Monday 26 November 2012, 9.14pm HKT
2.16pm local time, 19°C (66°F), 76% relative humidity, overcast
HONG KONG’s weather is officially turning cooler. It’s overcast and a bit drizzly. Wunderbar.
Last week, it was still in the mid-20s centigrade (mid-70s Fahrenheit) and I for one was still sweating like a waterfall.
(I don’t have the constitution of a pig so I won’t slander/libel/defame those self-sacrificing, bacon-supplying farm animals with the phrase ‘sweating like a pig.’)
British and European room temperature is conventionally taken to be 20°C (68°F) in the living room and 18°C (64°F) in other occupied rooms — most British people will find this quite warm.
North American room temperatures vary widely from region to region but it’s considerably higher than in Europe.The average North American room temperature comes to around 25°C (77°F) — which probably explains why Americans are latecomers to the global-warming awareness game.
In other words, Brits and Euronals suffocate in American digs, and Yanks freeze in Eurotrash pads.
The HVAC (heating, ventilation and air-conditioning) industry sets the maximum comfortable room temperature at 24°C (75°F) worldwide.
The Hong Kong government sets 25.5°C (77.9°C) as the air-conditioned room temperature. Draw your own conclusions.
So what’s your optimal operating temperature?
Is it real or imaginary? How do you know? Do you have to pay for it?
Below is a snapshot of the crowd I run with.
“Relaxation” is the optimal temperature for (you guessed it) rest and recreation.
“Rush Job” is for rush jobs, emergencies and general revenue generation.
|Relaxation/°C||Rush Job/°C||Personal Av./°C|
|Localfags (ranked by personal average)
|Average of localfags||19.8||22.6||19.4||20||23.3||22|
|Overseasfags (ranked by personal average)
|‘Stunnah’ (NE USA)||23||23||20||18||23||19|
|‘L.A.’ (USA, UK)||18||18||18||18||18||18|
|The Naked Listener (EU)||16||12||15||5||14||10|
|Average of overseasfags||19.3||18.5||17.6||14.8||18.9||16.2|
For the overseasfags, countries in brackets denote principal place(s) of upbringing.
Table generated by HTML Table Generator v1.0 beta at html-tables.com.
And the upshot of this is what?
There’s no ‘upshot.’ I just want to know your optimal operating temperature(s) because I just happen to be a nosey parker sometimes.
If there IS an upshot, the chart shows I operate at the lowest temperature of the lot.
S.t.p. stands for standard temperature and temperature — not “sexually transmitted pwnage.”
In case you’re wondering, the International Union of Pure and Applied Chemistry (IUPAC) defines s.t.p. as:—
- 273.15 kelvins (0°C or 32°F), and
- an absolute pressure of 100 kilopascals (kPa) (14.504 psi, 0.986 atmosphere or 1 bar).
© The Naked Listener’s Weblog, 2012. Image via Price’s Alarms. (B12421)
Saturday 3 November 2012, 8.00am HKT
I’m in serious pain right now.
I could hardly breathe properly right now with the pain in my back.
I’m writhing and wriggling in my seat, panting all the time, as I bang these words out this very moment because I can’t bend my back.
Friday, 2 November, 5.25pm local time
Yesterday afternoon some random woman shot out of my building and ran straight into me. Blind as a bat, she was. The commissionaires (security people) saw it happen and they said it was pretty nasty too. I felt fine then and everything seemed normal.
(Sorry, the pain is onsetting again … God, it’s really painful! I’m breaking out in cold sweat too now.)
So I went home upstairs and had a kip. Then after a few hours I woke up at 9.23pm with an God Almighty excruciating pain in the small of the back (a.k.a. lower lumbar region). I haven’t been right since waking up. It felt like a sprained back at first, you know, but it’s gotten steadily worse.
The one day I have a day off and now this.
Sorry, people, but the pain is really getting to me now, so I’ll lay off the writing for a bit.
Yours truly at midnight, Sat 03 Nov. It was THAT painful.
I’d already spent 37 months in crutches from a busted pelvis and I’ve managed to walk unassisted for two years already.
Heaven help me, I’m not sure I’m going through this. I just don’t know what the hell is wrong with Hong Kong people anymore. They don’t look where they’re going. They push you aside (or into the traffic) if they felt you’re in the way. Our women in many cases are worse than the skinheads in 1970s UK when it comes to road rage. For chris’ sakes, c’mon.
I’m pretty sure I’m gonna end up being crippled by rush-hour pedestrians going about their lives in Hong Kong.
