Happiness Good Fortune...

My second trip to Asia (in as many years) landed me in Hong Kong, the former British colony located at the southeast corner of this massive continent. A modern, somewhat westernized oasis surrounded by the foreign and exotic sights, sounds, and smells of a vibrant and fascinating culture that is (both literally and figuratively) half a world away from my own. In hindsight, I'm glad that our trip started in Hong Kong; it's a good, tourist-friendly starter city for first-time visitors to the Orient: Think of it as China: 101. Nearly everyone I encountered spoke English, and all the signs and announcements were trilingual, meaning that all pertinent information was listed in Cantonese (the primary language spoken by Hong Kongians), English (phew!), and Mandarin (the official language of "mainland" China).

The public transportation system is clean, efficient, and easy to navigate (not to mention dirt cheap!) and I was able to make my way from the airport to the hotel without any problems. My only beef with the MTR was with the commuters' customs; there's an entirely different standard of "personal space" over there. At 5'4", I was a giant amidst this mass of humanity... my fellow metro riders may have been small, but man were they pushy!

The stunning skyline and futuristic-looking architecture were interspersed with more traditional, Eastern style buildings. The friend (Hong Kong native and impromptu tour guide) who invited us to come to her hometown was continually pointing out signs of "East meets West" which, if you looked closely enough, were everywhere!

There aren't many historical sights in Hong Kong, as it is (comparatively speaking) a relatively new city. The British began developing the barren, volcanic islands less than 150 years ago, so compared to the rest of China, it's still shiny and new. That said, there are plenty of other things to do in the city: mainly, shopping. Oh, the shopping! Considered by many to be a shopper's paradise, stores line nearly every street in the city, selling everything from the latest electronics to the trendiest new fashions. I gravitated toward the jewelry shops, as this area of the world is known for jade and freshwater pearls. I also enjoyed the open-air, outdoor markets; I marveled at the bird and flower markets, and got most of my souvenirs at the massive Stanley Market, a huge bazaar where haggling is accepted. I gawked at the fish market; many restaurants shared its waterfront location, and those patrons who were so inclined were able to pick their next meal from the strange, myriad assortment of sea creatures (that the Chinese consider to be cuisine) that were crammed into rows of tiered aquariums. The unlucky creatures were then plucked from their cramped glass quarters, killed, cooked, then served up on a platter-- tentacles, scaly fins, googly eyes and all!

Thankfully, I wasn't scared of all the food in Hong Kong; dim sum, the Cantonese delicacy known best for its many varieties of steamed dumplings and meat-filled buns, is considered to be the local cuisine, and offers many non-oceanic options. After decades of trying and failing, I learned how to use chopsticks in a hurry while I was in Hong Kong, out of sheer necessity. I spent my downtime in the hotel room practicing with peanuts and candy corn; by the end of our stay, the candy corn was easy to do (probably because the humidity made it sticky), but the peanuts, not so much. I'm still not very good at it, and I can't eat very fast this way, but at least I didn't have to stab my dumplings, eating them as food on a (chop)stick, a la Taste of Chicago. My favorite foods, though, came from the many bakeries located throughout the city. These rich and tasty treats were flavorful and not too sweet; it would have been very easy to try one of everything they offered!

And have I mentioned that Hong Kong is equal parts urban, modern city and tropical paradise? Located just north of the Equator, late October brought us ample sunshine and temperatures in the 30s (Celsius, that is-- that's 80s and 90s for us Americans). The palm trees, large tropical flowers, and exotic species of bird were all highlights of my trip.

I found it curious, though, just how superstitious the Cantonese are. Numbers carry a particularly heavy significance; the hotel I stayed in was missing a number of floors; apparently any number ending in 4 is bad, but 8 is a sign of good fortune. One hotel we saw was designed with a big hole in the middle, so the evil spirits could pass through! They also share the Chinese affinity for the "three happiness" symbols (pictured above), characters that translate as Happiness/Good Fortune, Longevity, and Prosperity. We just happened to be in Hong Kong during the holiday of the "double nines" according to the Chinese calendar (which changes with the cycle of the moon... confusing!)-- I forget what the number 9 signifies, but the holiday is similar to "El Dia de los Muertos" in Mexico-- it's a day to honor those who have passed, and many go up into the mountains or to the cemeteries (which are usually mountainside locations as well); apparently the higher you go, the better it is. We just so happened to take the tram up to Victoria's Peak that day to admire stunning views of Hong Kong's skyline... but nearly half the population had the same idea.

