Sometime the realities of my life in China, and my former life in Canada contrast, and the drastic differences hit home.

Language, food, people, customs, and traditions are as different as Macs and PCs. Once upon a time I ate potatoes. Now, I eat rice (which I used to hate, but now gleefully eat. I’ve been assimilated). The differences are too many to list. One drastic difference struck me recently like a cold slap in the face:

I miss American television.

Yes, American television. With the exception of Trailer Park Boys and 22 Minutes nothing produced in Canada is worth watching.

Two Hong Kong televisions stations are viewable on my apartment set. Both offer standard fare, albeit six months behind the North American and British schedules. I watch randomly, when allowed. I work evenings and often forget when a series I was interested in is being broadcast. And my wife is a remote hog, who flips between Korean soaps, true crime programs, and snake documentaries.

My first year here I bought what every newbie does: A DVD player and a towering mountain of discs to accompany it. By the end of that year I was bordering on 500 DVDs, neatly dumped into a large plastic tub, many still in their plastic wrappers. For 10 kuai ($1.25 US) you can never buy too many.

Movies, mindless entertainment, got very old. I bought a computer and became obsessed with other pastimes. I still buy DVDs, many of which I don’t watch, but plan to should I ever become unemployed, ill, or have a great deal of time requiring me to be immobile on the couch.

Last spring I was granted the opportunity of watching season 17 of The Simpsons. After a single episode I realized how much I missed this animated treasure. The 20 episodes were visually consumed in three days. I laughed out loud, and cried when there were none left to watch. I was forlorn.

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i am kenny’s father

A fortnight ago I acquired some episodes of South Park, the current season. I hadn’t seen the series in years and thought one or two might make me giggle.

I was more amazed than I had been with The Simpsons. I devoured the episodes, found season 10, and ravenously consumed the 22-minute treats like a lapsed dieter at a cheap buffet.

Watching television programs via the computer doesn’t have the same feel as viewing it live. Like masturbation, it’s a solo pursuit. There’s no water cooler discussion about The Amazing Race as I am the only one involved.

There is no one to ask, “Did you see (insert name) last night?” I try to explain the jokes and witnessed innuendo to coworkers. They smile and put up with my stale recollections.

Yes, I miss American television and the culture that surrounds it. I miss pizza and 24, as I weep over former evenings of chicken wings and NYPD Blue.

This will pass. Cartman will become a memory, a well-like and distant friend, like my real-life pengyous in 加拿大。

Alas.