The Penalty Box

As per Chinese New Year tradition, I went home and ate myself silly, topped off with some of my mom’s awesome apple pie. Happy new year folks. Good health and prosperity to you all.

For those of you who didn’t know, I’ve been in China and Hong Kong for the past two and a half weeks. I got back earlier this week and have been recovering from jetlag. It seems coming back from the other side of the world is always tougher than going there. 15 hour time differences kinda suck. I still have about 900 pictures to go through, many of which consist of people walking through my shots. Sometimes it couldn’t be helped; the sheer number of people (17 million in Beijing alone) often causes no actual open shots. Other times it was just mindless douchebags. Speaking of douchebags, the tour guide in Xi’An was one. But let’s do a small breakdown of the trip.

Day 0 - Travel: A grand total of 16 hours in the air (around 13 to Hong Kong, then 3 to Beijing). One flight attendant was wearing some pretty rank perfume on Cathay Pacific. Flew Dragon Air to Beijing, and got food on a 3 hour flight. Hear that Air Canada? Also, a 5 star hotel in China is not the same as a 5 star hotel in North America. Though for note, China apparently operates on a 7 star scale. Still, the one thing I learned about hotels in China: if you stay at an international hotel (like the Hilton), you’re okay. If you stay at a hotel run by Chinese people not from Hong Kong, make sure it’s less than 2 years old because maintenance is awful. The shower leaked in my room and water stains on the wall.

Day 1 - Beijing: Met the tour guide today, her name was Rain. Apparently English teachers there helped pick English names for the students out of a dictionary. Rain has a friend named Apple (and not Gwyneth Paltrow’s kid). First stop was the Summer Palace, where the Emperor went during the summer to cool off (as much as one can cool off in a Chinese summer). If there’s one thing Chinese emperors knew how to do, it was to use manpower for luxury. There’s a 780 metre corridor at the Summer Palace to keep the emperor out of the rain. Every inch of the corridor’s ceiling has paintings on it, from parts of the known world (at the time) to nature to people. It’s amazing how it’s held up for so long. It’s a shame there hasn’t been more money put into restoration; in fact, they’ve actually turned a couple of the old buildings into bloody coffee shops. That’s the government for you. Oh and the reason why China lost the Opium Wars: the money that was supposed to build a navy was used to build this palace.

Day 1 also involved going to Tianamen Square. Unfortunately, Mao’s mausoleum was closed. There were, however, 5 CCTV cameras on one pole. Suck on that, UK. The Forbidden City was also on the stop list. It is big. The architecture and stone work is absolutely amazing though. Each building was crazy detailed and had symbols to determine who could go where and who lived where. The place had thousands of rooms; given the number of servants, concubines, officials and caretakers, the number of rooms isn’t surprising but I still had to stand in awe of the sheer size of it all. Even with the size of the place, people STILL got into my shots and I had to elbow my way into good shooting positions. Fortunately, I was like Yao Ming in comparison so moving people out of the way wasn’t a problem. Oh, another thing learned from China: don’t make eye contact with vendors and they’ll leave you alone; otherwise they’ll follow you for a block or two trying to hawk whatever trinkets they have.

Day 2 - Great Wall: There are two sides you can climb when you get to the Great Wall. One is steep, sort of like the Grouse Grind. The other side is near vertical. I’m not kidding. It still is something you have to see in person to appreciate the vastness of it all. The number of people needed to create such a monstrosity with no modern machinery to lift the stones. The bad air did make it more difficult to climb, but it was completely worth it in the end. The smog unfortunately did make the pictures not as awesome as they could have been, but the view was still spectacular. Second half of the day involved viewing the Ming Dynasty tombs (some funny signs there…gotta love the typos and literal translations) and an acrobatic show. The show was as good as Cirque de Soleil acrobatics-wise, but Cirque has the more creative and colourful costumes.

Day 3 - Travel to Xi’An: Here we met Frank, he was like a bad history teacher on meth. He rushed through everything: we got pushed through the Xi’An History Museum in 45 minutes. All in all, a general douchebag. If you ever go to Xi’An and your tour guide says his name is Frank and his name means “Great Ordinary,” you’re going to get rushed through everything. Slow down on purpose.

