Many "firsts" have happened in Hong Kong: recording a hip hop song, rolling a giant ball down the highway, swearing in Chinese, and ingestion of chicken feet just to name a few. And now we add to that list: survival of my first loathsome disease.
I contracted some sort of respiratory infection which I, in true Carpenter form, pointedly ignored for several days. The day I decided to see the doctor, something of a medical miracle occurred. As I drew close to the doctor's office, my symptoms quickly and mysteriously diminished. I think that the aura of Dr. Kam Yue was so strong that it reached me before I even entered his office. Nevertheless, I went in and paid less than $8US for consultation and 3 different medications (which they have directly at the doc-o-man's office). 'Doc-o-man' is how we say "doctor" in my family. It's a bit sexist, but we're generally not concerned with political correctness.
Anyway, back to the excitement of my affliction. I tried to heal myself with soup one night, only to discover that my stove is broken. So I went out to buy soup. Soup in Canto is "tong," but I forgot which tone. When my "tong" was met with a confused look, I said "tong" in every possible tone. Therefore, I asked for 2 bowls of 'sugar,' 'rubbish bin,' 'painful,' and probably other stuff too.
I went to far northwest HK to load a truck with chairs, clothes, school supplies, and toys to be sent to Kazakhstan. They basically collect donations and send things out where people need it. It was the first project for the new "outreach" group that I helped to start at my church. Our group after we finished packing the semi:
The guy on the far left with the pink shirt used to be in a gospel rock band and once shared a stage with U2. "They were on the way up and we were definitely on the way out." Hip dude.
Tim, Man, and I recorded a CD (music and poetry) which will accompany a new English language book Man wrote. I can start taking orders now.
Last week we finally had our first voice recording for "Hollywood Road," the film where I'm a sarcastic florist. I probably last mentioned this in October. Things are moving now.
At last, I met my neighbor. His name is Boon and he's old, which is great because geriatrics are cool.
I met with my tutee at--get this---Choco Cat Cafe. Devon, get over here. This cafe specializes in chocolate and has about 10 cats roaming freely. They also have a giant stuffed Garfield. Unfortunately, I can't ever go back there because I picked up a cat, which I now know is against Cat Cafe law.
Yesterday, I went on a bike ride with a potential suitor, Chris. We biked about 10km to this place, Ma On Shan ('horse mountain', I think):
And post-ride:
It was not Halloween, but 80s night. The picture really says it all:
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14 comments:
I am horrified to see that my family has been outed. The whole world now knows of our political incorrectitude. It is therefor my recommendation that we henceforth use the term "doco-individual." It is so much less offensive to the sensibilities--and so much easier to say than "doctor."
The,
Dad.
I can't believe you dared pick up a cat. You are brave.
turtles--reminds me of drama class at WHS (not using any names of course.
I'm glad you have recovered from your loathsome disease. Dad, we DO use the term doc-o-woman when such a situation arises. Doc-o-individual is far too cumbersome.
Two bowls of rubbish? Guess what will be in your Christmas stocking this year!
Can it be? There is a picture with someone sporting jazz hands, and it is not Camber?
The Choco Cat Cafe sounds very much like my abode. Think I'll save myself the plane ticket, and just eat bonbons at home.
The, Dad, I am sorry I continuously horrify you (posting your picture/dispelling your mystique and now this public proclamation of political incorrectitude). Poetic license.
DevON,
The only reason I don't have jazz hands is because I didn't know they were taking the picture. No shock necessary. And it's not two bowls of rubbish, it's two bowls of rubbish bins--huge difference. Get it right or pay the price.
I expect matching Rubbermaids.
Being sick so far from home is sometimes a scary situation. It is good that you did not tell your mom until you were better.
I can relate to the stove not working. We thought our TV in the kitchen was broken. It turns out it was the stove.
KB
"Potential suitor." I think I have heard the word "potential" before.
The,
Dad.
I am glad you did not purposefully avoid sporting jazz hands, and it was just a dreadful oversight. It happens to the best of us, being caught without our trademark expression. For instance, there must be a picture - somewhere - of The, Dad, smiling. With visible teeth.
I think we need to send someone on a quest for that very object. Mr. Bradbury?
A pic with teeth would involve smiling and the only time I see The Dad is at the bank, discussing bank stuff. Have you read a paper lately?
KB
I would venture to guess that discussing bank matters would be prime smile time for The, Dad. Either there or at a Masonic spaghetti dinner.
Or the Arenzville Burgoo.
Or a Man of La Mancha reunion.
It's all you, Mr. Bradbury.
I feel a song coming on. Time for jazz hands!
How come everyone else's witting sayings are accompanied by a picture of the witty person, but mine are not?
The,
Dad.
Because that would ruin the mystique.
something syrupy! mom, Devon and The, Dad
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