Bob Dylan once said, “I accept chaos, I just hope chaos accepts me.” I am curious as to what accepting chaos really entails. Day after day I fail to be swept up in the havoc of others around me. I sit in the cold wind talking on the phone hoping to find that chaos has scattered the pieces in my favor. They haven’t. I sit with an aching desire to be everywhere at once and a thought hits me: true love gets you socks for Christmas. There is no havoc or panic in socks it is simply a sign that someone is looking out for you someone loves you. I wish dearly to give everyone a pair of socks and with this sentiment I think back.
On my last day as a security guard I worked a football game. At the end of the game I was told to stay up instead of going to the field with the rest of the workers. This was the last game of the season and all the children in the stadium were permitted to go on the field. I have never seen a riot in real life but I have a feeling that it was exactly like the scene that unfolded. The children seemed one mass, churning and swirling in the wild dislogic of youth. My fellow employees were on the field and were sucked into the primal energy that congregation exudes. The marching band continued to play however, and graduating seniors set down their instruments and serenaded the remaining marchers and feral younglings on the field.
I stood there, alone. My hands trembled, overwhelmed by the scene. This was chaos shunning me. It was spoken clearly in the emotional, wordless hum of the band and swelling brass accompaniment. If chaos doesn’t want me then she should leave me alone. The flirting is just getting tired and quite frankly, annoying.

Today there was a level 8 Typhoon. The scale for typhoons is 1 to 9, which bothers me because if Hong Kong is going to force me to use metric system then all scales of measurement should be 10 based. Plus it would give birth to some fun new words like Decaphoon, but I digress. At level 8 the city is basically shut down. The subways come less frequently, the above ground trains don't run at all and most stores are closed. The only place really open are windowless resturants, which means they are in malls, and movie theaters. We were obligated to film so headed off into the vast and dangerous unknown. Talk about disapointing. The typhoon was essintally a windy drizzle. It felt like someone was spraying you with a water bottle from a distance, annoying and unfocused. What was truely interesting was how on edge the Hong Kongers got. People stood around as if ready to throw themselves on the floor and say their good byes. On the other hand the Camerons and I enjoyed unresticted and unpopulated access to basically any filming location we could concive. The end of the day left me with mastery over the enviroment and I was tempted to look up at the sky and mutter, "is that all you got?" but only tempted. As Candy called us crazy for going out there must real consiquences for playing with Typhoons and we just have beginners luck.

First, I want to send a heart felt howdy from Hong Kong to all my readers, particularly the schlenker family reunion. I would sell vital organs to have some the fine mexican dining I am sure you are all enjoying. Which brings me to my first point, eating. When we first arrived I was eating 3 meals a day. I don't partake of breakfast very often and after the first few days my body told me to knock it off. The program provides meals at the cafeteria so that is were most people eat. The problem is that meals are misportioned. Typically we are given about 3 icecream scoops of rice and few chunks of meat. The meat is just whatever part of the animal they are on, which means that yes, I have been served chicken feet. The roullette of meat adds a special element to cafeteria dining, fear. Yesterday morning I went down looked at all the unsmiling asian faces attacking their rice and promptly decided to starve to death. The other reason for this decsion was based on my second point, music. The music in China is not worse then ours, in fact many times the music I hear is American but China uses it incorrectly. The enitre month of July all subway stations played some mornful piano ballad. Every trip had slight under tones of a funeral service as the speakers dripped the slow heavy notes of this MuZak dirge. I wrote it off as just quirk but then August came and the music changed to some sort of salsa fusion. It brings to mind crews of Hispanics fixing a roof with the window of their pickup truck rolled down so as to hear the radio. The trumpets and squeeze box zest up the air yet no one looks around to when the song ends in a grand finale and then starts up again. These things evoke a powerful sense of loneliness. I feel very much the outsider looking in staring and reacting while locals have nobel indifference of to their fate even that means eating pig snout before heading off fiesta that is public transportation.

