ok Canada, the joke's on me...

Well, apparently when I named this blog, I didn't know that I would be freezing my ass off in Hong Kong.

Rather unexpectedly I have discovered that Hong Kong has a season that I hadn't anticipated and I shall call it FRICKIN' UNBELIEVABLY SOUL CRUSHINGLY COLD. Some might point out that I come from a city that is in a deep freeze for six months of the year and as such, shouldn't complain of temperatures well above freezing but it is a matter of relativity; I expect Toronto to be colder than a witch's tittie but Hong Kong; it's supposed to be sub-bloody-tropical. There are palm trees everywhere for the love of God, that should be proof positive that every day should be a warm and sun-shiny day. However, I am currently writing this like some sort of Dickensian character with a muffler, candles burning (for warmth?) two sets of socks, three jumpers and mittens with the fingers cut off. I'm one step away from pinching bits of coal off the back of trucks to burn in a coal stove (note to self, must get coal burning stove) just to give myself just a moment's respite from the incessant damp and cold. I also can't get a good night's sleep as I check Baby Girl every hour or so to ensure that she's not hypothermic or god forbid, died from exposure. I saw my breath this morning whilst brushing my teeth which was almost enough to send me packing back to Toronto where they at least have the good sense to insulate and heat homes and wear unattractive but warm clothing. Of course thoughts of Toronto only remind me of preparations for the move further forcing me to recall how I blithely binned all our winter gear and did a little jig when we dropped off our down puffer jackets at the charity shop. Now, I am cursing my haste and wishing that I had those puffer jackets and woolen caps and not a rainbow collection of flip flops.

I have been assured by those in the know that the cold weather only lasts for a few short weeks but we are only about ten days in and I am ready to throw in the towel, break down all our shite IKEA furniture and burn it for warmth. The worst bit is that Hong Kong is not a city built for the cold. We don't have heaters, the floors are all tiles or hard wood and the windows are huge and drafty. Up to this point I have avoided buying a space heater for a variety of practical reasons including the expense of the heating bill and lack of space to store the damned thing in our microscopic flat for the other eleven months of the year during which time we will be sweating our bollocks off.

Very unexpectedly, the worst thing is having to go to the bathroom which is a bona fide butt clenching experience given the icy temperature of the porcelain and the seat. So, when I say that I am freezing my ass off believe me because I am LITERALLY FREEZING MY ASS OFF.

barefoot in the city

Eccentricity, normally the exclusive domain of the British, is something that I have admired from afar. I have, admittedly infrequently, thought that it would be fab to have some quirk that was strange and conversation worthy like wearing only orange, refusing to go outside on the 11th of the month or wearing an eye patch (my personal favourite). Not being British, I am not sure that eccentricity would suit me. North Americans are far too provincial to affect quirks, instead of appearing endearing and amusing, North Americans with "quirks" are usually serial killers. Besides, one wouldn't have to go far in North American to be considered quirky, it could be as easy as wearing slightly snug trousers or socks with sandals. The truth is, I am concerned that life in North America is so perfectly "white picket" fence, that the ability to develop quirks or eccentricities is extinct and that there is no hope for me - eccentricity has been bred out of me. Which leads me to my recent run-in with a real life eccentric.

Baby Girl and I were in a cell phone shop on Queen's Road Central, the Hong Kong equivalent of Times Square (although humourously, there is a Times Square in Hong Kong). Keeping with tradition, Baby Girl's shopping psychosis persisted and upon entering the store, she promptly set to work at removing the laptops from their display while at least three shop keepers looked on distraught. While Baby Girl attempted to rip the laptops from their moorings, I, by now quite used to this behaviour and thus able to completely ignore it, waited patiently in line to speak to the shop supervisor. Whilst in line a couple entered the shop at first blush, they appeared relatively normal save for the fact that they were both wearing three quarter length leather coats (hers in royal purple) and the fact that the man had very long, but tidily kept, hair and beard. I immediately assumed they were Russian, perhaps because of the matching leather jackets (did I mention that one was in bright purple?) or because the man bore a striking resemblance to Rasputin, either way, that's what I thought. Needless to say, they ended up standing quite close to Baby Girl, so without intending to do so, I further noted that the man was wearing track suit bottoms, again, nothing remarkable, save for poor fashion sense but then I noticed that he was BAREFOOT. This in a large, and while spotlessly clean, intensely urban area. So, they were clearly crazy because NOW they were a strangely dressed, oddly long haired couple with the man wearing NO SHOES...but then I realized that actually, they were Australian (surprise) and they weren't crazy (further surprise) as they were engaged in a perfectly normal discussion about whether they actually needed a wireless internet connection. So, much to my dismay, the man could clearly afford shoes and chose not to wear them. A real life eccentric.

