and now hemlock is down.... it *is* a conspiracy!

Hmm..

Will Conrad be back? I think the odds are good but I doubt it will be in the same format or with the same pace.

Does absence make the blogger's heart grow fonder or is out of sight out of mind?

Personally I can't wait for my penultimate exams to finish so I can get back to throwing my life away blogging.

Of course Hemlock is blocked in China (as is all of geocities), so I still don't know what the deal is... anyone care to enlighten me?

The site's domain registration lapsed and has since been snapped up by someone else. Some think his workplace got wind of the site. Hemlock's entry:I count them – 29, 30, 31... A total of 32 emails in the last 10 days asking if I know the whereabouts of Conrad, writer of The Gweilo Diaries. I’m not surprised so many people miss the hilarious parody of American neo-conservative blogs, with its ranting about the satanic United Nations and barbarous Mohammedans, its glorification of George W Bush and praise of the contentment of post-Saddam Iraq – all spiced up with imaginative, salacious tales of Wanchai at night and tasteful pictorial appreciations of the Asian female form. Being reluctant to divulge the distressing truth, I deny any knowledge of the matter. Nor do I mention these emails when I see ‘Conrad’ this afternoon, outside a jeweller’s store in a back street in Causeway Bay. He is begging Formica, his 19-year-old, seven-months-pregnant Filipino fiancée, to accept a HK$350 gold-plate and zirconium wedding ring, arguing that her friends will never know the difference, and that they need the money for more important things. “How will she take to life in that trailer park in Jonesboro?” I ask him, as the sulking girl teeters back to the shop window on her platform shoes. “She’s never been to Arkansas has she?” He shrugs and mumbles about how they won’t be staying with his sister Becky-Mae and her six kids for long – just until they sort something out. I nod reassuringly. After an awkward silence, I glance at my watch and feign alarm at my lateness for an urgent appointment. We shake hands and agree to keep in touch. “Everything will turn out fine,” I tell him, as Formica stomps back up to us, hatred burning behind her tear-filled eyes.