A Chinese lantern

Chinese Lunar New Year is long gone. The lanterns (above) are packed away until the next firework-fueled blow out: Two weeks of the year that an entire nation stops.

When the next new year arrives I will be father.

A father.

A man approaching 40, a successful yet slightly unstable vagabond, an expat, a square peg in a round hole, will be a father.

The thought fills me with terror. Life is now real, each day flashing by in sickening Technicolor dread. Not that life wasn’t real before – but your existence takes on a Disney-quality when someone else pays all the bills.

You should be happy, Stevo, says the inner voice. A baby! You like babies. You love children. You are child, in a middle-aged body – this will be only job you will ever really be good at.

Why is inner voice so optimistic?

I’ve never run from responsibility – that has been my lot in life. Making decisions regarding the design of a wireless flash trigger and raising a child are worlds apart. Can I do it? Will the jitters go away? Or, am I destine to be a nervous wreck until  Baby Stevo graduates university?

Don’t worry, everything will be fine. This is China, everything is always fine, you’ve learned that, worry wort, whispers the inner voice. The glass isn’t half full, it is full.

Half-empty then half-full – terror and joy holding hands with freakish regularity. That’s me, the lantern, blowing in the wind, between two extremes.

Seven weeks. That’s all. Seven weeks to stop being all dramatic, to put up and shut up, to be the man I should be – the man – the father – I want to be.

A bright and frightening future awaits.

I’ve made some great friends on these old intertubes. A lot of people use the internet as means of distraction or entertainment. I use it to connect to a life I’ve nearly forgotten. Lately, instead of looking westward I’ve turned my attention closer to home.

I recently met (virtually) some cool new China bloggers. Like me, they are “teaching the English.” Living in China is not easy for a temporary resident. It’s not especially easy for a seasoned expat. I generally steer clear of the pissing and moaning common to China’s expat blogging community. My blood pressure is high enough without angry rants.

I digress, as I often do. I’ll get off my soapbox.

Expatriate Games (a wicked name for a blog, I might add, being a fan of the book the name is taken from) is a fantastic photo blog. EG, as I kindly call him, shoots fantastic portraits and scenes from life in China. I wish I was so skilled. Check out his flickr stream.

A China newb, Graham Woodring, blogs at An American in the Far East. He hasn’t been in the Middle Kingdom for long, and I look forward to his thoughts as he experiences a different culture and life. I hope his search for milk is successful.

Go west, it was once said. Josh at Far West China, blogs from The Middle Kingdom’s western frontier, Xinjiang Province. Josh mixes news and photographs from western China and recently won the 2008 Best China Blog award.

Most foreign residents in China love shopping: Haggling in the market, searching for the ultimate (and often campy) bargain. There are many global devotees of online auction house ebay. Few know about China’s own ebay-like site: Taobao. Yes, it’s all in Chinese, which makes navigation difficult, but Taobao kicks proverbial butt.

One enterprising soul has created the Tao Bao Field Guide, featuring interesting (and wacky) products for sale on the Chinese auction house. More importantly, The Tao Bao Field Guide offers step-by-step instructions on registering an account, searching for items, and starting your online shopping spree — All in English. I no longer have to bother my coworkers.

The good things about new friends, regardless of real-life or vitual status,  is they soon become  old friends.

Today in history: On July 31, 2006 a slightly bitter expat English teacher married a gentle Chinese lass. In the registry office he couldn’t read the form or make the appropriate pledge. The frustrated official eventually gave up and allowed him to sign his name, skipping the pledge.

The newlyweds ate dinner at KFC and spent their wedding night in an unlicensed hotel.

Things improved.

Wo ai ni, Mrs. Stevo.

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This is one of the most common photographs taken in Asia. Every night of the week sees professional photographers, and people like me, with tripods set up on Avenue of the Stars in Kowloon, their lenses trained on the bright lights of Hong Kong Island.

How could you not take this photo? The clouds roll in from Victoria Peak, covering the skyscrapers. The phallic IFC2 building spotlights the sky. It’s freakish. It’s mysterious. It’s gaudy beauty. There are dozens of colorful metaphors I could use.

I hate you, Hong Kong. On your streets I feel like an adulterous husband sneaking guiltily around. How could I love the bastard child of opium-laced British Imperialism? I hate you, Hong Kong, and Yau Ma Tei, Kowloon, Central, Wan Chai, and Causeway Bay.

But this photo: I can almost forget about the bitter expats that fill your bars and the fact Jackie Chan is still allowed to make films. This scene: That is why I love you.

And hate you.

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Sunday, at the bus stop.

Captured: June 8, 2008.

I had a dozen better things to do last Saturday than go to Hong Kong, but go to Hong Kong I did. The guest house wanted a deposit on the rooms for our upcoming staff excursion. They didn’t mention they were unlicenced. Giving 3000 Hong Kong Dollars to an unlicenced Guest House is not the wisest move, so I didn’t.

As I sat in the bus station attached to the Kowloon MTR station, wondering if every former British colony is full of snotty people, I looked around for stuff to shoot. This sign grabbed my eye, probably because I like The Count and it’s Seasame Street-esque.

For The Captain and Tennille: The music.

Captured: May 31, 2008.