I Miss You Daddy

The best part of being away may not be the reunion, but the wonderful messages you receive from your kids while you're away.  An awesome one from my favorite 11 year old:

Let's Play Oboe!

My band teacher used to say “well someone has to play the Oboe”.  I chose the Baritone.  Like a Tuba, except smaller.  The best thing about the Baritone is that you get to sit in the back row.  And even better, when you empty your “spit valve”, you get to fling it over the rest of the band in front of you.  It was great to be a baritone-playing band guy.  But an Oboe player?

 

Even the word “Oboe” is strange.  It derives from the 16^th Century English word “hautboy” from haut; "high, loud, and high-pitched”.  The sixteenth century history included having King Henry VIII sever ties with the Catholic Church and declaring himself head of the church in England.  I may have my English history wrong but I believe the driving factor behind this decision was that King Hank wanted a boy and she gave birth to the future Elizabeth I of England, whose gender disappointed Henry.  But in the midst of all this, some totally un-political folks invented the Oboe.  Sounds plausible.

The Oboe is such a strange looking instrument.  Like a clarinet with the degrees of difficulty ratcheted up.   The folks that play it look like they are trying to blow grapes through a straw.

Even after my spit-slinging, back-row-sitting, baritone-playing band experience, I never really noticed the Oboe players.  How prominent can this bizarre instrument be?

And then this happened:  “An Oboe player in San Francisco had an aneurysm on stage while playing the Oboe.  William Bennett, the longtime San Francisco Symphony oboist who suffered a cerebral hemorrhage on Saturday night while performing Richard Strauss' Oboe Concerto.  He was 56.”

The poor gentleman’s head exploded whilst trying to blow into that tiny reed.

I began to wonder what the life expectancy of Oboe players was compared to other instruments.  So I searched.  First thing up, a Yahoo Answers question:

“Is it true that playing oboe can shorten your life span & make you cannot hear well?”

Best Answer:

”I think all that backpressure must take its toll on a person's brain fluid. After a time you'll probably be skipping down the street in a gerbil costume playing your oboe trying to entice owls into your car. I've seen it happen! Tragic.”

After six years of inactivity on LefthandedandColorblind, I uncover a conspiracy worth blogging about:  Oboe playing shortens your lifespan. 

Another proof in point:   James Brown – oboist, teacher and producer of countless editions of oboe works – died today.  Shocked neighbors saw Jimmy Brown stumble from the wreckage of his home in Malmesbury , UK after it was destroyed by a gas explosion today.  Owww, It Feels Good!  Although it may not be the same James Brown.

And so it began.

My friend, Nashville Rich, and I began a conspiratorial watch.  We both frequently attend the San Francisco Ballet performances and we began to watch for head explosions in the Oboe “section” of the symphony.  After the very unfortunate event with the exploding Oboe player across the street, we figured it would be best to monitor the situation.  Conspiratorially, SFB began to introduce two Oboe players in their symphony.  A strategy of fault tolerance I am certain.

During one performance, I received an important text message from him indicating that he was “hermetically sealed in Saran-Wrap” in case the current-night’s Oboe player exploded while trying to “blow grapes” through his reed.  A disturbing thought in any case when one pictures a middle-aged man hermetically sealed in Saran-wrap. 

So I investigated further and found a disturbing article about Oboe player “Dick”:

“So once a year, Dick pulls out his “oboe mouthpiece”–a teeny tiny mouthpiece with a teeny-tiny single reed–and tells us about how he used to bring it on tour and tell the other musicians it was “just in case” or whip it out and warm up on it to scare the pants off them (because it sounds reed-iculous).”

I may have to provide a better answer to the Yahoo Answer’s questioner.  Should you take up the Oboe as your instrument?  Perhaps, but flinging spit from a baritone is way more interesting.

And safer.

Crushed Curiosity

In July of this year, California passed a “hands-free” cell phone law. This significant safety law coincided with the spontaneous destruction of all of my Blackberry headsets. They all fell apart or otherwise stopped working literally on the day the law took effect.

As such, my hour-long commute has recently taken on an entirely new perspective. With all this new idle time, I have rekindled my utter fascination with those trucks carrying crushed cars. I don’t know why I have such a curiosity for these car-carriers but I find my self unable to pry my eyes away when I see them.

Today when I passed one, I found myself slowing down, trying to take in every last detail of the remains. Trying to identify what type of car the smashed remnants used to be, how old the cars are and what possibly could have happened to them to end up in this tragic state. Even in this picture, I swear that there is a perfectly good BMW somewhere in there. Thousands of stories, crushed and stacked, on their way to oblivion.

