I was roaming around with my Canon 40D, a companion that weighs nearly as much as my wife. For some reason, known only to the mucky-mucks, the public promenade area of my apartment development is undergoing a facelift. It has been torn up for weeks. The staccato pounding of dueling jackhammers is an unpleasant sound to wake to.

When it’s done I’m sure the promenade area will be lovely, a place for old people to exercise, children to run, and couples to sit upon a bench, waiting for dark to sneak a peck on the cheek.

I happened upon some workers laying interlocking brick. It was late afternoon and the light was good. I waited until the woman turned her head, catching the ray

of light that strayed past the buildings and main gate. It’s hard to be inconspicuous when you’re white, wearing a terminally ugly shirt, and carrying a large camera.

I had just been shooting in the shade and ISO setting on the Canon 40D was set way too high (my bad). If it had been set properly, and if I had a Canon EF 70-200 f/2.8 USM IS zoom lens, the image would be much better. Yeah, I’m the king of excuses.

I’m off to Macau today. I’ve seen what British colonialism did to Hong Kong, now I’ll observe the Portuguese variety.

And, as The Captain and Tennille often do: Here’s the music.

Update: The taxi driver thought the extra 5 kuai he would make driving me to the ferry terminal, via downtown during the morning rush, would be a good idea. Traffic, and his greed, prevented me from visiting Macau.

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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It started with this:

I had been meaning to get out at dawn, to shoot from somewhere other than my balcony. If I were brave, I could count the images I’ve posted, all shot from my balcony/sniper’s nest.

Mrs. Stevo and a classmate (who I would interview later in the morning) were sharing the bed. Me, being the dutiful and insomnia affected husband, had taken the sofa. After seeing the above scene I quickly dressed and dashed out as quietly as I could. Shooting at sunrise is difficult proposition: The light changes by the minute. Read the full story

Lighting incense at the Temple of the Six Banyan Trees, Guangzhou, China.

Because the dynamic duo Ron and Robin (are they like The Captain and Tennille?) have been getting musical I will do the same today. This title of this song fits, but not the rest, unless the vocalist is singing about The Buddha. Meh, it’s early.

It was a year ago, 爱人, that we walked down the aisle. You were stunning that day, your eyes and smile sparkling more than the dresses you wore. People say you are more beautiful now than then, glowing after a year of marriage.

I disagree. You will never be more beautiful than the first time I saw you, with my eyes and heart, in your apartment on a distant March day, eating hotpot under harsh florescent lights. Your first laugh sealed our bond, decreed by the Fates. You were too-beautiful.

Happy anniversary.

It had been a bad day for Stevo. At 12:15 he stood outside the airport, unsure where the bus from Hong Kong would drop off the arriving teacher. Verbally assaulted by touts, pointed at by the unenlightened, tired, and nearly out of cigarettes, he stood alone under a street light, much like his loner-hero Phillip Marlowe.

Pick out Liam and win a prize

The new teacher’s flight had been delayed for more than an hour because of a typhoon. Stevo had waited in another part of the city, hours earlier, at the ferry terminal. The newest edition arrived too late for the ferry and instead took the bus. Twenty hours of wakefulness did little to improve Stevo’s mood.

He lit his last cigarette, kicked a stone on the sidewalk, and paced like a 1950s father outside a hospital delivery room, cursing his job, his salary, his adopted country, and The Muppets.

A voice from the dark: Ta shi wo de yingwen laoshi! (He’s my English teacher!)

Stevo was only vaguely in Chinese mode. He had turned off that part of his brain to silence the touts.

A mother and son walked into the light. The boy was dressed in shorts and a bright shirt. Stevo had not seen him in anything but his school uniform.

“Hello,” called the small lad in a too big voice.

Stevo’s surprise was evident as he couldn’t recall the boy’s name, even though said student had been one of his favorites. He managed only a “Why, you!” and a slap on the back as the pair passed by. From the corner of his eye he saw the boy’s mother smile.

His mood improved, marginally. Instead of thinking dark thoughts and wishing pain upon puppets, he thought of Liam, his classmates and fun November afternoons.