© The Naked Listener’s Weblog, 2012. Image by me. (B12390)
Thursday 30 August 2012, 12.30am HKT
People who see practically everybody or everything as a bad influence don’t realise just how much of a bad influence they themselves are to others.
© The Naked Listener’s Weblog, 2012. Image via Rate My Funny Pictures. (B12275)
Friday 19 August 2011, 8.04am HKT
AND there’s always someone who had to ask that question. THAT question. You know, That Question.
If you’re young and still in school/college/uni, either you get asked That Question, or you don’t. (You usually don’t.)
If you’ve gone back to school/college/uni/studying, sooner or later (usually sooner) some bozo out there will start asking That Question out of the blue. Usually during your mealbreak.
That Question is the one question that almost instantly alters your entire perception of everybody else around you.
‘Can I move in with you and share the rent and stuff?’
Man or woman, boy or girl, bozo or bozo-ess, That Question makes you think, gee, I must be a nice, popular person, otherwise no one is going to bother to ask me.
Truth be told, getting asked That Question actually means you might just be looked upon generally as ‘a mark’ — the intended victim for hustling and sundry swindling. Good for skivving off (evading, pawning off) assorted responsibility onto by your peerless peers.
I’ve been asked That Question once or twice before, so that admission alone doesn’t exactly inspire much confidence about my character.
Not that I’m saying I’ve now gone back to school or anything like that — I had gone back to school before, and every time, sooner or later, That Question crops up.
How to you deal with that?
That’s what a colleague’s kid, now college-aged, was hoping to find out from me the other day.
So The Naked Listener is pleased to offer this lifehack for those facing That Question.
Let’s scout out the general situation first.
The first salvo to That Question is usually:—
Do you live on your own? By yourself? What’s your place like?
So you get family or relatives coming over often, right?
Brace yourself. The main force of That Question is coming at you very soon now, with the most usual variants being:—
Can I move in with you and share the rent and stuff?
Can we share a place together and split the expenses?
How d’you feel, say, if I move in with you for [x] weeks until
I get back on my feet and find my own place?
How about you let me move into your place? I’m just
one guy/gal and don’t have a lot of kit. I only need
a bed and bathroom, that’s all, so maybe that’s alright then, okay?
I’m looking for a place right now, but I would like
to live at your place instead, but, of course,
I’ll share the rent and expenses with you.
Rivers begin to form on your forehead now, especially if you’re the type who tends to ‘sweat things out.’
Whatever you do, don’t answer it like this:—
‘Err, sorry, I can’t. I ‘ve got these family people coming over
all the time and I need the place to put them up for.’
‘Actually, I’m not entirely living alone, ‘cos my boyfriend/girlfriend
is more or less living with me.’
‘I don’t think it’s possible, because my place is really, really
small — good for one person, really.’
‘Sorry, I’d love to, but I do lots of home entertaining,
and it’s just a bit difficult with you …’
Basically, you end up humming and harring your way out with those. Which don’t work. You’ll be pestered literally for days or even weeks with That Question. Because people who ask That Question are determined individuals.
Now, the juicy bit.
This is how you should answer to stop the nonsense (in sequence, if you’re facing a really determined individual):—
PROTIP:— Don’t apologise or use words like ‘sorry,’ ‘in fact,’ ‘actually’ or the like. State things matter-of-factly.
“You should’ve asked earlier. I’ve already promised Harry/Henrietta from the [whatever] Department couple of nights ago. Do you know Harry/Henrietta yourself? He’s/she’s coming to sign the papers with me this weekend.”
“What year were you born? So you’re [age] then. That won’t do. My minimum age for shacking up with is [whatever + 7 years].”
“What’s your income like? What’s your job? You have a bank account with which bank did you say?”
“You do realise you have to sign a subtenancy with me, otherwise I’d be in breach of my own lease with the landlord. It’s really wonderful of the landlord, such a nice man … letting me sign a lease that allows subtenants … can’t ask for more from anyone … so fair and understanding of the landlord … can’t afford to jeopardise my lease, you understand … blah … blah-blah … blah-blah-blah.”
“Yeah, move in, as soon as you pay me the three months’ deposit that my landlord stipulates in my lease from subtenants … and I’m pretty sure you’ll be fine when my landlord gets to meet you and looks you over for his approval.”
Works like a charm, mate, works like a bleeding charm.
No, you refuse even this
Images: Upgrade Your Life via One More Coffee Stain ♦ Chick in white lingerie via c4c.
© The Naked Listener’s Weblog, 2011. (Updated 13 June 2014: formatting fixes.)
Saturday 20 March 2010, 11.00pm HKT