We only had a few days to explore Hong Kong, and without the help and hospitality of our family friend, we wouldn't have seen nearly as much as we did. As is the case in all my travels, I boarded the plane to Beijing wishing I could have stayed longer. I always tell myself that it gives me a reason to go back someday, but in a place so far away from home, that's easier said than done!

Blind / Not Blind

The Red Line has no shortage of strange characters, homeless people, and solicitors riding up and down the el tracks that span the length of the city, and some of these folks frequent the rail cars so often that -- for better or for worse -- they become familiar sights. I was actually excited to see one such character during my ride downtown today, it was the guy I call Blind/Not Blind. B/NB guy carries a red plastic Solo cup, and passes from car to car as the train hurtles through the subways.

The spiel he gives to riders in each car is something along the lines of: "Don't be afraid of me because I'm different. I'm just blind. I won't hurt you, but I sure would appreciate it if you could help me out", etc. The thing that gives his act away is, when some poor sap of a commuter (come to think of it, most of his donors are probably tourists) reinforces his bad behavior by dropping some change into his cup (which is essentially rewarding him for soliciting) he replies "Thank you, sir" or "Thank you, ma'am". However, I've never seen anybody actually speak to him; if he really was blind, I don't think his gender-specific "thank yous" would be so accurate.

The worst part about the beggars in this city is that many of them aren't really homeless; I've seen guys touching up their "Will work for food" signs with a brand new package of Sharpies as they're comfortably riding the Metra into the city. There's a guy with a suitcase who sits outside the Old Navy on State Street who is "stranded" and has been trying to get "home for the holidays" for about six years now ... And the guy with a bunch of loose change in the tuba who stands in front of Orchestra Hall didn't really get that instrument from the orchestra -- trust me. I guess what I'm trying to say is, don't feed the pigeons and don't pay the beggars. If you really want to help the homeless, donate to charities like the Salvation Army, where your money will really be "doing the most good".

But back to B/NB ... I heard his spiel before I actually saw him, but the best part about it was that he wasn't blind today; he was just hungry -- seriously! "Don't be afraid of me because I'm different. I'm just hungry. I won't hurt you, but I sure would appreciate it if you could help me out ... Thank you, sir. Thank you, ma'am." Then, thinking we commuters were none the wiser, he opened the door that's supposed to remain closed while the train is moving, and disappeared into the next rail car to start his spiel all over again.

Lions and Olympians and Bears, Oh My!

I'm sure the whole world knows by now that Chicago will not be hosting the 2016 Olympics. It's all anybody in this city has been able to talk about this weekend, and every time someone voices their opinion on this topic, it seems like they're striving to take an even stronger stance than the person interviewed before them. While I agree with those who say they're more upset about they way things went down (with Chicago being eliminated in the first round of voting) than they are about the fact that we lost the bid, I feel like I'm in the minority by admitting that I'm rather ambivalent about the whole thing. I don't feel the need to point fingers at the president or Mayor Daley (well, maybe a little bit at the mayor) or even Oprah on why the decision turned out the way it did; it's been decided, the decision is final, and there's nothing more we can do about it.

Don't get me wrong -- I think it would have been cool to bring a world-class event like the Summer Olympics to the windy city, but it's even cooler that the Olympics will be held in Rio; it would be hard for even the finest American city (which Chicago is!) to compete with the historic bid of an idyllic South American paradise. I'm not at all bothered by the traffic nightmares that I won't be dealing with seven years from now, although I hope some of the mass transit improvements they proposed as part of the bid will still be implemented ... I'm not holding my breath, though.

I woke up this morning to yet another reporter trying to put a new spin on (what is, by now) an old story. He was reporting live from the Belmont el stop, asking commuters if the Bears' "big win" yesterday helped them feel better about having been snubbed by the International Olympic Committee. I listened groggily as people got all philosophical and waxed poetic on the topic, then it slowly dawned on me: the Bears played the Detroit Lions yesterday ... now, I don't really follow football, but ... doesn't everybody beat the Lions? Why is that a big deal, and why would that make me (or anyone) feel better?!?

If I felt strongly about either topic -- one way or the other -- I might have felt worse if the Bears had lost to the Lions, but the win isn't really all that newsworthy. They were supposed to beat the Lions. I decided that the reporter was just looking for an excuse to play the Bears' catchy theme song, and turned off the radio. I still don't know what football has to do with the Olympics, but I did enjoy the fight song, which even I will admit is a fun and lighthearted way to start a Monday!

