Michael Markey
Veteran
... personally, I've always wondered about those Land-Rover drivers toting quite suspiciously martial Billinghams ... bit odd in my book
Martial Billingham in a Landrover 😛

... personally, I've always wondered about those Land-Rover drivers toting quite suspiciously martial Billinghams ... bit odd in my book
That phenomenon seems to be specific to Americans. Possibly a legacy of dodging the attentions of homophobic schoolyard bullies. The fact the US is more car-centric than elsewhere probably also has something to do with it.
Chinese men can't have enough bags, the more expensive, the better, as they are status symbols, to the glee of luxury goods makers (bags make up 50% of the profits of that industry).
Most fashion accessory bags are not up to carrying a Leica M with a passel of lenses, however, let alone a DSLR.
John,
I don't know. As you know I have a very confused identity: I often think of myself as being a white boy trapped in an Asian body, LOL, but both of my parents were Cantonese, (For those of you who don't know Chinese culture, when China was first unified, Canton remained as an ungovernable area and separate from China for over 900 years. Surrounded by a ring of mountains Canton remained a rugged feudal region that remained restless like the sea). I think Cantonese are very different than Chinese in the same manner that New Yorkers are different than other Americans.
Because of my breeding (inbreeding) in a way I think of myself as being like a pit bull, meaning breed for violence and fighting. Cantonese history supports this. Also know that my grandfather was exacuted in China for murdering a loan shark that burned down his business and ruined him. My grandfather was a gambler, and it cost him his life.
Know that my father was only a boy of 13 and the eldest boy in his family. He took care of his mother and six or seven younger siblings because this was his duty. My father grew up to be more or less an illiterate thug who one day jumped ship in New York Harbor around the time of the Great Depression.
Know that my father, an illegal immigrant, was only one of only1,428 Chinese allowed to become a naturalized American in 1943 because he was in the U.S. Army in WWII, by 1952 the Korean war had begun and historically the Chinese were looked upon as "the enemy" once again. The Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 was overall still in effect, but my father somehow found a loophole that allowed him to become legal, allowed him to get a wife because the exclusion laws made Chinatowns into mostly bachelor communities where men outnumbered women thirty to one.
My mother was an educated woman from Hong Kong, and I imagine she came from a very wealthy family, as it is hard to explain why a woman would be educated in those times, and I like to think that I come from a long line of "Banksters," and realize that Hong Kong is a lot like NYC with a remarkable similar geography.
Know that somewhere in this story my father shot a man and went to jail for a while, and know that during the time of the Vietnam War in the "Lilly White" suburbs of Lawn-Guy-Land the first thing I learned in school is how to fight.
I identify myself as Cantonese, part tough thug, part Bankster, part Pit Bull who happens to be a New Yorker.
Cal
John,
I don't know. As you know I have a very confused identity: I often think of myself as being a white boy trapped in an Asian body, LOL, but both of my parents were Cantonese, (For those of you who don't know Chinese culture, when China was first unified, Canton remained as an ungovernable area and separate from China for over 900 years. Surrounded by a ring of mountains Canton remained a rugged feudal region that remained restless like the sea). I think Cantonese are very different than Chinese in the same manner that New Yorkers are different than other Americans.
Because of my breeding (inbreeding) in a way I think of myself as being like a pit bull, meaning breed for violence and fighting. Cantonese history supports this. Also know that my grandfather was exacuted in China for murdering a loan shark that burned down his business and ruined him. My grandfather was a gambler, and it cost him his life.
Know that my father was only a boy of 13 and the eldest boy in his family. He took care of his mother and six or seven younger siblings because this was his duty. My father grew up to be more or less an illiterate thug who one day jumped ship in New York Harbor around the time of the Great Depression.
Know that my father, an illegal immigrant, was only one of only1,428 Chinese allowed to become a naturalized American in 1943 because he was in the U.S. Army in WWII, by 1952 the Korean war had begun and historically the Chinese were looked upon as "the enemy" once again. The Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 was overall still in effect, but my father somehow found a loophole that allowed him to become legal, allowed him to get a wife because the exclusion laws made Chinatowns into mostly bachelor communities where men outnumbered women thirty to one.
My mother was an educated woman from Hong Kong, and I imagine she came from a very wealthy family, as it is hard to explain why a woman would be educated in those times, and I like to think that I come from a long line of "Banksters," and realize that Hong Kong is a lot like NYC with a remarkable similar geography.
Know that somewhere in this story my father shot a man and went to jail for a while, and know that during the time of the Vietnam War in the "Lilly White" suburbs of Lawn-Guy-Land the first thing I learned in school is how to fight.
I identify myself as Cantonese, part tough thug, part Bankster, part Pit Bull who happens to be a New Yorker.
Cal
Actuelly, I call this a success story for both your parents and you. I'd be pleased to meet you someday - buy you a drink and have good conversation.
John,
I don't know. As you know I have a very confused identity: I often think of myself as being a white boy trapped in an Asian body, LOL, but both of my parents were Cantonese, (For those of you who don't know Chinese culture, when China was first unified, Canton remained as an ungovernable area and separate from China for over 900 years. Surrounded by a ring of mountains Canton remained a rugged feudal region that remained restless like the sea). I think Cantonese are very different than Chinese in the same manner that New Yorkers are different than other Americans.
Because of my breeding (inbreeding) in a way I think of myself as being like a pit bull, meaning breed for violence and fighting. Cantonese history supports this. Also know that my grandfather was exacuted in China for murdering a loan shark that burned down his business and ruined him. My grandfather was a gambler, and it cost him his life.
Know that my father was only a boy of 13 and the eldest boy in his family. He took care of his mother and six or seven younger siblings because this was his duty. My father grew up to be more or less an illiterate thug who one day jumped ship in New York Harbor around the time of the Great Depression.
Know that my father, an illegal immigrant, was only one of only1,428 Chinese allowed to become a naturalized American in 1943 because he was in the U.S. Army in WWII, by 1952 the Korean war had begun and historically the Chinese were looked upon as "the enemy" once again. The Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 was overall still in effect, but my father somehow found a loophole that allowed him to become legal, allowed him to get a wife because the exclusion laws made Chinatowns into mostly bachelor communities where men outnumbered women thirty to one.
My mother was an educated woman from Hong Kong, and I imagine she came from a very wealthy family, as it is hard to explain why a woman would be educated in those times, and I like to think that I come from a long line of "Banksters," and realize that Hong Kong is a lot like NYC with a remarkable similar geography.
Know that somewhere in this story my father shot a man and went to jail for a while, and know that during the time of the Vietnam War in the "Lilly White" suburbs of Lawn-Guy-Land the first thing I learned in school is how to fight.
I identify myself as Cantonese, part tough thug, part Bankster, part Pit Bull who happens to be a New Yorker.
Cal
I think I am really. Since I carry a camera almost constantly I need some way to carry it. So my man bag is not one of those pokey, sissy little things men who were "hip" used to carry back in the 1970s (complete with synthetic fabric safaris suits, side whiskers and shirts with lapels as wide as a fat man's bum.)
These me were rightly mocked for looking silly.
Instead its a big butch bag of canvas and leather and solid British brass fasteners.
A bag of substance for a man of substance.
A bag that tells those where I m going where I have been.
A MANS bag! (Jeeze I could be a copy writer for an Ad company!)
fur and cal: magnificent stories!
When I take a bag that doesn't look tough and manly, I let the grip of my Walther P99 stick out the top.
😀