The Hong Kong gossip rags’ obsessive watch over the contents of Carina Lau’s (劉嘉玲) uterus continued unabated over the Lunar New Year holiday. The actress was spotted carrying two big shopping bags from children’s clothing stores, including Baby Dior, and stopping at a bookstore to look for parenting manuals and children’s picture books.
Singtao Daily (星島日報) wondered if Lau was building a layette for her future spawn, even though it appears that her superstar husband Tony Leung (梁朝偉) has yet to impregnate her. The newspaper speculated hopefully that Lau was indulging her baby fever — but pragmatically admitted that she might have been buying holiday presents for the two young daughters of her best friend, fellow Hong Kong star Faye Wong (王菲).
Also getting her bump watched over the holidays, but for completely different reasons, was Golden Horse-winning actress Loletta Lee (李麗珍, also known as Rachel Lee), who in the 1990s was dubbed the “sex goddess of Hong Kong cinema” because of her penchant for disrobing on-screen.
But now the 44-year-old actress’s taut hourglass figure has allegedly become so distorted by the ravages of age that it makes one want to cry, sighs Oriental Sunday (東方新地). Lee was spotted on the street by a photographer, looking so frumpy in a sweater and horn-rimmed glasses that it made the magazine nostalgic for her naked past.
Unflattering sweater aside, Pop Stop thinks Lee looked just fine in the paparazzi shots (if a little annoyed). There is no reason to make the woman neurotic about her weight.
Speaking of neurosis, Taiwanese pop singer and heartthrob Jam Hsiao (蕭敬騰) had the unfortunate experience of discovering his latent claustrophobia during a recent flight to the US. Hsiao, who the press dubbed the “New King” after just three appearances on One Million Star (超級星光大道) propelled him to pop fame, was traveling to Los Angeles to take voice classes.
On previous flights in economy class, Hsiao would settle in and go straight to sleep, his manager told reporters, but on this flight he had upgraded to pricier seats that give each passenger a small, private cabin of space — and as a result became anxious and fidgety. A full-scale panic attack was averted, however, by a mid-flight showing of Mamma Mia.
Call us cynical, but Pop Stop thinks that the only reason his manager gave the public a glimpse into Hsiao’s newly-uncovered phobia is to make the famously bashful singer seem even more cuddly to his legions of female fans, who no doubt have plenty of ideas about how they would calm the tall, chisel-jawed, raven-locked crooner the next time he finds himself stuck in a tight, secluded space.
Also feeling the squeeze, but financially speaking, is Taiwanese actress Shu Qi (舒淇). The plush-lipped vixen told Xinhua News Agency (新華通訊社) that she has cut her wage demands by 30 percent in response to the dearth of offers since the global economic crisis hit. Some of Shu’s peers are following suit, including Hong Kong actress and singer Josie Ho (何超儀), who disclosed that her earnings for her last job consisted of a hong bao with a token amount tucked inside. But Ho may not have to tighten her purse strings as much as other starlets — her daddy is casino magnate and billionaire Stanley Ho (何鴻燊).
The credit crunch has forced consumers all around the world to cut back on
luxuries and instead find pleasure in simple things, including, it would appear, Mando-pop singer Fish Leong (梁靜茹). The Malaysian songstress was spotted by our sister newspaper, the Liberty Times (自由時報), when she went out for a sushi lunch in Xinyi District with her
paramour, the press shy, bespectacled gentleman known to gossip rags as
just “Tony.”
At one point during the meal, the Liberty Times’ intrepid spy saw Leong excitedly hand a tissue to her beau and exclaim, “I got this pack of really nice tissues, they are beyond soft. See for yourself.” The smitten Tony plucked the delicate sheet from Leong’s slender fingers and tenderly dabbed his mouth with it before going back to making goo-goo eyes at his ladylove. Simple pleasures, indeed.
Nov. 11 to Nov. 17 People may call Taipei a “living hell for pedestrians,” but back in the 1960s and 1970s, citizens were even discouraged from crossing major roads on foot. And there weren’t crosswalks or pedestrian signals at busy intersections. A 1978 editorial in the China Times (中國時報) reflected the government’s car-centric attitude: “Pedestrians too often risk their lives to compete with vehicles over road use instead of using an overpass. If they get hit by a car, who can they blame?” Taipei’s car traffic was growing exponentially during the 1960s, and along with it the frequency of accidents. The policy
Hourglass-shaped sex toys casually glide along a conveyor belt through an airy new store in Tokyo, the latest attempt by Japanese manufacturer Tenga to sell adult products without the shame that is often attached. At first glance it’s not even obvious that the sleek, colorful products on display are Japan’s favorite sex toys for men, but the store has drawn a stream of couples and tourists since opening this year. “Its openness surprised me,” said customer Masafumi Kawasaki, 45, “and made me a bit embarrassed that I’d had a ‘naughty’ image” of the company. I might have thought this was some kind
What first caught my eye when I entered the 921 Earthquake Museum was a yellow band running at an angle across the floor toward a pile of exposed soil. This marks the line where, in the early morning hours of Sept. 21, 1999, a massive magnitude 7.3 earthquake raised the earth over two meters along one side of the Chelungpu Fault (車籠埔斷層). The museum’s first gallery, named after this fault, takes visitors on a journey along its length, from the spot right in front of them, where the uplift is visible in the exposed soil, all the way to the farthest
The room glows vibrant pink, the floor flooded with hundreds of tiny pink marbles. As I approach the two chairs and a plush baroque sofa of matching fuchsia, what at first appears to be a scene of domestic bliss reveals itself to be anything but as gnarled metal nails and sharp spikes protrude from the cushions. An eerie cutout of a woman recoils into the armrest. This mixed-media installation captures generations of female anguish in Yun Suknam’s native South Korea, reflecting her observations and lived experience of the subjugated and serviceable housewife. The marbles are the mother’s sweat and tears,
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