Borat

One thing I miss about Australia is the variety of movies that are available to me at any time. There are small, arty farty cinemas all over Melbourne for when you're feeling a bit highbrow. Even big chains like Village have Cinema Europa, and a chance to see something other than a remake of some American TV show that we never got in Australia but we're going to go and see anyway because it's got that girl with the big hooters.

We are not so lucky in Honkers. We get the big films and that is all. There are a lot of overhyped, formulaic loads of garbage so it's nice to finally see that a 'big' film I can enjoy is on the way.

Borat has been in Washington, inviting the likes of 'Premier George Walter Bush' and 'Mel Gibsons' to see his film.

It promises to be a ripper.

Click here for the trailer and here for the article.

Things That Make You Go Brrrrr

The person next to me just tried to write with a blunt pencil. I'm not talking about a pencil that isn't sharp, I'm talking about one that which is severely, totally and in all other ways lacking a lead and cannot and should not be used as a writing utensil. To some, this is no big deal - go and sharpen that sucker and get on with it, but it gives me goosebumps (or chicken skin, as they say in Honkers) like you wouldn't believe. Through clenched teeth, I spit out the words, "Stop, please", slowly and inaudibly at first and as my panic becomes greater it gets louder and more desperate, "Stop, stop, stop!" My face becomes screwed up and contorted like I'm sucking on a lemon and it takes me several moments of wriggling and lip smacking to fully recover. Brrr.... shake it out, Nicky boy.

Fingernails down a blackboard don't bother me, but a couple of other things do. Other goosebump inducers include a blunt cricket bat being dragged across a fluffy carpet (same, but different) and tin foil coming into contact with my mouth.

I can't think of any more at the moment, but I'd like to know... what bumps your goose?


By the way...

Click here to see who was responsible for this morning's goosebumps.

If you like today's image, click here to see more from the same photographer.

Hold Tight! Stand Firm!

I received some fantastic advice today. This advice was not given to me by a friend, colleague, parent or mentor - it was given by a big old sign, which read, 'Husband and wife should talk to each other and be understanding'. No argument here, but why is this kind of advice plastered on signs all over Honkers? The government (or whoever commissioned these pearls of wisdom) obviously don't give the people here much credit, do they? I wonder how many alcoholic wife beaters have been on their way home, ready to down a bottle of JD and give the missus a knuckle sandwich, only to be stopped in their tracks by that particular sign.

"My God! What was I thinking? I'm going to go home now, make Bobo a cup of tea and ask her about her day."

There are many other examples, which usually take the form of street signs and public service announcements.

- 'To prevent Avian Flu, always wash your hands after eating meat' (that'll work)
- 'Please take care of your personal belongings'
- 'Never swim directly after eating'

and the Grand Daddy of them all....

'Always hold the handrail while travelling on the escalator'.

Not sometimes... always! You have no idea about how seriously they take escalator safety in Hong Kong. There is a team of people called the 'Escalator Safety Crew' or something like that, who travel from station to station, dressed in yellow and armed with a megaphone, and yell in commuters' ears about holding onto the handrail. As I see it, there are two major flaws with this (and a few minor ones too).

Flaw the first:
The picture they use to emphasise their point is of a person holding BOTH handrails. While this may be safe, it's also slightly annoying for the dozens of people trying to get past.

Flaw II:
Come on. We're clearly not 3 years old, and those of us who are shouldn't be travelling on those bad boys without Mummy and Daddy. Plus, they can't reach the handrail so through no fault of their own they're flying in the face of public safety.

"We understand that some passengers may be in a hurry and choose to walk on escalators rather than standing still on one step. However, our advice to all passengers is to stand firm and hold the handrails to avoid hurting themselves in the event that they lose balance while walking on the escalators," said Mr Wilfred Lau, Head of Operations of MTR Corporation.

Every time I see the Escalator Safety Crew (picture them in walking together in slow motion with rock music blaring in the background, credit sequence style) I am overwhelmed with the temptation to let go of the handrail, arms flailing and say, "Look at me, no hands!" Although if I tried that, chances are I'd take a tumble, knock 10 people over and get my fingers sucked under, causing one of the biggest escalator catastrophes Hong Kong has ever seen.

Copping an "I told you so" from the Escalator Safety Crew would be one of the most degrading and humiliating things that could ever happen, so for now I'm a good citizen who holds the handrail, looks straight ahead and waits to be told what to do next.