The Crazy Lady (10/10/06)

While I'm on the topic of my old landlords (who, despite my previous post, were very good to me), I thought I'd share excerpts from the harrowing correspondence we had about the crazy lady who lived downstairs. They took our complaints seriously, working with me and the other tenants every step of the way. And when the crazy lady got worse instead of better, they served her with eviction papers. She was gone within the month. I know crazy people find me irresistible for some reason, but this lady was a doozy. How bad was she, you ask? Read on and find out!

9/5/06 I am frightened and very concerned by the violent outbursts and unprovoked verbal attacks I have heard and witnessed since moving to this building, all of which have come from the woman who lives downstairs ... the excessive noise and obscene rants continue all day and well into most nights. She screams and shouts some of the most vulgar words in the English language, and repeats the most offensive insults until she feels satisfied that she has gotten her point across, which often takes hours. I have never heard anyone yell back ... When she gets tired of talking to herself, she’ll lean out the front window and hurl threatening insults at passers by– it’s horrifying.

I did report her to the police earlier this summer– after seeing her try to pick a fight with a parked car then fumble with her keys for quite a while ... I probably should have called them on other occasions, like when she tried to throw the neighbor's grill away. It's chained to the deck, and she was so angry that she couldn't move it, she screamed "I’ll just burn it up then!", turned the propane on high, and left. The police have been called to the building two other times that I know of ... I was stopped and questioned by them once as I was coming home well after midnight ... this fact has only made her madder. She is very angry, violent, and seems quite altered; something needs to be done.

I have never in my life called 911 more than I did in that month and a half, and unlike the police who yelled at me when I found the dead guy, these officers were very courteous and tried on numerous occasions to reason with this woman. I felt bad that they had to call her ma'am! Her response (when she responded at all) was similar to the cat lady on The Simpsons-- she would wander out, scream incoherent gibberish, then wander away. Once she actually threw her cat out the window. I kid you not. She must have been remorseful the next day, as there was a pile of Meow Mix on the front walk. The cat came back, but (for its sake) I'm not sure that was a good thing.

9/30/06 I just wanted to send you a quick update on the situation with the woman downstairs. For a week or so around the time we last spoke, all was quiet down there. However, the shouting and crashing noises have started up again, but they do not occur as often, and have not reached the point where police intervention would be appropriate.

I, along with every other tenant on the Mozart side of the building, did receive a note of apology for her disturbing us, assuring us the problem "has been taken care of". I was touched by the gesture, but was jolted awake at 4:30 the very next morning by her ranting, and have been awakened in the middle of the night 3 or 4 times since then. I also believe she has cursed at me personally– once through her back door as I was taking out the trash, and another time out the front window as I was coming into the building– which I do not appreciate in the least. I just wanted to let you know that ... although some improvements have been made, the problem has definitely not "been taken care of".

I had met several of the other tenants by this time; we were united in our fear of the crazy lady. Once, when I was outside talking to the police, the guy from the top apartment on the other side of the building leaned out his window and yelled to the cop, "She's crazy, man!" in a show of solidarity. It was great.

10/10/06 I need to recant the optimistic assessment I made at the beginning of the month about the continuing saga with the woman downstairs. I was in my apartment on Sunday morning, quietly reading the paper when I heard her start cursing– she sounded closer and louder than usual. I quickly realized she was right outside my front door, calling me a "f***ing bitch, c*nt, and whore", saying that she’d "show me...", and concluded with "do you understand? GOOD!", slapped my door once, and left.

I heard her shouting again outside later in the day, and when it didn’t let up, I went to my window to see what was going on– she was standing on the sidewalk staring right up at my living room window, both middle fingers raised, and voicing her opinion of me for the whole block to hear. I have done nothing to provoke this woman, and have never even spoken to her directly. I did find a note on my door telling me to control my pets. There was something else written on the bottom of the paper, but it had been ripped off, as if she had thought twice about leaving anything so vile in writing. I do have a cat, but I can’t for the life of me imagine what type of complaint she would have against a four-pound kitten!

I later learned that she had been served eviction papers earlier that week. I began locking my kitten in my bedroom when I wasn't home because I seriously thought she was going to try and poison him, and tip-toed up and down the back steps for about a week. The night she moved out was the scariest of all; she wanted to leave us something to remember her by. By the time we called the police, she was practically foaming at the mouth. But once she had left, and I managed to catch up on all the sleep I had lost over the previous months, I actually began feeling sorry for the woman-- it must be hard to be so angry all the time. I just pray I don't run into her on the street someday; there's no telling what she would do!

