Barbershop Blues

There was some pretty major carpe dieming happening today in Hong Kong. Some friends suggested that I visit a barbershop in the Soho district downtown. But not for the haircuts. Or, at least not in tonight's case.

The third Friday of each month, the owner of the Visage One barbershop hosts a few different blues/bluegrass musicians and packs forty or fifty people into the salon turned saloon. Typical capacity of the barbershop? Fifteen. Tops.

Six friends and I arrived two hours early to get decent seats and have a chance to explore the shop. It had a loft (see picture.)

Getting there before anyone else allowed us to fully appreciate the eventual transition into cramped madness this place would endure. But two hours is a long time. We started getting ansi. To our luck, there was an art gallery opening next door with free wine and painting, even for average nobodies like ourselves.

Some of them got carried away with the body paint. I liked it. New fashion, perhaps.

I painted a tree. 

We had a little more time to kill, so we mulled about and found a hip little bar called Club 11. Michael found a guitar hanging on the wall, which he played marvelously. He was even joined by a flutist.

I found some Confucian writing on the wall.Right?

As it turned out, Michael's guitar playing at Club 11 was just a warm-up. After we finally settled in at the barbershop and soaked in three or four quality blues songs from two guitarists, and one R Ha-ist (sp? plz?), Michael grabbed the guitar and started playing like he'd been jamming with these guys back in Florida. "How 'bout Blues in 'b?'" he decreed with the cool of Miles Davis and the authority of the munchkin coroner.

Just like that. The next three hours was a mix of blues, bluegrass, and jazz from the East and West. With covers of "Somewhere over the Rainbow" and John Lennon's "Imagine," plus "Hava Nagila," the night progressively awesomed. What came next? a flutist, a harmonica player, and and very cool audience interaction. Everything about this night was unexpected. I felt a part of something special. It was the best time I had with forty or fifty strangers in one room. I'm sad to think this sort of thing doesn't usually happen at Great Clips in the States... to the best of my knowledge.

Consider the day seized.

Enjoy low quality video of the event. I'm sorry it is so dark. Come with next time.

Some good R Ha/Bluegrass: Somewhere over the Rainbow: 

Let it Be: Let it Be, ending: Original blues: 

And for those of you who have just gotta see the real thing: I can't resist this voice.

Monkey Mountain

Imagine getting off a city bus only to be surrounded by monkeys. Having trouble? This should help the theater in your noggin... . The place is Kam Sham Park, or "Monkey Mountain." Located in Shatin (sort of the "Midwest" of Hong Kong), Kam Sham Park is fun and free. For those of you in Hong Kong, just take the train to Mon Kok and hop on the 81 bus until you see a bunch of monkeys on the side of the road. Though Monkey Mountain would be an easy place to stumble upon, I was not fortunate enough to meet the monkeys by surprise.

This is not to say I wasn't astounded by what I found. Their cute humanness surprised the absolute heck out of me. I'll say again what 

I said at the beginning of this entry: Imagine stepping off a bus and immediately walking among mankind's closest relative. It won't matter if you're aware that monkeys are there or not--you will be stupefied.

The lack of cages or any authority figure made it easier to interactively marvel at their utterly adorable humanness. The last time I had butterflies in my stomach from cuteness-induced excitement was when I watched a home video of my little brother Marcus when he was one or two years old climbing over Dad, reaching for some morsel of food he desired.

Yes, I am comparing my little brother to a primate.

If Marcus or the monkeys couldn't reach the target of consumption, the next recipient of their five-fingered extremities would be any article of clothing or exposed whisker that needed a good tug.

 

This always seemed to successfully notify the bearer of the clothes or whiskers that it would really be best for everyone if Marcus or the monkeys were masticating the comestibles they deemed edible for their abdomens.

This aggressive begging process seemed to work quite well both for Marcus and the macaques. So what can we learn from this? Observe: (listen up, Darwin) Survival of the cutest. There is just something so adorable about the curious faces and busy little hands of all these little monkeys (Marcus included)... it's no surprise they have climbed as high as they have on the evolution ladder.

As you may have guessed, the monkeys' cuteness, which attracts the grapes and peanuts of loving humans, is perpetuating their survival. Too much. 

That's right, as you also may have guessed, humans should not be feeding the monkeys. The picture I posted above doesn't exactly provide a convincing argument against feeding the monkeys, however. I shan't halt feeding the monkeys if it is only going to cause, "Rapid growth in monkey population," "Monkeys losing a fear of humans (that is to say, the more you feed these monkeys, the more they will play with you!)" and "The more you feed these monkeys, the more they are going to want to come to this one area (where you always know where they are... so you can always play with an increasing amount of horribly adorable monkeys...)" 

