Incoming!

Typhoon Nuri is on the way. It's getting exciting, y'all.

From the Hong Kong Observatory:

"The No. 8 Northwest Gale or Storm Signal is in force.

This means that winds with mean speeds of 63 kilometers per hour or more are expected from the northwest quarter.

At 1 p.m., Typhoon Nuri was centred about 60 kilometers east-southeast of Hong Kong Observatory (near 22.0 degrees north 114.7 degrees east) and is forecast to move northwest at about 14 kilometers per hour in the general direction of Hong Kong.

Gales are already affecting many places in the territory. Local winds are expected to increase further."

This is the second time I've been in town when they've raised the T8 warning, which means the whole city pretty much shuts down. Buses stop running, taxis are scarce, and most offices close. By law, you can't be forced to go to work (though I did last time, anyway, as did most of my coworkers).

It's pretty windy in my part of town, but there's not much rain. It is, however, expected to get much worse. Usually, Hong Kong gets nicked by the outside of the storm. But this one is supposed to hit the city directly -- which last happened in 1999, I understand.

We're supposed to be able to work from home, but the system doesn't like Macs. (Reason No. 5,432 to get one.) So I've been told to think of today as a snow day. I'll bunker down and catch up on "30 Rock." (Why was I not watching this before?) And maybe do some cleaning.

They've just raised it to T9. Definitely getting interesting.

Channel surfing

I don’t understand the Olympics television broadcasts.

A friend called this afternoon. “We’re going to watch the men’s basketball game between Spain and the U.S.,” she says. “Meet us at 9:30 so we can get a table. Game starts at 10:30.”

When I get there a bit before 10, the bar is packed. People are milling about outside, eying tables. Rosi and MinJung are at a table, but it’s practically on the sidewalk. The air conditioner is leaking onto the back of Rosi’s chair. The men’s tennis doubles final is on.

People start getting antsy around 10:35. Tennis has been replaced by badminton. The match is just starting: China vs. Indonesia.

The bar manager begins to flip through the channels. Tennis again. The news. A Yankees/Royals game. Rhythmic gymnastics. Cricket. Rugby. Olympic soccer. More cricket. Badminton again.

No basketball. People are not happy.

One guy walks up to the manager. “We reserved a table specifically for the basketball game, and if you aren’t going to show it, we’re going to leave. We aren’t sitting around watching badminton all night.”

An American man pulls the waitress aside and asks her to turn on the basketball game. When she says she can’t, that it’s not on, he points to the TV. “Can you change it then?” he asks. “I’ll watch tennis. I’ll watch cricket. Anything but fucking badminton.”

I’m thinking the same thing. So is Rosi. It’s 10:50.

“A few more minutes,” she says, pointing to the scoreboard in the corner of the screen. “They must play to 21. They’re at 20 now.

“If it’s not over by 11, we’ll leave.”

The badminton protests have been heard. The channel changes again. Tennis. Match point.

Roger Federer’s celebrations are cut short, and basketball finally appears . . . just in time for the second half.