Security Deposit Snafu

According to the City of Chicago's Residential Landlord and Tenant Ordinance Summary, "A landlord must return all security deposit and required interest, if any ... within 45 days from the date the tenant vacates the unit." Well, folks, I moved Memorial Day weekend ... here we are coming up on Labor day, and I just deposited the sizable check I had been waiting on all summer, or for 93 days to be exact. That's more than double the time frame imposed by the city, but I waited to play the "I'll report you to the city" card until I got desperate, which was about mid-August. A brief account of the (increasingly weird) correspondence between me and my former landlords went something like this:

Starting in early July...

me: Um, hi. I've been waiting on my security deposit for quite a while now and was wondering if you could tell me when I can expect to receive it?
them: That's weird. We mailed your check a couple of weeks ago. We'll put a stop payment on it and issue a new one right away.
me: Great, thanks!

A week passed, then another...

me: It's me again. I'm still waiting to get my deposit back.
them: Yeah, about that. Your first check was returned to us because of an invalid address. We need to verify your new address.
me: And you didn't call me why?
them: We figured you'd call us eventually.
me: [sighing] Nice.

The address gets verified, and the second check goes in the mail. Within days, an envelope arrives.

me: Woo hoo! [Then upon closer inspection] What the...? You've GOT to be kidding me! [Calling the landlords back] Um, hi. Me here. I got a check from you guys today...
them: Great!
me: but I can't cash it because it's a) not signed, and b) post-dated for September 2nd (it was the second week of August)
them: [stammering] Uhh ... the date must be a computer glitch, and I guess I just assumed that the landlord had signed all of the checks ... I didn't actually look before I sent them. Oops! Just shred that one and we'll send you another.
me: And when can I expect to receive that check?
them: Soon. Very soon.

Another 10 days pass...

me: This is getting ridiculous, folks. Can't I just swing by your office sometime and have the landlord sign this check? If it was valid, I'd be able to cash it in a few more days
them: Uh, well, we want to send you a new check.
me: No. I want to pick this up in person. Just tell me where your office is, and I'll come pick it up tomorrow.
them: [stammering again] I'm sorry, but I can't tell you that.
me: What!?! [Then, pulling out the big guns ... ] You guys have been good to me up until now, and I've been a model tenant for the past six years ... I'd hate to have to report you to the City ...
them: [nervously] I'll tell you what, why don't you meet one of our guys on the street corner tomorrow. It's outside one of our properties near you. He'll give you your check.
me: Um, okay... [then to myself] I'm starting to suspect that you guys might be affiliated with the mob or something.... Am I going to get whacked?

So I drive to the designated street corner the next day, mace in hand, not knowing what to expect. Thankfully, I recognize the guy who pulls up in a Mountain Dew-colored Mustang. He's a nice guy; a little greasy looking, but relatively harmless. I step tentatively out of my car when he approaches. He doesn't whack me; he waves instead. What a relief! I make him wait while I check the date and validity of the check, we make some small talk, and get back into our cars and drive away.

I don't know why the simplest tasks always wind up being such an ordeal for me, but at least this story has a happy ending. It was a long time coming, though!

B-I-N-G...Oh!

Although it wasn't my first Bingo night experience at this hipster hangout in Humboldt Park (that masquerades as a seedy dive bar), it was my first win. The Monday night Bingo racket draws an unusually large number of clean-cut Chicago Public School teachers (including the friend who invited me) in addition to the usual hipsters that frequent the joint (a moody, oddly dressed bunch, identifiable largely by their distinct [albeit androgynous] hair and clothing styles); it's a strange mix.

There's no cover charge, and no fee for the Bingo cards. The callers share a name (it's something common, like Dave or Jim) and infuse some improvisation and off-color jokes into their Bingo calling shtick, turning an activity that is traditionally geared toward a more geriatric crowd into something of a sketch comedy routine. Gone are the ink-filled daubers of old, and instead of troll dolls, PBR cans line the tables above players' Bingo cards.

Because no money changes hands, there is no monetary prize for the winners. To compensate, the Daves (or whoever) have gotten a little more ... umm ... creative with their prize packages. My friend proudly displays a coloring book page on his fridge that he won earlier in the year--it's some Disney prince with a generously sized phallus added to his person in an otherwise G-rated scene-- and the page is autographed by one of the Daves. Other prizes I've seen include: little plastic army guys, a half-completed Sunday crossword, noise makers, and other random junk. I'm not a hipster myself, so maybe I just don't get the humor, but it was all in good fun, or so it seemed.