The Wrong Shoes

Why am I so bad at buying shoes? I don't get it. I always enter the shoe shop with the confidence of a man who has learned his lesson. I leave the premises about 75% sure that I've made the right decision, then a few days later I realise that I've fallen into the same trap again. They're too big, too small, uncomfortable, bad quality or just plain ugly.

I am now the owner of quite a few pairs of shoes and I can honestly say that I'm not completely happy with any of them. Let's go through them:

Black semi-casual ones – I'm wearing them now. They have a red spot on the back, the black faded within a week, I can't wear them with jeans and they're ugly.

Mizuno tennis shoes – Brilliant shoes for squash. Great quality and they look fine. Oh yeah, but they were a size too small, made my toenail die and then take six months to drop off completely, giving me the added complication that I shouldn't wear thongs for fear of grossing people out.

Rod's hand-me-downs – They were too small for the big fella so I scooped them up. A bit grubby and needed a wash. I put them in the washing machine and now they just sit there looking a bit mangled.

Black Julius Marlows (go on, say it in Tony Greig's voice) – not too bad, but they're clearly about 5 years old now and need a bit of stitching here and there.

Squash shoes from Mong Kok market – I know you can't expect too much for 8 Aussie bucks, but the 'Blister Maker 2000' can be a little rough on the old soles.

Asics Gel – My only great shoe purchase over the years. Unfortunately unless you're Jerry Seinfeld you can't really wear runners with jeans.

Thongs – They're ok, but it took four other dud pairs to find the right one. Oh, and they're quickly falling apart.

High heels – Stunning, but honestly, I just can't walk in those things.

Can anybody help me? I need an all purpose shoe that's dressy enough to wear to work (smart casual is ok) and casual enough to wear out. I want answers! I want to be as satisfied with my next pair of shoes as I am with my brilliant 'France' boxer shorts.

The Devil Makes Crap Movies

I consider myself an open-minded and tolerant moviegoer. I'll give just about anything a go and I'll always try to like it, no matter what I my preconceptions about the film are. It was with this attitude that I sat down to watch a little film called 'The Devil Wears Prada'.

I hadn't heard much about the film, Meryl Streep was in it and it had a clever title. I thought to myself, “What could go wrong? It should be a nice little fluffy piece of entertainment to pass a couple of hours. I'm always up for taking the mickey out of fashion people. Hell, this could be a classic in the making.”

Not since 'Batman and Robin' have I been so shocked by a movie's lack of quality. It seems like the filmmakers weren't even trying to make it interesting. There was not one surprise during the whole thing; the dialogue was crappy; the characters were unlikable; it was boring; it was full of “you go girl!” Oprah-style makeover moments that make me want to puke and the worse thing is... other people liked it!

It is generally considered a good movie! I am gobsmacked. Usually my opinions on movies don't stray too far from the norm, but how could anyone (apart from teenage girls) honestly like this movie?

At least film reviewer extraordinaire Roger Ebert didn't like it. He said,

"'The Devil Wears Prada' is being positioned as a movie for grown-ups and others who know what, or who, or when, or where, Prada is. But while watching it I had the uncanny notion that... one of those books from my childhood had been filmed."

Exactly, Rog. It's not exactly a pasting, but close enough. Some of my other favourite reviewers, however, were full of praise. What's wrong with them? It's a kid's movie and not in a 'Toy Story' good way.

My advice to anyone who hasn't seen it yet – stay well away from this well marketed mound of dung. It'll leave a bitter taste in your mouth for days to come. (The movie, not the dung. Although, I guess that wouldn't taste too good either.)

Baby Basher

There isn't a nice way to say this: I gave the cutest baby in Hong Kong a fat lip (pictured).

Click here to see how cute she used to be.

Perhaps I'm being a little hard on myself. I didn't actually give her a fat lip, but I was responsible for it.

You see, Daisy and I were sitting on the couch. I was enjoying my Pringles and she was enjoying trying to steal the Pringles. It's a little game we play. In my relaxed state I failed to take into account that among her recently acquired skills is the "sudden lunge", which is assisted by her stronger than expected baby legs. Put that lethal combination next to a dimwitted, Pringle-munching moron with the reflexes of a dead snail, and you've got a recipe for disaster.