In the past week I have a hit wall culturally. The film students have brocken into smaller groups for the purposes of production but it leaves us with a problem. When our group is fully assembled we present strength in numbers. To a native we look like a small army with our short quick people out front and our lumbering "America" sized people in the back as I bring up the rear with my dragging gate. When out in smaller groups it occasionally falls to me to do things far beyond my capabilities. These tasks include the difficult find somewhere, the frightning get something, or the much feared communicate with someone. It as not as though Hong Kong is scary it simply we cannot navigate with very much ease which seems to hamper the richness of the city. Yesterday, I went to the mall to look at a store that has changed its entire line of clothes 3 times since I have here. I was curious about these changes so I asked an employee.
"When do you change products next?"
The employee did not pause an instant, "10 o'clock yes thank you ok."
She then turned around and talked to someone else. she was not being rude employees just don't coddle the costumer here but her left me sorely wanting. Yet, I gave up communication is about commitment and I did not have the energy. Later that night we went to dinner it fell to me to order because I delight in summoning servers so I can point and gesture all the dishes in meal for 8 people. Using Japanese kanji I wrote out the order. The waiter looked nodded and then said something to me in Catonese. I pretended to understand it and sat there thinking. "Hai," I agreed. The waiter nodded, approving my choice. I smiled, "Hai" is both Japanese and Cantonese for yes and the numbers are written using the same Kanji. If I had to delcine something I would have to just shake my head and look disapointed as I have no idea how to say no in catonese. As our plates of food arrived I sat in silence. I had made some good choices narrowly escaping further communcation. Yet, as unboned fish arrived as our final dish I looked into it's eyes.
In my mind the fish approachs me, "When do you change products next?"
I reply, "10 o'clock yes thank you ok"
And in that moment I feel united the Hong Kongers and the constant struggle against misunderstanding.

Today I won 188 Hong Kong dollars. OUr group visited Macau, which is basically the Las Vegas of China. From the hours of 8:30 am to 1:30 pm we practiced dehydrating and then went to lunch. After lunch I tried to find a famed light house only to learn that it impossible to find if you don't speak either Catonese or, oddly enough, Portugese. Yet I did learn that "sugeke" translates to, "Hey stupid white guy, the bus doesn't go any futher. Around 4:30 I found my way to the Venician which is the worlds second largest structure. It was impressive but exhausting. After the 7th football field size set of gaming tables you have pretty much seen them all. The rest of what I saw was much like a mall, food court and all. The Camerons, and I then decided to play nickle slots, which in America would be about a penny and a half. Playing those for about 45 minutes earned me 144 HK dollars with which I promptly bought a beautiful neck tie which I consider to be woven out of victory itself. Then I was off to horse races. In memory of my grandma I picked the right horse everytime and forced them to win by yelling them into first place. This earned me the other 44 dollars and I was done. After about 4 hours of sucessful gaming I threw in towel. I did this because in my opinion the hardest part of quiting while your ahead is quiting.

Our group has come across the need for some stage blood. We really had no idea how to find some so we decided to look for a costume store. We settled for Toys-R-Us. We looked up and a done the playdoe isle and proceeded to give an employee an english test. "Excuse me," Michele said, "We are looking for some fake blood." The employeed stared at us, "Fake blood?" I chimed in "You know stage blood." I don't why I used the phrase you know as though informing that he does know will indeed make it so. He handed us a piece paper and asked us to write it out. Michele did this because my own handwriting is terrible and violent, and I was afraid that would appear as some sort of dark curse composed of the glyphs of a long abandoned heathen society. I think that sometimes is our family's curse but that is a different story. The clerk looked at the words FAKE BLOOD. "What is the function?" he asked. "To like your dieing but not really" I said. We then proceeded to mime all sorts of terrible death. Michele was slashing at her while I proceed to hang myself then realizing hangings are blood free shot myself in the head with my gun of a hand giving its report, a childlike "bang". After the masacar the employee seemed to understand and shook his head. "No," the shake seemed to say, "We don't supply pretend death supplies at Toys-R-Us in Hong Kong." And in that moment nothing was lost in the translation.

Today I helped a friend find a paint store. We started at the busiest section of Hong Kong in terms of commerce guided only by a text message by a friend we have made here. Cartography is not her strong point however and the journey took around 4 hours. Yet roaming the streets was a worthy experience none-the-less. In Hong Kong people love to fix their house. The streets are filled with places that sell ceramic tile or doors or just the handles for doors. The average street in the section of town we were in would have 3 flooring stores, a wallpaper and a hair saloon per block. The best hair salon name went to a parlor with the enticing name of Hair Kiss. Because is was 95 degrees and 94 percent humidity we stumbled into what looked like a shopping a mall. The amount of sweet I had been emitting coupled with frustration trying find a store whose name is only in chinese made it look as though I had just came in after killing people in the rain. The mall was not a mall in the traditional sense but it was a bazaar either. It was three levels of about 60 closet sized stores selling the exact same product, mens suits. The shop owners just stood in their shops and talked to their competitor across the isle, not looking up as customers came and went. The art supply store was the Japanese symbol for the word sun. I wanted to ask for directions using this description but realized that it would require a grasp of booth Japanese, English and the presence mind to realize that I have no idea what I am talking about. In the end we arrived at what was essentially a school supply store which was deepest irony because I felt as though I had done enough learning for the day.