Day 4 - Terra Cotta Warriors: Movies don’t do this place justice. The scale is just ridiculous. Just before going to the tomb, we visited the factory where warriors are made in the same fashion they were when the first emperor ordered them made. It takes days to weeks to scuplt them (depending on size) and baking in the kiln for hours a day. All in all, one full size warrior takes about a month. Seven thousand have been uncovered so far. There are MORE. The level of detail is insane. Each warrior is painted, his face, armour, everything. Oh yeah, each one is also 6 feet tall and 300 pounds. Hollow. There are currently 3 pits open. One has infantry, another has calvalry and the third pit has warriors not yet put back together yet. And they still haven’t found the actual entrance to the tomb, which is supposed to have a non-full scale replica of the known world. Just thinking about the sheer manpower needed to create such a tomb, A TOMB, is nuts. The whole thing took about 45 years to finish, back when the average lifespan was about 50. So two whole generations built this tomb for the emperor. All under heaven indeed.

Overall China thoughts:

• Food was average to terrible on the trip, but since it was all covered by the tour, I think they just took us to the cheapest possible places.
• Sights, entertainment and culture are fantastic.
• I’m surprised hotel service is so poor given how complainy western tourists generally are.
• Manners in Beijing are fare better than Xi’An, likely from orders handed down from the government for the Olympics. In Xi’An, you can’t walk a block without hearing someone hock a loogie. In Beijing, only the people from the provinces spit.
• Driving is a “make up your own rules” kind of thing. The following things seem to be optional: lights, following traffic lanes, not driving on the sidewalk. Fortunately, everyone’s going only about 30kph because of the sheer number of vehicles so there is time to stop if something crazy is done. Which is all the time.

Hong Kong was a lot of eating. Every. Day. I have a bunch of aunts and uncles, and of course everyone had to take a turn buying dinner. And lunch. I don’t think I ever felt hungry during my time in Hong Kong, I just shuttled between meals. What I really liked was the Octopus card. Public transit is cheap, efficient and fast. Kind of the exact opposite of Translink. What made the Octopus card awesome was that it wasn’t just a transit pass; it’s essentially a cash card. You can use it to buy drinks from the vending machine or buy stuff from stores if they accept Octopus cards. Stuff is also really cheap there, given the exchange rate (currently about 7 HKD to 1 CDN). Cheap doesn’t mean bad quality either; quality control at most stores is even more strict than here in Canada. Clothes shopping was somewhat difficult though, since I’m not exactly your typically sized Chinese person. XL shirts barely fit and even the largest pair of pants was about 4 inches too short.

Oh in terms of more funny names, I saw a waiter named Box and a bride named Ice. Dictionary names ahoy!
All in all it was a pretty fun trip, douchey tour guide and jetlag aside. I only wish I could have stayed longer if only to see a few more things in Beijing, see Shanghai and spend a little longer in Hong Kong. I don’t know if I could live in Hong Kong though; everything is just so bloody busy.

Grace pointed me to some rather potent catnip she gave to her cat, Jett.  After seeing him go bonkers on the stuff, I had to get some for the cats my sister and her roommate have.  So after some waiting, the package finally arrived and she gave some of this catnip to the cats.  Hilarious little buggers.  Check out the Youtubage below.

…or, in my case, ON the weekend.  There’s a hard project deadline on Monday, and unfortunately that means going into the office on the weekend to finish up the alpha so it can be demo’d at a conference.  I’ve been working 10 hour days the past couple of days, and quite honestly I’m rather amazed at how well my team has performed.  Not that they suck, far from it in fact, but given the time frame and the feature creep, we got a lot done.  There are a few more bugs to crush, and hopefully they’ll be ironed out tomorrow.  It’s almost like those all-nighters for 300 and 361 all over again.  Not quite though, because I can’t do all nighters anymore.