See Daisy. See Daisy lunge. See Daisy topple. See Daisy cry. See Daisy bleed. See Daisy cry some more.

Look up sheepish in the dictionary. See Nick.

Needless to say, this was not my finest moment. Have you ever had a 'drop the baby' moment? Care to share it with us? Another one of mine that comes to mind is when I went skiing with the Mannfolks and I knocked everyone's skis over, Dumb and Dumber style. Whoops.

Let Me McHelp

I'm going to tell you about one major cultural difference between Australia and Hong Kong – tray etiquette at McDonald's.

I was always, always told to clean up after myself back home. Unless my memory fails me, it is considered pretty rude in Australia to leave all of your mess on the table after finishing your meal (although throwing pickles onto the roof is perfectly acceptable). In Honkers, on the other hand, if you clean it up by yourself you are considered a freak. Perhaps even, “very diiiirty la”. There are people employed specifically to do that job and if you take that away from them, perhaps that is the height of rudeness. I don't know. All I know is that this morning after finishing devouring my Sausage McMuffin and hot coffee, I cleared the table and the staff stared, looked confused and eventually laughed at me!

I just hope I don't get too used to it. I don't want to get back to Australia, go to Maccas and spurt out things like, “It's not gonna clean itself, darling. Now come over here over and wipe my mouth.”

If I tried that, chances are I'd cop a pounding from a toothless sales assistant called Shazza. “Wipe this!” Smack.

A Fool's Cap

If I told you that the biggest problem at my office is paper size, you'd probably laugh, leave or tell me to get a life. However, I would argue that consistency in paper size is essential to good human relations at work. Allow me to illustrate my point.

I work at a Primary School. This school has a ridiculous policy of printing all of their staff handouts on A4 paper and all the their student worksheets on F4. We all share the same printers, so you can imagine how many times a day people get to the printer to find that some inconsiderate staff member has stuffed the thing with F4. ("Whoops! Looks like I've just ruined pages 3-6 and 11-12 of your twenty-page document. No worries, just print them again. Or better yet, get your scissors out and try to cut it back to size. It'll be fun!") I'm no paperist (well, no, maybe I am), but I think we would all get along better in a mono…err papery society. A4, A5, A3. I think they've got the bases covered. I might even be willing to switch to F4 as long as we only used the F family and all its kin. I'm just looking for a little consistency.

After printing a six-page document at work (two of which were F4) I had an argument with a fellow staff member. She was convinced that the school could not survive without F4 paper because, "sometimes you need extra room on a worksheet". I tried to tell her that I went all of my schooling without a piece of F4 in sight, but she just laughed at my ignorance and reassured me, "But F4 is better. A4 will be too small la". (Many Hong Kong people add "la" to the end of just about any sentence they utter in order, I think, to emphasise their point.) I wanted to push the argument further, but I had a feeling she was one of those pesky F4 sympathisers and I didn't want to push my luck.

Enough is enough. I don't want to sound like Hitler or Pauline Hanson, but it's time to implement a One School, One Paper policy.

Switching to Miso

My name is Nick and I'm a coffee-a-holic. When I was young, I shied away from anything to do with coffee. Not even coffee flavoured ice cream could tempt me. I was a Vanilla ice cream and Milo man, all the way. But look at me now. It's got me good. One morning without a cup of coffee and I don't feel right. One whole day and the headaches start to kick in. Well I've had enough, coffee (note the position of the comma - I haven't had enough coffee, I've had enough in general and I'm talking to the coffee. Maybe I should use a capital letter. I'll try again).

“I've had enough, Coffee. I think it's time we went on a break. No, not a coffee break – not this time. It'll just be for a little while, to see how things work out. It's not you; it's me. Maybe we could explore other possibilities, you know? What? Tea? No, I would never. I know I used to drink tea, but that was a long time ago! Miso? No... sure, I'm curious, but I'm just not that kind of guy. Would you just...? Could you please...? Be reasonable, please! The truth? The truth is... I've just found that lately you've been a little bitter... No, I need something more... I've tried sugar, look, it's... I've tried everything! White with one; white with two, black, no sugar, mocha, for God's sake, I even went Frappuccino! I've done everything for you, but... as the umpire said to the man who had bowled his designated six deliveries, it's over.”