It was the last game of the night, a round of "Hippie Bingo" (the only spaces in play were "B" and "O") and I found myself caught up in the middle of a three-way win. As is customary for all their winners, I had to come up on "stage" and answer a few random questions. Since there were three of us, they thought it would be a great idea to subject us to a "dance off" a la Soul Train, to determine who would get their "grand prize" for the evening. Feeling like an idiot, but agreeing to play along, I shimmied my way across the stage. They must have liked my impromptu dance moves, because they deemed me the winner!

What did I win, you ask? Well, it's pictured above. They gave me a bourbon-soaked copy of Alcoholic's Anonymous. Again, I don't quite get hipsters, but I really think it crossed that fine line between offbeat humor and plain old bad taste. I smiled wanly as they continued their little show, and returned to sit with my friend at the bar, who was beaming about the attention the Daves had lavished upon me. I left that night scratching my head; why would anyone find that funny? Ironic, sure, but inappropriate nonetheless. It went directly into the Goodwill pile.

So hipsters, I've decided that you can keep your Bingo-calling Daves and your phallic coloring-book pages and your cheap, nasty beer in a can. If and when I do play Bingo, I'll take the troll dolls and superstitious blue-haired ladies over tasteless humor any day. And should I have to drink PBR again, I'd prefer it in a bottle, thank you very much.

Grammar Mulligans

I can't stop thinking about a segment that my radio crush, WGN's John Williams, did a couple of weeks ago on his (now 9:00-12:00) show. He was talking about grammar, which caught my attention right away. Williams was arguing that, while most people should know more grammar rules than they do, everyone should be able to have just one mulligan (that's a golf term... it basically means a "do-over" or a free pass) when it comes to a certain word use or sentence structure that they just can't seem to grasp, no matter how hard they try.

Williams and some of the other on-air personalities went on to deliberate whether anybody should be allowed to waste their mulligan on the grammatical difference between words like to/too/two or there/their/they're, because everyone should know that. I think it was decided that, if that's your one big hang-up, then it's admissible. When he opened up the phone lines, he posed two questions to listeners (and I paraphrase): "what other grammar faux pas doyou think should not be allowed, even with a mulligan?", and, "what is your mulligan?". I immediately began trying to call in. As I continued to hit redial, he explained that his mulligan would be (understandably) used on affect vs. effect, arguing that he can never remember which word to use in which situation, and not to bother calling in to correct him on this, because he still wouldn't get it. [For all intensive purposes, King John, affect is a verb, and effect is a noun, but I promise not to tell you that!]

I finally got through, and was placed on hold. For me, the grammatical error that shouldn't be covered under any mulligan, one of my personal pet peeves, is the plural vs. possessive rule. And for anyone who doesn't know what that means, it means that adding an "s" to a word does not automatically require an apostrophe be added as well. The apostrophe is used to show possession, and not a number greater than one: "Taco's car had three wheels" is grammatically correct; "Three taco's for $1.00" is not. I had a whole slew of others, such as ending sentences with a preposition (at), but didn't want my radio crush to think I was a total word nerd (even though I am)!

But what would my mulligan be? Although I know more grammar than the average listener, I was impressed by the mulligan ideas that other callers had come up with. John Williams' listeners (and yes, I meant that to be possessive!) are an intelligent bunch; apparently, I'm in good company! I can't remember the exact examples, but I agreed wholeheartedly with the listeners who wanted a pass on things like capital vs. capitol, principal vs. principle, and compliment vs. complement. I grimaced on the toward vs. towards (as towards isn't a word), but because it's misused so often, I can see how that would be confusing. I don't have enough problems with these words to warrant a mulligan, though, so I kept thinking.

Suddenly, it dawned on me: I would use my mulligan on nauseous vs. nauseated! I can't for the life of me remember which word to use when, but I do know that the word nauseous is misused with astounding frequency! I was so pleased with myself, thinking my radio crush would find me witty and clever, and that a lively banter would ensue.

I was listening so actively to the witty, clever, and lively banter between Williams and the caller before me-- who admitted that she used an online dating service and couldn't bring herself to reply to men who had typos, misspellings, and grammatical errors in their profiles (that would be a deal breaker for me, too!)-- that I lost track of time. So I was crestfallen when I got disconnected right after she hung up; they were running late for the news.

Hopefully, I'll have better luck the next time I feel compelled to weigh in on some funny and irreverent conversation between Williams and his loyal listeners... but in the mean time, what's your mulligan? Is there a word, a spelling, or a phrase that baffles you? I'd be curious to hear it, and-- as long as it's not on the plural vs. possessive-- I promise I won't judge!

p.s. I would personally like to thank one of the SCHOOLS where I teach for the sign pictured above.