After work today was a family dinner because an aunt of mine was visiting from Hong Kong.  Being the only member of my generation there, I mainly left the conversation to the elders.  Most of their discussion centred around Hong Kong politics, an area of which I have no way to contribute in any meaningful discourse.  However, as soup was being served, the conversation somehow shifted to the purchasing of underwear.  Like many people, hearing your parents and their generation broaching these subjects is a little, how shall we say…awkward.  On a scale of one to “Grandma asking you what’s new in sex,” this was moving along on the wrong side of the awkward line really fast.

My aunt: “You know, people in Hong Kong line up for those Victoria’s Secret catalogs.  It’s crazy!”

My brain: “Doo doo doo, just eating soup.  Yup, just eating soup.”

Aunt’s friend: “Yeah, it’s better than reading Playboy, isn’t it? Haha!”

My brain: “LALALA JUST EATING SOUP LALALALA.”

My aunt: “You know, I saw the fattest woman trying on a bra in one of those Victoria’s Secret stores? It wasn’t nice to see at all.”

My brain: “Oh great, like I needed THAT image when eating dinner.  Never mind, think about something else.  Uhh…the Canucks! Bleh, too depressing.  Okay, uh, how do I fix that bug? No that’s work, you’ll have time for that tomorrow.  Ah, screw it, just zone out into the chicken.”

Bah, I need to sleep.  I better not dream about fat people.

The draft for the family hockey pool was yesterday, and I’m still unsure of my team.  I don’t know whether or not taking Paul Stastny with my second pick ahead of proven guys like Olli Jokinen will pay off.  It currently is, as Stastny has 8 points through 3 games so far, but we all know how fast things can go in the crapper (see: Chris Higgins last year).  It’s strange how despite the fact that I have $30 riding on the office hockey pool and the family pool having the top prize of bragging rights, I still feel I have more at stake in the family pool.  Maybe it’s because I get to trash talk my cousins and victory over your own blood tastes sweeter.  Hmm…that doesn’t sound very good, does it? It’s a family bonding thing, I swear.

Then again, one never really knows how these pools can turn out.  Last year the halfway point leader for the family pool was the cousin that picked her players based on how hot she thought they were.  Ultimately she lost because she forgot to submit a drop list to get rid of her injured players at Christmas, but the fact remains that an entirely unscientific approach was working.  The cousin that won last year decided to pick mostly old guys, to which I tried convincing him to take Draper as his last pick, because hey, Draper’s old.  No dice.  Oh well, as long as he doesn’t win again this year, it’ll all be good.  I think I was 2 points shy last year of winning.

Before the whole draft went down, a few of the kids were running around the house.  These would be children of some of the participants in the pool.  It always amazes me at how much entertainment a four year old can get from running circles around the hallways and rooms of a house.  For a good twenty minutes all I heard was “EEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeee…*fades out*…eeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…*fades out*…eeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” as four rugrats between the ages of 3 and 7 chased each other in what seemed to be a chaotic version of Tag.  Eventually it devolved into an inflated hammer swinging match, with a dog as the victim of the hammer abuse.  Actually, I really shouldn’t say “dog” because it wasn’t a real dog; it was white, furry and smaller than a cat, a breed I like to call “punt dog.”  So really, I didn’t feel all that sorry for the creature.  Fortunately, the kids eventually got distracted by Dora the Explorer in the other room.
Hope everyone’s Thanksgiving went well and you’re all suitably stuffed to the gills.  I was fortunate (or unfortunate, depending your point of view) to re-learn that good stuffing can be as addictive as heroin.

I am now residing in a duplex with 3 roommates.  Rent’s good, roommates are cool and the commute to work is shorter.  I do miss the steady ride and quietness of the train, compared to the start and stop jerking and loud engine of a bus, but with my iPod, I can ignore it.  I must say I enjoy the fact that I can dictate my own schedule a little more, although I do miss my mom’s cooking already.  That might have something to do with the fact that I’m not all that good in the kitchen, but on the upside it does force me to experiment and learn how to do things myself.  What’s weird is that I seem to find I have more free time now that I’ve moved out, that or something happened to my perception of time.

It was difficult leaving the comfort and security of my parents’ house.  It was familiar, it was safe, but just missing that feeling of actual independence.  We all gotta grow up sometime, right? Mind you, I plan on staying immature for as long as possible, but the whole mental attitude towards life should gravitate towards adulthood and some measure of maturity.