Ok, back to reality. So rather than do the usual teacher trick of downing two and a half litres of the stuff before recess, I'm putting my Starbucks thermos to better use by throwing in a bit of the old Instant Miso into that bad boy. Oh, the irony. Take that, Starbucks thermos. You might keep my drink warm but your coffee's crap! It's crap! Do you hear me? Answer me. ANSWER ME!

Sorry about that. I just get a little jittery at the moment. Not to worry, I'm sure it'll pass. I'll be fine.

So... did you know I pass a Pacific Coffee on the way home? It's big and inviting and has comfy chairs and free Internet. Perhaps I'll just pop in and take in the ambience. Yeah, that's what I'll do. It's gonna take more than the sweet, sweet aroma of freshly ground coffee to tempt me out of my coffee sabbatical. Yep. Iron Will – that's what they'd call me if my name was William. Iron will. Good will. Cannot be shaken. Strength. Character...

Stuff it. I'll go cold turkey starting tomorrow.

Balding? Maybe.

There comes a time in every man's life that he asks himself the dreaded question, "Am I going bald?" It's a tough question, because even if you're not sure, the best you can come up with is "maybe". I might be going bald. Perhaps I just have thin hair. Was it always this thin? Isn't it hereditary on your mother's side? Was my grandfather always bald? How old was he when he started to lose his hair? Am I eating the right foods? Is it just my imagination? My chest is getting hairier - aren't bald guys hairy? How old am I? What age is a respectable age to lose your hair? Will it hold out until I'm thirty? Surely thirty's acceptable. Who cares if I go bald, anyway? Not me. Oh, God, please don't let me lose my hair, I'm too pretty! Breathe.

Your mirror routine is altered. There are different thought patterns when doing your hair. You give a lot more thought to which type of hair gel makes your hair look thicker. You try to go for the messy look that tactically covers any receding areas. You linger a little longer in the hats section of clothing stores. You consider the shape of your head and whether it would be a good 'bald head', and all the while you're still sitting on a 'maybe'.

As you may have guessed, I'm clinging onto 'maybe' with all my might. I'm waiting for that definitive moment when I can say, "Yep, this is it, baldy. Deal with it." I haven't reached that stage yet, but I'm close. I've asked a few people to inspect my potentially balding noggen and have had mixed reactions. Nomes has already kissed it goodbye. Dad reckons I'm fine because his dad had thin hair but never went bald. I think everyone else is just being nice.

For argument's sake, let's say that I am going bald. There's a big question of how to deal with it. My first thought would be to cut it short and never worry about it again. Sure, it might take a while to get used to, but there are plenty of baldies out there who've made it work for them. In fact, bald is cool. I'm awesome. But wait, just when I've accepted this truth and can't wait for it to start falling out properly, I think about my eyesight - it's getting worse - aarrgh - bald guy with glasses, bald guy with glasses... don't think it, Nick, don't think it.... oh, no you thought it - you're George Costanza.

I just don't want to be a combover guy. I heard someone describe it once as "seaweed on a rock" and the very thought of it sends shivers down my spine. Toupee? No. Advanced Hair? No, no. Settle for being less attractive than before?.... Hmmm, Advanced Hair? I find it hard to type those words, letalone say them. I just can't see it happening.

I want to hear from the boys who've gone made the journey from 'no' to 'maybe' to 'Kojak'. Do you like it? Does it effect the way you see yourself? Can you recommend any good hat stores? Does your head ever get sunburnt? How long did it take you to accept that your forehead was getting bigger?

I realise that there probably aren't any baldies who will read this blog, so feel free to forward it to a bald friend in the noble quest for answers to these deep, deep questions.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd better get off the computer now. I've malted on the couch and can't find my glasses to clean it up. I might as well start looking for a job at Vandalay Industries.

Fat fat fatty

Those of you who've never been to Hong Kong may not be familiar with the general attitude towards overweight, or even slightly pudgy, children. The general consensus is that if the opportunity presents itself, everyone should remark upon the child's size in a loud and bold voice, have a hearty chuckle (finger pointing and knee slapping are optional extras) and he or she must laugh along heartily and pretend that they're very lucky to be the centre of such undivided attention. If you think it's a teacher's job to stick up for the little porker, then think again! In most cases, it is the teacher who is the ringleader. I have seen many examples of this, but Naomi's story of an incident today left me speechless.