As for the last bullet-point on the sign about increased aggression, I begin to understand what the problem is. And while I don't think they will become aggressive to the point of Congo gorillas, or overpopulated and organized as Charlton Heston's arch nemeses, there is certainly some inimical evolution happening at Monkey Mountain.

So what is the problem? They are relying on humans for food. Therefore, they will continue to multiply in population as they enjoy the benefits of both human and foraged food (so far, so good.) I think the problem is some like this: The more they grow in population, the less food they will find in the scarce jungles of Hong Kong. Soon, many of them will never leave the park area of Monkey Mountain and never learn the skills of foraging, thus strictly relying on human food. At this point, the overabundant monkey population will be in dire need of mankind suddenly surging with interest in monkey cuteness, spending a hefty percentage of their salary on grapes and peanuts for the daily trip to Monkey Mountain. While I want to say my love and devotion to monkeys is unconditional, I shall make no promises as long as this dystopian vision of a daycare lingers in my imagination, where the children constantly beg and bicker the more you feed them and never learn to mature and just get louder and whinier and needier and...

Or, you can look at it this way: While Marcus spent his early 

childhood stunning our parents with his darling, I cannot say his cuteness would be effective on a father or mother monkey. Yet, if he did wander over to Shamrock Park by way of big wheel for a few hours each day where 

he was adored and fed by King Louie and a tribe of apes, I would have progressively devoured more of his rations in his absence back at the household. Soon, he would not know how to find food in the house because it either existed in my belly or because I dominantly hissed at him each time he reached for a popsicle. Thus, he would rely more and more on King Louie. All the meanwhile, King Louie would have lost interest in Marcus's cuteness and would even be a little afraid of his increasing aggression. On top of all this, other apes in the tribe would complain about their empty stomaches and the inflating appetite of the unwanted homosapien. Throw in Marcus's new, potentially deadly case of the chicken pox and he would be ostracized. Enter Shere Khan.

I'm sorry Marcus.

Enjoy some videos, and don't hesitate to email me at jacobcarrigan@gmail.com or write:

Jacob Carrigan

Lingnan University HC 105A

Tuen Mun, New Territories, Hong Kong

Or come visit me here. We can feed the monkeys.

Cinderfellow, or, an inside joke/apology to Bianca/Nuna for dropping English Drama Performance, even after our remarkable rendition of Cinderfellow

"I want to go to the ball!" said Cinderfellow

"You're too ugly!" said his wicked stepbrother.

"You're too stupid!" said his other wicked stepbrother.

"You're too young!" said Nuna, his wicked stepfather (no relation to Bianca).

Cinderfellow felt bad. He would have gone to the ball regardless of what his wicked step-relatives thought. The only problem was that he had wayyyyy too many classes he wanted to take. And the ball was at 9:30 AM on Wednesday morning, which is exactly when Cinderfellow liked to sleep.

On the Wednesday morning of the ball, Cinderfellow lay in bed, dreaming about how ugly, stupid, and young he was. He also dreamed about all the other classes he wanted to take that conflicted with the ball. All of the sudden, a Fairy Godfather appeared in his hostel.

"WTF?" shouted Cinderfellow, "How did you get in my hostel?"

"You're in Hostel C, where the security is shit," replied the Fairy Godfather.

"True," replied Cinderfellow. "Well, what are you going to do to me?"

"I'm going to send you to the ball!" declared the Fairy Godfather.

"But I'm too ugly, stupid, and young. And I'm too tired. And I have too many classes!" said Cinderfellow.

"That's okay! Here is some food from the Lingnan University canteen; it will make you older. And here is some Red Bull; it will make you less tired. And here are four extra hours; they will allow you to take more classes. As for your ugliness and stupidity... you're on your own."

"Hasa!!" (spelling?) exclaimed Cinderfellow, and took off for the ball.

At the ball, he met Princess Charming, who was a really good dancer and knew how to dance very well. They danced for a very long time, but then the clock struck 12 and Cinderfellow's Red Bull buzz wore off and he had another class to go to, so he had to leave. He ran away and might have accidently kicked his shoe at P.C. He was sorry for that.

Later on, Princess Charming found Cinderfellow and returned his shoe. He thanked her, but apologized that he couldn't go to any more Wednesday morning balls due to scheduling conflicts, but he wished her the best. And they lived happily ever after for the next four months.

The End.

Hasa!!!

So, did anyone back home see this, this, or this?

