Roadmap for 2007

The instructions are simple. Do as I do. Get on your knees. Extend your arms skywards. Meditate on my image. Now start worshipping.

Now if only Andy got this advice on friday...

As for me, after two strenuous weeks of watching things happen in the wrong timezone, I can finally revert to my project. Hurray!

S.O.S.

Two years ago, everyone scoffed at eBay's $2 billion purchase of Skype. Somehow, Google's $1.6 billion for YouTube, every copyright litigation attorney's wetdream, was considered a bargain. The irony is that even YouTube's founders found it so exhuberent that they actually filmed their own clip detailing how they've sold gourd for gold. Two years on, Skype has over 200 million users (more than Myspace and Facebook combined) and generates revenue. It also allows, for $12 a year, for my faithful HK readers, i.e. all three of you, to reach me toll free by phone (852-8176-3661). Call me. Seriously.

Deep six'in

If you've wondered why I've gone dark for the last week and a half, look no further than Melbourne (very far for most, actually) where the Aussie Open is once again unfolding. One thing which turns an otherwise hot, humid, stoic tournament into a grand event is its unpredictability. Like California weather after El Nino, one simply has to watch it to believe it. And watch it I have, some 15 timezones away. No wonder those experiments aren't working.

16 years young, Jeremy asked me how I managed to run down balls at nearly twice his age. Practice, I told him. And to impress the chicks. With a little reminder from Sara Foster, main squeeze of no. 10 seed Tommy Haas, I now remember that the good players get all the plays. I'll be hitting the gym tomorrow. Having taken it easy for so long, there's so many steps to make up for...

As Asian As Ian

If there's one thing that's guaranteed with Ian, is that a yellow time is to be had by all. Thus, went the script on Saturday when we hit it for dim-sum in craggy Philly chinatown. Along with the possé of Shaq, Nat, Sheryl and Reesa, we then raided a truly underground supermarket where phone reception was zero and 80's sino-pop flowed.

Our heros scheme to rescue trapped fish and turtles at the Asian mart.

Then to the Reading Terminal market. The neon sign actually reads Olympic Gyro, not orgy as we initially thought.

Chocolate feet and teeth. Wonder if they taste like the real thing?

Pulling a double-header, we finished the evening at the infamous H-mart. Healthy delicious fun...hurray!

H-mart is located in the better part of town. The better part of the bad part, that is. Where else would you find Philadelphia's only 69th St.?

Inside, Nat quickly gets to what she does best - picking out choice cucumbers.

If pictures could talk...

If photographs had minds and likewise voices, what would they say. What would their subjects say? And what would we answer them back with? Let's look at some recent examples from my camera phone, that indispensible tool of the 21st century.


At first an attractive proposition, until you read the fine print. Careful what you're getting yourself into with those hearty muffins next time.











On Christmas eve, Pheebs and I attended a wonderful turkey dinner prepared by Francis and Conrad. Appropriately, we brought the finest wine we could find at the LCBO (not the canada dry). Despite the name Dog House and a screw cap, it was much better than the fancy Riesling stuff that only girlfriends of derivatives traders can open. A scentful bouquet of honesty and lack of pretentious aftertaste.





"Unlike last year, my bottom's not bare," said the Swarovski tree at the Eaton Centre who's sparkling decor was not pillaged by the Toronto faithful (at least not by Boxing day). Unfortunately for Ken and I, we were unable to purchase a single item for ourselves while throngs of people collectively spent over a billion dollars during that same span.

Don't sweat it. Bend it!

Once every long while, a fairy tale ending takes place. Tossed by Steve "the ball ain't round" McLaren, ignored by Fabio "ego" Capello, where else was Cinderella to seek refuge? At midnight, the carriage turned into a suitcase full of money, enough to stuff silent the ears of a couple and their manager, and the mouths of those hurling insults and banalities. 250 million dollars is a lot of joy. And laughing all the way to the bank is definitely a happy ending.

"Wait, lemme see. $250 million is 5x what Hank Blankfein makes. Wow, this California gig pays better than Goldman Sachs...Now how many quid is that again?"

Who could've thought?

Side A

Side B

While looking for a suitable wrapper for the mail key to send back to Toronto, I stumbled upon the closest, longest, most durable scrap of paper within reach. Apart from test Italians with obviously lots of time on their hands, who else could've thought to write a 16-page instruction manual for a pair of shades. While these are not your everyday pair of sunglasses, the folks at Prada really proved their mettle by literally reinventing how we should view the world through their rose-colored lenses. Seeing clearly on a bright afternoon is not as simple as placing the specs on the bridge of your nose. Apparently, the two prongs must face the ears - without poking into the eyes. Quite a feat, requiring detail in 14 different languages. Presumable, Polish consumers have never seen such a contraption used. For this morsel of wisdom and immense fashion engineering (i.e. making a pair of pink shades look good on a guy), the original retail price upwards of $275 is absolutely worth it.

It's all a little blurry part 2

There's nothing like ushering in the new year by spending quality time with a six-fingered cat and riding arcade motorbikes before the countdown. Upon closer inspection, fireworks resemble a giant chlamydia.

It's all a little blurry

As promised, there would be a photo of my can-hugging adventure. It all seems so blurry now. But Corvoisier bombs are, well, the bomb...