I am about to adapt a news paper article as it was read to me in English. It happened about three weeks ago.
A group of 30 Mainland Chinese college students ranging in age from 18 to 25 decided to pick a fight. Being the proud Chinese citzens they are the group focused their agression on foreigners. The 30 students quickly ran into trouble as the Hong Kong natives would not let the students pick on their non Asian companions without throwing a fit. At about eleven o'clock however the group found a set of westerners in a bar without any one to stand up for them.
In a related story the international Kick Boxing Championship was being held that week in HOng Kong. The four highest ranked kick boxing champions decided to celebrate their victories and tournement conclusion by visiting a bar. None of the four greatest kickboxers in the world are Asian.
The 30 students decided to pick a fight with that exact group of athletes oblivious to there careers. 12 people were put in hospital that night none of which were kickboxers.
If only I could have come a little bit earlier.

At 6'2" 220 pounds I am a large person regardless of where I am. In HOng Kong I am Colossal. On the subway I typically just put my hand on the roof of the train to stable myself. Everyday I step on the back of someone's shoe not purpose but you can only stand so close to person with a size 13 foot while he is trying to walk. These are distinct freak advanges to that I have over everyone and particularly the Chinese. I am about 120 poounds and 10 inches taller then average Chinese girl and as I look over the sea of heads plowing my way from A to B I realize that size does matter.

This morning started with Evan stumbling into our room with the constrants of sleep on his voice. "Hey, umm Carlos needs us to leave at 9:20" The time at the announcement was 8:55. We stumbled through our usual morning rituals and managed to leave by 9:10. Carlos did over estatemate our foot speed and the majority of our group arrived 10 or 15 minutes late even with a 5 minute head start. The destination was city hall in Hong Kong, a building, which apon futher inspection, had been torn down a month prior and exsisted only in the minds and hearts of the people of Hong Kong. Using the diserted lot a guide post we made it to our true destination, a musuem of buildings in Hong Kong. For our journey we were rewarded with ear pieces and told that we would be going on arcatecture tour of downtown Hong Kong. Then a conversation like this occured between myself and the guide.
"How long does a tour last?"
"Oh, 3 hour but most time it will go over."
"Wow, thats long what kinds of buildings are going to see"
"Banks mainly"
Four hours later we concluded our tour of banks. It was raining hard so we gazed up at our umbrellas as he said things like, "this building has circular windows, in good weather you can see that all of the floors have circular windows as well." or "We will go through the post office because they nice windows and it is not raining there. Yet our entire crew made it and the end product looked something like a group of soldiers after a battle: brocken, silient, and with a stare that sees for miles in a realm all of its own.
Michele, Eric, Amy, Sean, Sherwin and I then decide to eat out.
******This is TRUE*******
The resturant we choose is called Modern Toilet. That is not some rough English mistake either. The resturant is Toilet themed. Upon entering modern Toilet you gaze at a large stuffed pile of cartoon poop as the hostess leads you to your table. Your party is then seated on toliets that surround a bath tub with a peice of glass over the tub that serves as your table. The lamps overhead are either shaped like poop or a toilet plugger depending on weither you are sitting a tub (4 to 8) a jacuzzi (8+) or a sink (1 to 2). When I am home I frequent a resturant known as Vics Daily Cafe. The differences were heart stopping. We yell at the waitress in English and slip shod Catonese, demanding drinks and food. At Vics the drinks are served before the meal by a server that remembers what each person ordered. Modern toilet serves their drinks in miny urinals about 10 inches tall by a waitress who more or less throws it at you and lets you figure it out. The meals are served in either a sink (small dishes, a toilet (average meal size) or a bath tub (large courses). The fake bathroom fills our table and I worry about the glass breaking from the strain as the props are miniture but still made of ceramic like real bathroom equipment. The food is delicious and so we order dessert, chocolate shaved ice with jello and assorted candy pieces. And as I bit into my frozen gum drop with a unfamilar crunch I smile missing the baclava of home but realizing that it is simply a different verse to the same song. But this verse is not played on the radio friendly version.

