All I wanted to do this past weekend was build a hammock and sleep on it. But my friends, they put a leash around my neck and dragged my weary ass out into the cold hard world, where parties never end and my glass is never empty.
Friday – Beer. Chickfight. Beer.
Saturday – T and Geney Boy’s birthday dinner and party. I’d write about it, but xrysalis has beaten me to it.
Sunday – “Lord of the Rings.” As soon as the movie ended, I wanted to walk right back in and see it again. Watching trees get angry and step on people easily ranks as one of the greatest moments in cinematic history, just ahead of Michael kissing Fredo in “The Godfather Part II” and right behind Erika Eleniak coming out of the birthday cake in “Under Siege.”
Right after Thailand and Cambodia, I headed to Hong Kong. I was originally supposed to go down to Krabi, but the weather there wasn’t ideal for beaching: Thunderstorms, 106 degrees, 98% humidity. So I guess I’ll have to go back next year when I hit Vietnam and maybe Bali.
What did I do in Hong Kong? Some Christmas shopping and a lot of partying. As I discovered the last time I was there, Hong Kongians are fucking insane. Don’t these people realize that drinking ‘til 4am every night is bad for your health?
Hit some interesting establishments though. One was Cube, which is the result of someone turning their apartment into a trendy mini-lounge, I kid you not. Apparently there’s a few of those in Hong Kong, so it must be legal (although “legal” is a very futile word in this part of the world).
Dragon-i was another place we visited. The joint just opened a few weeks earlier, and it’s quite swanky. The crowd was interesting enough; beyond the usual mix of Triad kids, Hong Kong singer/actors and tall Euro model chicks, I spotted an Arab sheik and some dude who went to my church back in LA.
Because I’m still waiting for Thailand and Cambodia photos from the other people in our group, I’m posting the Hong Kong pictures first…
Here I am at Kowloon, where you won’t find a single square inch of ground that doesn’t have a person standing, walking, spitting, shitting, sitting on it.
It takes a certain kind of human being to proclaim himself as the master of meat. In really big letters.
Taken right before we hit some ridiculously packed club called Drop. Don’t know why I’m smiling; I had a flight to catch in four hours.
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