It is odd that there is still activity in the house past 10pm, which is something I’m still adjusting to.  My parents pretty much hit the sack by 10pm if not before, and the quietness of the house outside the muted flickering of the TV was something I had gotten used to.  As I type this, one of my roommates is playing DDR in the background, the dishwasher is going and there’s traffic outside.  Sperling’s a lot busier road at night than Pipeline.

I’m rambling and I should sleep.  Work beckons in a few hours.

I realize that it is a common understanding in western culture that parents can’t wait for their kids to move out, particularly after dealing with the emo rage against authority teenage stage of their lives. Equally, in Chinese culture, parents can’t wait to find a rich future spouse to marry their kid off to in order to grow the family reputation, power and wealth. Despite this general stereotype, there is still the lingering seeds of doubt behind every parent’s mind when a child leaves the house; will they make it? Did I do everything I should have to prepare them?

For the most part, parents don’t really like to see their children grow up and be able to run their own lives. It means they have become spectators. After years of being active, suddenly being resigned to a sideline role doesn’t really sit well. I liken it to an athlete that is at retirement age. He doesn’t want to stop playing because he loves the game. He knows he should retire because it’s time to move on, but continuing to play only worsens his image and enjoyment of the game. Parents know when it’s about time for their kids to set out on their own. Too much involvement past a certain age does more harm than good, but sometimes they can’t help but want to remain involved.
My parents still play a few shifts in my life. They’ve been watching my sister for a few years. Heck, it’s even gotten difficult for them to watch the game anymore now that she’s out east. According to a few of my friends that have moved out, parents get exponentially crazier the more they realize they are becoming spectators. “Empty Nest Syndrome” I believe is the technical term for it. So who will actually go off the deep end first, parent or child?

Ah well, whatever doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger, right? Or…something.

I had to attend a family lunch today.  There are good ones and bad ones.  Today was one of the bad ones.  I don’t mean “bad” as in “ZOMG FAMILY DRAMA” but more “bad” as in “kill me out of boredom, please.”  All of my cousins didn’t show, so I was the only “kid” there, so to speak.  Thinking ahead, I brought along my DS in case my cousins decided to cop out (which they did).  Unfortunately, the boredom gods were spiteful today, and the battery on my DS died.  As a result, I had to give more free computer advice to my uncle, who by all account should never be allowed to use one.  Ever.  He keeps buying things like Norton Internet Security when his son tells him not to and he wonders why his computer slows to a crawl.  It’s one of those times where you want to say “listen to those who know more than you and stop being a dumbass” but you can’t.
The choice of restaurant was not a good one either (Earl’s).  Of all the western style restaurants listed above “fast food,” Earl’s seems to have the least selection.  They had more wine selections than food selections, which says something.  The food took almost an hour to arrive, from order time to serving, and the waitress forgot something as simple as water.  Also, apparently finding change was a difficult exercise as well.  Is “subtraction” a skill not required for being in food service?

It was not just the restaurant that made the experience unpleasant.  My uncle, the same one that shouldn’t be allowed to use a computer, is a rather picky eater.  However, he refuses to actually read the menu.  He ordered a seafood pasta, which is somewhat of a misnomer on the part of Earl’s because it mostly contains salmon.  This is outlined quite clearly in the menu, but he didn’t read it and decided to complain there was too much salmon when it arrived.  He had the foresight to ask if the sauce was alfredo, because he’s semi-allergic to tomatoes, and the waitress told him it was a mix of tomato and alfredo.  He ordered it anyways.  He complained about that when it arrived too.  Of course, this was done out of the earshot of the waitress, because he’s a passive aggressive complainer like that.  Another “please shut up” moment in which I couldn’t say “please shut up.”

A little over two hours after arriving at the restaurant, we dispersed to head home.  That’s the average time for most family lunches like this, but this time even the food didn’t make up for the length and the complaints of my uncle.  And I still had to finish off what my grandmother couldn’t finish.  Because I’m still a growing boy and all.

Sometimes there are advantages to being flaky and disappearing from family events.