Today we celebrated the birth of Carlos. His connections in Hong Kong got us invited to dine at a very fancy French restaurant for that momentous occasion. We started the meal at around 7:30 when Michele and I arrived after walking a great portion of distance due to a public transportation problem. When we left the clock read 11:45. In those four hours of fine dining we had 16 courses. 16 dishes composed of 21 animals. It was far and away the fanciest meal I have ever had. The meal made me think that there must some other class of people that does not have these types of meals as a sort of outrageous extravagance. However, when the mariachis from across the street arrived and start singing Hotel California I changed my mind. With our voices greeting and melting into the night it seemed as though a puzzle of incomprehensible complexity was being solved. “Some dance to remember others dance to forget” But our choir of 17 relative strangers lead by mariachis from Singapore in a French restaurant in Hong Kong is not likely to be forgotten any time soon. The impossible pieces of the scene pause, just a moment, before shifting once more perhaps never to meet again

Places in Hong Kong get going a little later then there American counter parts. I went to church yesterday whose first service started at 9:30.  I arrived to find people complimenting each other on their dedication by attending at such a unphatomable hour. Malls in Hong Kong are always open but stores themselves open at 11:30 and close anywhere between 5 and 11 pm.  As we left chuch we found ourselves in an typhoon essentially. It was as though the rain wasn't falling but rather being sprayed out from a house by some devious invisible person.  At a lose for what to do went into the closest building which turned out to be a high end mall with very fancy very expensive clothing. So we ate lunch. 
Apon arrival back at the university we meet some local students who decided to show use around the town and the first oder of business: uumbrellas.  Ten minutes of swimming got us to the comfortably named WELCOME a grocery store that sold uumbrellas and we promptly proceded to punish them for their exsistance as we pressed on into the storm, which our guide/friends told us is everyday normal activity. We headed down some streets which looked by straight out of the movie Blade Runner is the neon signs, crazy clothes and dark low sky. In these streets I found and purchased a burger king chocolate hat. Think in over Burger King Chocolate Hat

Above ground transportation in Hong Kong is a system of travel comprised of the most elaborate mazes and rituals devised b man. A traveler gets around on two different sized busses: large double deckers and 16 person mini busses. The large busses seem lost.  They making turns in the spirit of haphazard gift work.

 They stop on the edge of civilization, open door and wait.  A soft wind bows in through open door and tassels the thin hair of the aging bus driver. He the edge of his mouth rises slightly and he takes a deep breath as the door closes.  The gods of frivolity have accepted the offering.

I imagine that such ceremonies are performed by the Hong Kong transit system in the black of every night and if not literally then in spirit at least..

The mini busses function for based solely on qualifications.  If you can’t speak Catonese then you can’t get off where you want, if you figure out exactly where you need to get off in a hundred some odd “scheduled”  then you are obliged to take the bus to get off the bus and pay again as you take another try around.

Downtown is full of wonder, a panorama of color, cars and people.  The restaurant we ate at did not prepare food but give you a limited selection of the menu at restaurant next door.  Once the food is ordered the waiter walks over, orders and pays for the food.  The only way it makes money is by running a full bar and maintaining a bluesy atmosphere and we stumble back through the impossibly steep streets of Hong Kong I think to myself that is good metaphor for life: fetch drinks and change people for the food you get next door. 

As I get ready to go Hong Kong feel the electric tension that accompanies a widely seen performance such as a speech or a play.  As a reflex I tell myself  "your are not preforming, relax". But we are performing. We are taking the show the on road. True we have grown comfortable playing our parts but that doesn't matter.  if all the world truly is a stage then Hong Kong is a venue the likes of which I have never seen. 
I visited Switzerland but that country can be summed as likened to Colorado  during Oktoberfest.  Hong Kong is land overflowing with people and history as alien to me as some strange planet.  I am certain that I will learn much in the coming month and a half but I understand that it will not a complete education and lament that fact. Perhaps if I knew the language and had a longer visit I could further understand Hong Kong but as it is I am thrilled, terrified, and slightly confused as to what is going to happen.  Yet I dare say that is the best feeling in the world.