I climbed a mountain

August 30th I decided to climb this mountain.

The problem was I didn't know how to get to it.

It took some time, and I was able to take

 this visually appealing photo (left).

I came across this clearing 

and felt like it would be a good place to start. For the next hour I pushed my way up the mountain through thick brush. It went a little something like this: 

When I was especially fatigued, I sprawled out on 

top of the bushes I was climbing over... 

Right around the time that I started having flashbacks of the never-ending stair-climber

 workout machine, I came across a pathway leading to a clearing... 

I was pretty thirsty, considering I did not know that the path you see in one of the pictures led 

all the way up mountain. So, I proceeded to engage in the most difficult but necessary conversations with the two gentlemen in this picture, asking them if the water was clean to drink. Thinking I could use sign language as the universal communicator, I pointed to a water-dispensing tube and made a drink motion with my hand and a scrunched, inquisitive face. The men transcended my expectations, as they did not provide a simple yes or no answer. They just continued in conversational Cantonese,  ignoring my drinking gestures, perhaps admiring the liters of sweat spurting from my hot epidermal layers. Finally, "Drink! Drink!" he said. That was all I needed to hear, and this man was as good as a marine biologist.

The next hour was spent climbing the remaining distance and admiring the view. I was pissed off when I reached the top... ... apparently. A

ctually, I was very happy, stunned, and at peace...  ... with much armpit hair. Here is some footage I took. (For those reading my blog and aren't completely internet-savvy, you can click the underlined word "here" and view footage. You can also leave comments on my blog, email me at jacobcarrigan@gmail.com, or send me mail): 

Lingnan University HC-105A

8 Castle Peak Road

Tuen Mun, New Territories, Hong Kong

On top of a mountain nearby was the structure you see in the picture here. What is it? I don't know.

As I mentioned earlier, there was clearing with men living on the mountain. Or, I think they lived up here. There is a large buddhist influence, with graves

 like this sporadically built on the mountain. And figurines like this. There are places like this. I want to learn more about it.

As I made my way back down the mountain, I returned to the original clearing I had found earlier. Different men were there. I asked them if it was okay to drink the water. They said, "No!" "There is bacteria in it!" "Do not drink!" in much better English than guy number one.

I'm made it down the mountain with enough strength about me to appreciate the eye trick this picture I took plays on you (look at the pants in the middle/right).

I am excited to visit more mountains. Hopefully, I will camp on the top of one or two. And hopefully the first guy was right about the water.

Some photographs of Hong Kong

This is central
This is a skeleton.
This is poutine. Gravy and cheese served over french fries. It is very Canadian. I'm not sure why I'm eating it in Hong Kong.




The Ozone, Mon Kok, Victory!, a view from my dorm, picture of Central.
This city is beautiful madness and seems like it shouldn't exist.

Found in Translation

I landed in Hong Kong three nights ago. Upon my Sunday night arrival, I have come to understand that life is very easy here. Along with the dirt cheap food, commodities, and transportation comes an overabundance of mutual back-scratchers.

But it isn't just about helping to de-lice each others' back hair; I've detected a raging case of altruism within people, perhaps manifested in the oasis effect Hong Kong seems to have when juxtaposed with China. Or, perhaps it is the stark jungle-to-jungle contrast. Nearly every bouquet of buildings in this city grows next to a set of mountains covered in a sub-tropical rain forest ecosystem. Sociologists and botanists can find their dream pea tree dishes 200 feet apart (and both 10 feet from the delicious dim sum dishes). And if both scientists have an affinity for the absurd, it'll help all the more. A rain forest and metropolis together at last, all built on a giant rock.

Absurd amount of clubs on campus, too. Just like at Beloit, I've overcommitted myself and feel pretty guilty about it. Either dragon boat racing or rowing is going to have to get the ax. Rugby must stay--my irregular size at this university tells me that now is my only chance so play the sport while feeling good about my chances of maintaining suitable oral structure. Green Club... in China... an oxymoron? we shall see. Drama club; what better way for me to learn the language than to memorize a bunch of lines associated with a caricature of expressions--that's how babies learn. Volunteer club, music society, film society, dragon dancing... where do I begin? One difference here when signing up for clubs is that you must pay membership fees. Makes me long for them good old days when people just assembled to play rugby on their own. At least the fees will regulate my over-committing ways.

Changing gears, I must say I'm a large fan of many cultural differences in print media. From billboards of dogs saying "Don't eat us!" government-created signs next cliffs saying "Don't climbing," and t-shirts for the thugs who want to boast "I am gang."