Nomes (that's Naomi, for those not up with the lingo) has just started at a new school - a hoity toity one with a great reputation - and today was her first day of teacher observation. This is when she just sits at the back of the class and watches the masters at work. The lesson today was on opposites, so after a few minutes of "black...white", "tall... short" and such things, the teacher had a little giggle and asked thin girl and a slightly overweight individual to stand up. Barely containing her laughter, she asked, "Can you guess what this one is?" The children were in hysterics, yelling out "Fat! Fat! FAT! Ahahahaha" while the poor kid stood there with a half smile on his face. The teacher responded proudly, "Yes, fat! He is fat!" Not content with humiliating the young fella, she then asked him to stand on his side, presumably so people could see that "He really fat", and put a sticker on him that said, "fat", while the whole class continued laughing their heads off. I'm not joking. She labelled him fat, and she didn't even have the courtesy to do it metaphorically.

I'm no expert on political correctness, or even teaching, manners, courtesy, respect or common sense, but you do not laugh in a fat kid's face. I don't care if he weighs a hundred kilos. I don't care if he looks as if he'd swallowed an inflatable ball that gets foot-pumped a little more each time he takes a step. I don't even care if his name is Fat (which is sometimes the case in Hong Kong), don't call him fat! Don't tease him, don't laugh at him and certainly don't encourage a class full of kids with a predisposition to laughing at anything remotely different to do the same.

My advice for the offending teacher: If you want to be funny, take a whoopee cushion to class instead. Farts are always funny. Sure, it's just as juvenile as laughing at the fat kid, but at least no one's feelings are getting hurt.

Allow me to introduce myself

Those of you who are bored or narcissistic enough will have already done it. If you haven't, I recommend you try it, for you never know what it will bring. What am I talking about, you ask? I'm talking about the age-old tradition of googling your own name.

This can be done either because you want to know if you've done anything great enough to make it onto a website, or to see what other people with your name are up to. I recommend the second option, because... well, let's face it; most of us probably haven't done enough to warrant a google search in our own honour. I haven't, anyway, but I know a little chap called Nicholas Oliver who has.

Nicholas Oliver is a train enthusiast. He's also a doctor, a pianist, a lawyer and, most impressively, a puppet cigarette called Nicholas Oliver Teen (Nic–O–Teen). If you don't believe me, click here. There's also a heart association lobbyist, a promising young American footballer and a possibly less promising dead guy from Michigan. My point is, there are a lot of people going around with my name (with the exception of the guy from Michigan) and doing a bunch of different things with it. Some great, some not so great and some totally random. It got me thinking about how much all of our little decisions effect everything.

If I kept playing piano, could I have made that my career? Or if I knuckled down, could I have been a doctor? Could I have painted myself white, set my head on fire and convinced kids to stop smoking? I don't know. But it's a bit of a laugh, anyway.

So who else are you?

Rhyme time ain't no crime... dime

Ok, I'm sitting here planning some creative writing lessons for the youngsters at my school. It occurred to me how much I used to enjoy reading and writing limericks. So I'd like to ask people to compose a limerick to describe their current state of mind. I'll go first:

I've found that my place of employment
Can be lacking a sense of enjoyment
It's like watching paint dry
Got to make the time fly
Only two words that rhyme with enjoyment

Ok, so that was pretty crap… how about this one? Born out of frustration after being unable to get off the train due to pusherinerers (yes, it's a real word).

There once was a place called Hong Kong
To which millions of people belong
I had thought that a few
Would have learned how to queue
But now, so it seems, I was wrong

Your turn....

Blog me up!

One man. One blog. One hour left until the Internet room closes.

That's right, folks. I've gone and started my own blog. I haven't let the pesky fact that I don't own a computer get in the way. Oh, no. Because life throws up a lot of challenges, you see, and you have to rise to them. If I just gave up and said, "I don't have a computer. Life is crap. I can't even have a blog. What's the point of living anyway?", that would be a pretty bad attitude, wouldn't it? Well, I'm here to tell you that it doesn't have to be that way. With a bit of elbow grease and just a touch of luck, you too could have your very own blog. I'm not just saying this to make you feel better - it's true. You see, there's this thing called the "Internet" and you can use it to "surf web-pages", "find information" and "look at porn".

So keep an eye on this puppy for the latest developments. I'm not really sure how to use the site yet, but when I finally do get my own computer (I'm hoping next week) there should be a bit more going on, blog-wise.

Until then, then.

P.S. I have new glasses.