Wet wet wet

The Eagle has landed. Back in the land where food is never bad, streets are clean, and people are thin. The one thing I'd forgot about was summer weather. Put hot, humid, smog, and the vagaries of global climate change into the mix and the result is a smogasbord of grit and sweat. Thankfully, Hong Kong likely holds the title of coldest place on earth - in August - having invested billions in air-conditioning technology, of all things. A week into my vacation, and it has rained on two days, one of which was a mild typhoon. While the tennis game has suffered a few setbacks as a result, the shopping game has improved drastically.

Abscess part II

A quick update on the big one. Weeks after the attack of the abscess, the area seems to have healed quite well. As it turns out, the decision to attack the Attack was a wise, if somewhat painful, one. See why.

On other fronts, the murderer of JonBenet has been found. The fact that anyone still cares is far more curious than the jet-setting school teacher (what?!) responsible. It's almost as newsworthy as the stakeout of a Seattle public toilet for what can best be described as lewd conduct.

Homefree

In the process, I lost an entire day (the full 24h), had to endure a Mexican's explanation of Homeland Security's fulfillments (which he was now part of), and ate an incredible fish burrito at San Francisco airport. Finally, I'm home. Funny that now there are fewer things weighing on me for the next two weeks, it's actually harder to find time to update (i.e. there are that many better things to do). Alternatively, I'm simply 6800 miles away from my struggles - as opposed to 1.5 - and can only enlist the help of colleagues when our timezones are compatible.

Back in a big city, I am reminded that things function a little differently than say, a small outpost such as Philly. Traffic runs 24/7. Transport is diverse and organized. Food is so good that you really have to tell yourself to stop. And the chicks are properly primmed, taking their designer dogs out for a walk at exactly the same time at night while their night mask is defrosting at home.

The one difference is that at the same time next year, we will no longer be occupying the ivory tower at the top of the hill. Though it goes by the inconspicuous address of 111 Mount Butler road, it is literally an ivory (or cream on a cloudy day) tower (all 22 storeys) that is on top of the mound which makes Jardine's Lookout (the other mound being Victoria Peak where we will not afford, even if we were the fortunate winners of last night's $15million jackpot). Had Darwin lived in a literal tower like this, his theory of evolution would have, um, evolved a little sooner. From 21 floors up, he would have quickly spotted that dogs, cats, eagles, lobsters, and civet cats all look roughly the same with their anterior posterior skeletons from 250 ft. above. The closest thing to humans would be crabs, but that refers mainly to women who have cellphone in one hand, and a Prada handbag in the other that doubles up as a claw.

Next week, we will be vacating the Tower as retirement rolls around for the folks and as we trade 4000 sq ft. of taxpayer-subsidized space for something a little more humble. In a way, it's a move back into the real world. Hopefully, the view will be more interesting. But I know the food will be just as good.

Sputtering nepotism

If a despot spawns despotism, what then does nepotism arise from? Resembling more like a healthy weed manufactured by Nestlé, nespot would fit the bill. Unfortunately, neither this, nor nepot exist as a proper word (though don't bet against it appearing in a hugely popular hit sometime in the future, especially now that rap "sophisticates" have taken to experimenting with words).

A seemingly innocuous enquiry to the local university back home returned an interesting email in my box this week. Abi, good friend, occasional whack, high school crush, etc. etc. started our dialogue with the kind words: K, you silly cow. Seems that my resume, which I had diluted and used as a doorstop to build acquaintance with the faculty, had ended up on the desk of her father who was vacationing in Toronto. The berating was not that I was unqualified, but that I hadn't gone straight to them. Wasn't it obvious as dean of something, he would be able to create a position tailored to some unique individual who had conducted esoteric research in a sleepy township called Philadelphia? For those familiar with Shakespeare, nepotism has two faces. The promises and reality. In better times, they would be in harmony, and I would get his youngest daughter to boot. Like in King Lear, however, I soon received another email from another dean, telling me that there were no vacancies in any of the six departments he had enquired at. It's true what they say about cultural differences. An attempt to establish communication is translated as a desperate plea for employment. For all of Lear's kindness, however, there will be no good prince. And Cordelia? She'll always remain a nut we all love.

A hard day's night

It's been a hard day's night,
And I've been working like a dog - The Beatles, Hard Day's Night

It has been indeed. No matter how I try, some inane magnetic force keeps me confined to the lab. Not that I wouldn't rather be elsewhere. A tennis court for instance, or at the supermarket stocking up for the next big meal. Yet when the clock strikes 7pm, it's the same drab clock by the cold room door that tells me that my time, like the moon, is up.

This week has been particularly hard. With vacation looming just around the weekend mind, if not body, has already flowed listlessly into a lulling chill. Even tasks such as thinking seem better left to another day. All this in the face of deadlines for results and manuscripts spell out the recipe for a hot disaster. Or just a grilling like that experienced at work over the last few weeks. Perhaps the real reason they call it the dog days of summer is that under the searing heat, bosses bark at their charges. Woof. And months of work become a poorly conceived afterthought. Woof. Even your stupendously meagre salary now seems generous. And so on. Woof. But who's to say lazy people aren't coming up with good ideas. It's ignorance that's the problem. It's one thing to be less motivated. Quite another to have no clue at all. And as Ken can profess, it's rampant out there.

While riding the scenic [sic] route on the 64 through south Philly, I became acquainted with two rather saddening observations. Firstly, the cirque du soleil (roughly translated as the Sunshine Circus) is referred to as the French circus. Secondly, southern Philadelphia is considered a neighborhood. Chatting with Sophie last night after another outrageous feast at the Korean grillerie, I questioned my sanity once again for being here.

Guilty as sin

What's Houdini dressed in yellow? Lance Armstrong.

In the inaugural posting on nbse, I had mused how someone with half as much balls as a normal bloke could win a long serrated bike ride seven times over. Without some help, of course. In addition to that team Subaru which passed out Gatorade and gave hourly ass massages (it's in the actual Tour de France DVD), it seems that they may have given him a little bit more up the back. Fast forward, um, one year. Pride of Lancaster PA Floyd Landis rewrites the chapter on how not to cheat. Wonder if Sheryl Crow will write a song about this saga...

Many more years ago, Seiko the watchmakers ran an ad that described someone who came across as a bastard. Relentless, punishing, unforgiving. It turned out to be time itself. Of all possible character faults possible, it was unwilling to wait. Reminding myself of that, and being reminded by Ken that I have only eight days until vacation, I have vowed to spend all my awake time (minus those hours where I'm not apt) to work towards my goal of finishing my project before I board UA 645. After watching the latest Entourage, eating my fifth piece of fruit for the day, and writing a congratulatory email to Nic and Jen on their engagement.

Something tells me a lot more happened this week than I am posting here. But then I'm sleepy, ready for another big day. Anyhow, one thing's for sure. The Yankees won't win this year.

It's over!

Finally, the mercury has regressed and life on this side of the continent is once again sustainable. Just mild breezes and a healthy glow of sun. There's no way I'm going to show up at work this weekend. Well, maybe just for a bit.