Waving, not drowning

The air quality is back down to normal levels, which doesn't account for the continuing smell of burning biscuits every time I leave the MTR in Causeway Bay.  Maybe it's a fragrance like freshly baked bread, that encourages people to purchase more frequently.  Or move out of the way to let taxis past.  Who knows how the psychological engineering of Hong Kong is conducted, what its hopes and dreams are, what laudable goals they aim to reach?
I have no idea.  I just wanted to get home.  After a slow day in the office that sucked the life from me as I stared at a succession of unmoving computer screens, I staggered to Sai Wan Ho to take a martial arts class, wishing I'd spent ten minutes preparing for it, rather than running headlong to the MTR station and boarding the train.  One of these days I'll be in such a terrible grump while going through the MTR that I'll get some martial arts practice in, but I suppose I'll then be carted off by the police.  Bah.

Getting back to Happy Valley, I was overcome with a feeling of exhaustion.  I could hardly see, to think, to even walk back to the apartment.  Everything was far too much hard work.  So I tried to call Dial A Dinner to order a pizza, but they told me to try another number, and when I called that, it was unobtainable.  Dial A Disappointment more like.

But am I the kind of guy to give up at the first hurdle and admit defeat?

Tonight, yes.  I want to curl up and not deal with the world, and maybe read some more of Charles Stross' Saturn's Children, which is absolutely great, and lacking in that one terrible sentence that distracted me from the Jennifer Morgue.

But before that, and in lieu of eating a pizza, I went to use Google Wave to edit a script I'm working on.  I'm ... well, I'm not that enamoured of it so far.  For all the wonders of collaborative software, it doesn't seem to allow you to use your cursor keys to move up and down the document, it gobbles up any formatting, tabs, spaces that you put into anything you import and then spits them out however it feels like, and the overall air is of something that's not really that great.  Or perhaps I'm not giving it a fair whack and it's quite good for its intended purpose, but it's not doing anything for me that a Word doc on a web page with Track Changes wouldn't have.

Perhaps I really am just a soulless automaton.  Or else it's a solution waiting for a problem.  I'll go to bed then.  Happy eight-o'clock-in-the-morning-conference-call to you too!

Tomorrow night is COMEDY NIGHT!  Don't forget to come and see me, if you're in Hong Kong and at a loose end...