Here are some more things I hate.
(I always like writing Japan! with an exclamation mark because I imagine some violent comic-book Japanese schoolgirl yelling “JAPAN!” and slicing somebody’s head off with a katana.)
These are my favorite Japanese restaurants and bars in Hong Kong.
I love food. I think about food constantly; I eat too much food; I spend a huge amount of time scheming how to consume more food and not gain weight. My days revolve around food, meaning I go to kebab shops and watch the chicken spin around on a tray. Sometimes when somebody boring is talking to me I zone out and imagine him or her saying food food food food food food. Food food? Food! Food food food! Or that he’s a giant talking pork shoulder.
But, all that being said, I am NOT a Foodie. And I will never be—despite me writing this whilst in post-12-course food coma.
Like any sane human being, I prefer flying at night. Airplane dinner is better than airplane breakfast, the cabin is dimmed like a theater and so nobody can see the drool gobs pooling on your shirt. With a little luck, you might even be able to sleep and have one of those dreams that you’re flying, and, as anyone can tell you, you are. Plus it staves off the inevitable morning moment of waking up eye-to-eye with a sweaty businessman from the States.
In my continuing efforts to turn this nightlife column into a relationship advice column, I decided to quit with the artifice and do exactly that. So this week, Yalun Tu—untrained, uncertified and unqualified*—will answer your relationship queries that he may or may not have made up himself. If you have more, send them to firstname.lastname@example.org.
*sounds like a tagline to a 2000s movie sequel
When I flag down an available taxi and it slows down but then speeds up and drives away:
Oh man, I’m really late for work. Why did I hit the snooze button six times? Why did I watch that “Harlem Shake Compilation 22” on YouTube? It’s like three months old. The Harlem Shake is ancient. Why am I hungover? I didn’t even drink. Is that what getting old is like?
I’m inventing a new term and assigning it to me: techno-luddite. I’m comfortable with old technologies (Blackberrys, books, low-end toasters) and tolerate some new (new iPad) but for the most part I’m wary of new things. It takes a long time for me to adapt and usually tech makes my life more confusing, not better.
This year it was one directive and one only: make it through to the night. Every year I start off the Sevens pumped up, ready to live up to my HK Magazine nightlife column moniker, and every year I get too drunk too early and end up in bed both freezing and sweating. This year I was ready to buck the trend.
It’s Yalun’s annual What To Be At The Sevens costume column. How about…
An Asian Ghost. We haven’t seen the long-haired girl from “The Ring” for a while, or that little boy from “The Grudge.” Bonus points if you can bring in an actual little boy.
A Rugby Player. They’ll let you in the stadium, no questions asked. Just start drinking a lot, take anabolic steroids, and build a time machine so you could have started doing this six months ago.
Recently I’ve noticed a disturbing trend of not enough people praising me for my life. This is very upsetting.