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海龟浮上海面

HONGKONG FOOL SHANGHAI MAN

Posts tagged with "Special Service"

Special Service (3)

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Saturday 1989.10.14 19:35

In the gloomy basement theatre of Hong Kong Art Centre, with rarely any backdrop or prop, two actors, one with long hairs and the other's snow-white, are formidably conveying their messages with overstated narratives and body movements.

They are encircled by about a hundred audience, among them sat Fang attentively. According to the synopsis written on the event handout, it is a synthetic drama by messing The Myth of Sysiphus up with Waiting for Godot, so to speak.

Fang sits with "long-hairs" and "white-hairs" in a bar on the other side of the waterfront boulevard not too far away from the Art Centre. They have been there for about an hour.

"We'll have a gathering tomorrow afternoon at Xinhua News Agent's Wanchai headquarter. We'll bring with us a paper coffin and will burn a paper man at the end." Long-hairs said.

"You have been organising events in a roll in the past few months. Do you think it make sense at all? What have you guys achieved?" asked Fang.

"They're some kind of performing arts." White-hairs said aimlessly.

"Actions are everything, Fang. We show also to our fellow citizens what they can do. Unlike in the mainland, at least we can do something here. Whatever it's going to be. We just can't sit and do nothing..."

"Somebody have to show their discontent about what had been done this June. Don't you think so?" White-hairs interrupted.

"You're probably right. Many may share your views, but not the actions. Are yours a bit too extreme?"

"Extreme actions have to be answered by extreme reactions. By the way, we've done nothing subversive, all abide by the law." Long-hairs said uncompromisingly.

Even if there is no real wind of change yet at least there is a noticeable breeze freshening up. Democracy by its very nature, is something that will take many years to root before it can flourish.

At about the turn of the millennium, Long-hairs has turned himself from a guerriller street fighter into a legislator voted by his fellow citizens. He has his hairs cut, but still stays uncompromising. White-hairs, with his hairs turning gradually black, remains an activist in drama performance and many other civic affairs.


Special Service (2)

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Friday 1989.10.13 20:45

Dining at "M at the Fringe", a newly opened restaurant in uphill Central runs by Michelle the Melbourne born William Angliss graduate who begins her adventures in the city as a chef, has prepared Fang with the spirit to explore more of the night at Lankwaifong. It is also a convenient spot to get to the Foreign Correspondents' Club, which lies just besides it in the same complex, where he could meet with old and new friends.

FCC is always full in this time of the day, weekends in particular. The key venue of the club is a pub, a place where intelligence and information are flowed across the bar top among lonely hearts from all over the world waiting to be verified, confirmed and articulated. It is a media arsenal encapsulated in a colonial building of the early century, standing by at all times to be ready for any virtual ammunition imports and exports.

Amidst flaming cigars and cologn, Fang finds his spot near the entrance with his double Black Label on the rocks. He returns nods to a couple of seem-to-be familiar faces while they are entering the joint, and blah-blahs with a few suit-wearing gents whom he knows a bit more of their background, either journalistic or diplomatic.

During the time he spent in the venue, he didn't notice that he had been watched and secretly photoed by a guy whom he returned a nod about an hour ago. It was something he coincidently found out a few years later.

Joined by two media friends, Fang proceeds with his usual schedule. After FCC, they embark on the island's first musical jazz bar at LKF, The Jazz Club.


Special Service (1)

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Friday 1989.10.13 14:15

Fang is in the middle of wrapping up his article on the computer. It is about Hong Kong's trade and investment perspective with China for the coming year of 1990.

"Yvonne, is your printer free?"

He raises a little of his voice to his secretary whom he shares with another colleague in the research department.

"Yap", she said.

He hits the return key and says, "There it goes!"

Before leaving for a coffee at the pantry he reminds Yvonne, "Please send it to Donald after it's done. Dear." Donald is the Council's Chief Economist.

Yvonne is a graduate in secretary profession of the city's most saught-after vocational college. She is slim, blossom to her fullest extent, with a sexy voice like she is having a cold and would sneeze in any moment.

Fang invites her once in a while for a drink, or two.

Friday 1989.10.13 14:42

Fang is in Isabella's office sitting with her and his coffee. She is the manager of the China Desk. She married to a linguistics professor of the Chinese University of Hong Kong and is taking the job as a sightseeing opportunity to travel around China.

"How's the project going?" Fang said.

"Not much. Most businesses howaday are taking a wait-and-see attitude. Only if we come up with sometime pervasive and hit-to-the-core recommendations, otherwise they won't give a damn."

"We maybe able to invite a couple of division heads of the Ministry of Electronic Industry with technology transfer import quotas to attain a break-up section."

"If the business is real, we maybe able to recruite a few more to join the delegation. But don't aim too high." She said.

Obviously, the bait has missed the cunt and drooped straight down the stream with the hook.

It sounds like it is Fang's job to jet-up the number of heads of the visiting group, instead of hers.

"All right, we'll see."

The Hong Kong Trade Development Council is setting off to organize a trade delegation to attend a business conference in Beijing hosted by the Ministry of Foreign Economic Relations and Trade in early December. China is trying hard to tidy up her image to the world in face of the U.S. embargo.

Fang, the Council's economist of Asia, will accompany the delegation to Beijing.