bad blogger, bad, bad, blogger

Well, I am chagrined to see that I haven't posted since 15 July - OMG! So much has happened, the Olympics have come and gone, I have returned to the homeland and then returned to Hong Kong and I am about to be the happiest girl in the world as I am mere hours away from being the proud new owner of a little something I like to call heaven, (or what the rest of the world calls a slingbox).

Before we get to all that excitement, let's talk about all the stuff that has pissed me off over these past few weeks.

First, I am prepared to suffer the wrath of the world for what I am about to say; I am over Michael Phelps, I have no interest in Michael Phelps and even more controversially, I don't really think that he is the greatest Olympian EVER. Put that in your pipe and smoke it MP. So big deal, he got seven gold medals, oh la la fancy pantsy. It's only because of the idiosyncracies of swimming, ie, you can swim in any of like 350 different versions of the same event, that someone like MP even has a shot at all seven medals. Don't you think that the amazing Kenyan runners are capable of winning seven medal? Of course, it's just that they aren't offered the option of running seven marathons. Let's just say, if I had to see MP strip his little aquaman suit down to pornographic effect one more time, I was going to lose my lunch. I gave up after medallion numero tres when he did the 50 metre freestyle or the 50 metre fly or the 4 metre dipsy doodle, who knows.

Moving on. Normally, I can't really abide watching the U.S. coverage of the Olympics due to all the patriotism, self-congratulation and the fact that you are forced to watch all the sports in which the U.S. dominate which means endless hours of beach volleyball and errrm, swimming. In fairness, I also can't abide watching Canadian coverage of the Olympics as it's just too depressing to listen to the one person in the entire country who managed to win a gold medal back when there was still an iron curtain and people boycotted resulting in mediocre athletes winning golden medals. If I had to hear one more person whinge about how we don't invest enough in sport to be competitive, I was going to have to take matters into my own hands. To be fair, the Chinese coverage was beyond partiotic and meant endless hours of watching sports I didn't even know were Olympic-worthy or at least, wasn't sure of like fencing, tae kwon do and ping pong.

Finally, the slingbox. If you don't know what this marvelous little invention is, well, your bad. All you need to know is that I have suffered the lowest television humiliation at the hands of Hong Kong cable tv. Never have I had to endure the indignity of watching such crapacious television, but I have done so for the past nine months because otherwise, I might have had to read a book, get some exercise or speak to my family. Just when I thought I didn't have the strength to watch another minute I found myself watching yet another commercial for some shiteous sci-fi show that I have never heard of (for good reason) because they don't really advertise here, they just advertise about all the other shiteous television you will be forced to watch in the future; it's like, "in case you haven't already been lobotomised by watching six year old episodes of "Raymond," we'll be offering more of the same lame, intelligence sucking programming over the coming days and weeks." Gracias. So, middle brother's fiancee, realising our plight, has taken it upon herself to save us from these dire circumstances and is getting a slingbox so that she can send us beautiful and perfect little tv rays that are full of beautiful and perfect television shows that will make me happy and not make me want to gouge out my own eyes with rusty forks.

And just in case you didn't think that Hong Kong was all that; whilst we were away in T.O. we saw a lovely little human interest story about a man in Hong Kong who attempted to have sexual relations with a park bench but became hopelessly stuck when his....ermmm....instrument became aroused. The good news is that after much catterwalling on the part of mr. mensa member and at least one failed attempt to remove einstein's blood to disengorge said instrument, he was free but not after they had to remove the bench with said brainiac attached and taken him to hospital where, after four hours, they freed the....errrmmm...instrument. Apparently, knobby claimed that his instrument became entangled in the bench whilst doing a sit-up. Nobody had the heart to point out to the professor that he was found face down on the bench making it one odd sit-up...but well, oh well....