Happy Thanksgiving from Hong Kong where the only thing not on the menu is turkey, not that I would want any.

My partner and I arrived on November 2nd from Tokyo, buzzed on the free booze thanks to the good people at Cathay Pacific. And after a bumpy start involving me getting so stressed my right arm went numb–I nearly hopped a flight to Singapore to kill that cunt who was “taking care of our transition” two days on–we’re settling into this great city.

I’m cautiously optimistic that I will likely enjoy living in Hong Kong, possibly. You see, I enjoyed Tokyo the first few months we were there. OK, it was more of a manic enjoyment. More of a “Oh my dear God, what have I agreed to” then real enjoyment. I became more shrill in my insistence that Tokyo was “great” and “fun” when the shit REALLY started to hit the fan.

Hong Kong is great, I think. Aside from the obvious stress that comes with a move, let alone an international one, my partner and I have really taken to the city. For starters, it’s a lot cheaper than Tokyo and even New York (I hate talking shit about The Big Apple). I often find myself at the Shangri-La’s bar with a Grey Goose martini in hand. It’s only $15.00! I’ve paid a hell of a lot more than THAT in Sushiville (and my beloved Apple). The people here are more down to earth than in Sushiville. They’re more like New Yorkers that way. In Tokyo, everyone walked around like a turd was about to plop out of their tightly held asses. In Hong Kong, it’s as if they had shit twice that morning, once that afternoon and were just out on a walk to air out their buns.

Tokyo is dainty and make-believe. Hong Kong is gruff and real. The cracks are visible and there are dead roaches in them. This morning, on my way to work on our new apartment, I haggled with the flower lady for my lilies, was attacked by a butterfly that flew at me from the nostril of a decapitated hog’s head, and then nearly stepped on a squished, armored, mutant centipede. Let me tell you, I hope to never see one of those babies alive. You might think that as a vegetarian with a keen sense of fairness, cleanliness and civility I would have been offended by this morning’s walk. But you’d be wrong. I fucking loved it!

Now, I hope I don’t sound shrill. I really did like this morning’s walk. I love New York because it’s tough. Not 1970’s Robert Deniro with a leather jacket tough, but a bit worn around the edges. Even the most desirable neighborhoods have a bit of an edge (sans the Upper East Side of course). But why do you think all the people who live there are running in droves to land a flat or brownstone in Tribeca or The West Village? For the same reason you can keep your damn Tokyos of the world. No edge. Tribeca is near Chinatown and has rats. The West Village has sex shops and those uglier than sin Olson twins. What does The Upper East Side have? Tokyo? Mary Tyler Moore moved out and I don’t eat sushi.

And so without any, OK a little, hesitation, I say somewhat confidently, I Love (like) Hong Kong! I’m “going to make it after all!”

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