After I came back this morning from an early workout with C, I went to my kitchen to make some oatmeal and egg whites. As I bent down to pull the pan out from underneath the counter, I felt a heat on my forehead. I looked up; the stove was already ON. Little blue and yellow flames were dancing happily in place, teasing me from inside their little grate. The last time I cooked was when . . . yesterday morning? Jeez.

In other news - the infamous CCTV tower (the one that looks like a giant pair of pants) just down the road from me, caught on fire last night as the entire city celebrated Lantern Festival, the last official end to the Chinese New Year. This is not surprising because every Wang and his uncle Wu was blowing up the streets with lines of crack(ers), bouts of BOOMS and window-tapping, ear-splitting shits of colorful dynamite. It was only a matter of time before something burst into real flames. My taxi driver this morning exclaimed to me in Chinese that the tower looked like 9-11.

And, in light of this post's theme, a few weeks ago, the twin towers of the new Landgent Center, literally across the street from my apartment, veiled the rare blue sky in huge ebony puffs. I have never been that close to a real fire, so I spent almost that entire morning shooting it. You can also see a dim, pre-burnt CCTV tower in the background, toward the left, right behind the second set of apartment complexes.

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