with Nuremberg, a miniseries about the war crimes tribunal in Nürnberg after WWII.

I don’t know how much of the film is based on transcripts from the trial, but Göring was the absolute star of the show, outshining even the head prosecutor. He played the audience like a virtuoso, insisting that the Third Reich was forever, that after this minor setback the whole world would see the truth, and soon every home in Germany would have a statue of him.
And besides, basically, nothing had really happened.

Don’t you love how those guys always get amnesia, and, even better, make it out to be that other people are idiots for thinking they have witnessed events that never actually took place?

The Bones Rattling Among Us

The handover! 1997! Ten years ago! Hooray! For most of this year the dreary television screens of Hong Kong have been filled with even more dreary reminders of this monumental event.
After 1997 and Hong Kong’s reunion with the beloved motherland things have been going better and better, so well in fact that we Hong Kong people can barely contain our joy and jump-up-and-down happiness. At least according to the garish, hysterical and ecstatic adverts (no doubt made by the same government department advertising bureau which for the last four years has been churning out appallingly badly drawn reminders to wash our hands after going to the toilet and not spit on the table but into a handkerchief) filling the screens every night, or rather, on the nights I can be arsed to turn on the TV. Namely Sunday.

The Need to be Kneaded

Behold my foot. It’s in the process of being kneaded by an expert from Henan province in China, during last weekend’s sojourn into the Chinese hinterland. As if the delicious sensation of having all my foot pressure points touched, stroked, kneaded, pummeled and generally manhandled by an incredibly strong man, thus eradicating all effects from having stayed up until 6AM drinking and playing cards with, well, infants (I kept remarking to Richard, my faithful travelling companion in China, that they were only a few years old) wasn’t enough, there was also the added bonus of the kneader, whose name is Tian Zhiyuan, being extremely handsome and charming.

The Royal Communist Party of Hong Kong

Here is a sign of the Hong Kong government’s aspirations to be more like China: Everything is forbidden.

The beach where I live, Pui O, is one of the longest and most beautiful in Hong Kong, and yet it’s usually empty. I’m not surprised. “No playing, no running, no dogs, no cycling, no ball games….” The only thing still allowed (for the time being) is swimming, but the water’s too disgusting.

Beer Pressure

Nipple alert! Oh, if Chinese men could only touch me as much, hard and often as they touch other men. Every time I go to China with my faithful travel companion Richard, he gets arms around his shoulders, hands clutching his thighs, fingers holding his chin and, on one memorable occasion, kissed in the lift. I have to wait for photo ops before I can get any arms around my shoulders. That, or seduction, naturally.