Needing to crack the reason for the barefeet (rare aversion to footwear, desire to "feel the earth" beneathe one's feet, social experimentation, laziness...) I realized that I could finally use Baby Girl's toddler powers for good; I would utilize her penchant for all things slightly out of the ordinary combined with her fog horn-esque voice (MOMMY, WHY IS THAT MAN MISSING TEETH?) to lure the barefoot eccentric into conversation. So, I took Baby Girl aside and showed her the man with no shoes and said something like, "look at that man..." (Insert expectant and quizzical look while jerking head toward shoeless long-haired Australian man). Baby Girl rewarded my efforts by taking a look and promptly going back to tearing the mock cell phones from the wall. So, thinking that she didn't see, I tried again at which point, she just looked at me like I was the crazy one. Apparently, walking around barefoot in the middle of a huge city in broad daylight was not cause for concern for Baby Girl. Not like missing teeth, moles, limps, hair colour or any other distinguishing feature. The one bleeding time that I need her to act irrational and insensitive and she can't do it. Shortly thereafter, the couple, exasperated with the long wait, left. No doubt to tea at the Peninsula. And so, rather anti-climactically, I will never know why the man had long hair, a penchant for leather and an aversion to footwear.

I don't know what's worse, realizing that I can't harness Baby Girl's powers OR not knowing why that man was barefoot.

i heart tommy cruise

I can't get enough of this video clip of Tommy Cruise. If I ever have a cocktail party, he will for sure be top of my "wish list" for guests because he is just so delicious and fun and quirky and unpredictable. Besides, if any emergency arises, such as burned canapes or a choking guest, he is the first person that I would want "on scene." I can't believe that we aren't related!

jingjing's got a gun

Recently, Baby Girl has taken to expressing excitement in one of two ways: either jumping up and down furiously like a miniature jackhammer or shouting in an unnaturally loud voice while striking a sort of Crocodile Hunteresque wide legged superhero stance. Either option is equally embarrasing and I have taken to imploring her to "use her indoor voice" or "to settle down." Even more recently, her greatest source of excitement and thus the catalyst for loud shouting or furious hopping is any sort of depiction of the five mascots for the Beijing 2008 Olympics, collectively referred to as "Fuwa". Now the Fuwa are, admittedly, sweet little critters and can be viewed EVERYWHERE, on signs, hanging from flagpoles, stickers, keychains; they are like mice, multiplying exponentially. Even better, the depictions of the Fuwa have them engaged in any one of the myriad Olympic sports; sailing Fuwa, equestrian Fuwa, tennis Fuwa and even golf Fuwa. Baby Girl, not appreciating what the Olympics are or even a mascot, has quite logically decided that the Fuwa are superheroes because clearly any cute little critter that is capable of sailing, judo AND badminton must be a superhero. Also, consider her adult role models; given mine and Mr. Lemony Lemonade's level of activity, it's no wonder that Baby Girl assumes that anyone engaging in activities more strenuous than walking or using a remote control possess athletic prowess tantamount to Batman or Spiderman.

Until today, I didn't object to Baby Girl's obsession with the Fuwa and even went on a maniacal pre-Christmas shopping rampage to locate and ultimately purchase her all five Fuwa; currently occupying pride of place with all her other treasures on her window sill. Today however, when Baby Girl assumed the Crocodile Hunter squat and pointed excitedly at a picture of the panda Fuwa called "Jingjing" screaming "superhero, superhero, superhero..." I was shocked to look up and witness the little black creature holding a handgun, no doubt depicting...ermm...Olympic gangbanging or Olympic armed robbery??? Once I recovered from the shock of seeing such a cute little fellow looking like he was about to hold up a Seven Eleven, I then found myself musing if there was any reason why they chose the black Fuwa, I mean why not the sweet little blue dude or even the yellow guy? I quickly searched the web to see if anyone else had wondered about the gun toting Fuwa but to no avail, apparently I am alone in being somewhat alarmed first by the cute little Fuwa weilding a handgun and second, in wondering if there is something latently racist about the black panda Fuwa being selected as the mascot to wield said gun. No doubt, the choice of Fuwa and its depiction with a gun was done without guile and was in no way meant to be overtly racist and God knows, I am not qualified on any level to engage in any sort of intelligent discussion on the ins and outs of racism and the depiction of gun violence. I'm not an anthropologist, sociologist or any sort of "ist". I saw something and I reacted; bottom line, I don't like it but that reflects my context, my background, my history. Given the choice, I would rather Baby Girl view nudity over guns or violence. I am also left to wonder if I would have been similarly offended had the little red Fuwa been shown holding a bow and arrow; would I have interpreted this as a slur against Native Americans? I mean a little red guy with a fancy headress engaging in archery? Hmmmmm...

Likely as I write this my details are being noted down in some government bureau and being filed under "subversive" or more likely, "lunatic".

Racism, latent or otherwise aside, I am annoyed at having to come up with an explanation as to why one of Baby Girl's most favourite little friends looks like the Terminator about to pop a cap in someone's ass and so, I am now trying to come up with a very plausible explanation as to why the Fuwa has suddenly eschewed his warm and fuzzy sporting activities for a little midday shoot 'em up. The gun thing, OK, I can perhaps spin a yarn about how he is protecting the other Fuwa from a dragon, Baby Girl would buy that, however, the racism thing...perhaps I should be grateful that Baby Girl is currently oblivious to the nuances of race and the scourge of racism as this is a conversation that I would be forced to engage in on the street with a three foot tall person, jumping up and down like a Mexican Jumping Bean and asking questions at a volume generally only achieved with an amplifier; questions to which I have no answer. I am good, but not that good.