At first I thought the hands-free cell phone law was good for the greater safety of the roadway. But I also forgot how mind-numbingly boring driving can be. If only there could be more crushed-car carriers.

Boredom

During the lull in blogging action, I figured this image would at least provide some entertainment for Howard, George and the rest of the fleeting members of the LHCB drama. The image is not animated and I thought this type of optical illusion would be an honest tribute to the recent week I spend in Amsterdam...

Burka Wear(y)

The other day, I was doing half of my daily 2.5hr commute and a lady pulled along side of me wearing what appeared to be a welders helmet. Double-taking and trying not to hit the car immediately in front of me, I determined that she was not actually welding.

Living in the 20% Chinese community of San Francisco, I didn’t think the giant visor was all that odd, rather, I thought the use of the full-face device in the car was strange.

After a brief Google search, I found a hint of the phenomena: China is currently in the midst of a new headwear craze. It’s like a typical sun visor with a swivel down piece of dark transparent plastic which shades the face from the summer sun’s harsh glare. The protective plastic can serve as an extended visor (up), or sort of a whole-face “sunglass mask”

The strange thing was that The Shield looked like a burka. With the world’s governments busily banning such controversial wear, I thought that at any moment, the CHP would come bearing down.

But no such event happened. Instead and in true California-freeway form, the burka/UV-shield wearing driver cut me off.

Wasted Opportunity

As of late, I've been spending a rather large amount of time on airplanes. Recently, I was preparing to fly from San Francisco to Dallas and the synchronized air waitress team began their ridiculous presentation of life jacket etiquette.

Now aside from the obvious point that the trip between San Francisco and Dallas overflies no major bodies of water, it seems to me there must be a better use of the time it takes to demonstrate life jacket instructions on an airplane.


Based on my research, I believe there are exactly ZERO instances of planes crashing into a major body of water where people have successfully donned their life jackets and floated to safety.

So I have a better idea. What other situation does a company have to educate an audience of up to 450 captives? Instead of the life jacket instructions, why not do a "how to recycle" demonstration? Or a "reduce your carbon footprint" presentation. How about "dangers of excessive alcohol consumption whilst airborne". Conscientious airlines could even attempt to instruct captive Americans on basic skills such as global geography, alternative religions or (just imagine) new language skills. The world would definately be a better place.

And as for the "do not inflate life jacket whilst inside aircraft rule", I only have to offer the following picture as evidence that even the instructions provide are asinine:

Subsidize Me

Alitalia Airlines Tanya Hostess – Alitanya - This is a stewardess doll representing Italy’s Alitalia Airlines. She’s wearing the official stewardess uniform, and carries her “leather” shoulder bag.

For the first time in five years, I recently flew on Italy’s national airline, Alitalia. Alitalia’s common nickname is "Always late in the air, late in arrival". I arrived at London Heathrow for the flight two hours before departure.

When I arrived for the two hour flight, the line for check-in wound around and around, beyond sight of the check-in desk. I waited in line for one-hour, forty-five minutes.

But it doesn’t matter. The wait was worth it. I forgot how much I enjoy Italy. Especially the major cities like Rome. Everyone is beautiful in Rome. The women are gorgeous, the men are stunning. Even the grandma's and grandpa’s are attractive.

After sprinting to the gate with a crowd of other late people, a literal herd, we arrived to the late model airplane transport. The stewards and stewardesses were all beautiful. After the flight took off, they served us all good wine, tasty sandwiches and sumptuous pasties at the end of the meal. The stewards even wore nifty “captains hats”. I would have trusted these guys to fly the plane based on the care they took in their uniform presentation. And all of this took place in a two hour flight.

By contrast, my 10 hour flight from SFO to LHR was staffed by dumpy air waitresses who wanted $5, €4 or £3 for really bad wine. And they had the gall to serve me salty pretzels and no choice of meal. All in the name of profitability.

I am now a big fan of government subsidies of airlines. I’ve come to realize that government subsidized airlines are much more enjoyable than the standard, profitable airlines.

From Business Week: “Last year, the company (Alitalia) lost an average of €1 million ($1.3 million) a day, and it hasn't posted a profit in five years. Its labor woes and inefficiencies are notorious: In one particularly mind-bending example, Alitalia forfeits countless millions in revenues every year as paying passengers are regularly bumped from its most profitable Rome-Milan route to make room for commuting pilots and crew who have refused to relocate to Milan's Malpensa hub.”

Revenue, smevenue, bring on the good food and hot sky waitresses. Richard Branson and his Virgin Airlines definitely have it right.

Lauren, Alfred, David and Me

What seems like forever now, my friends, family, bosses, and people-who-want-to-insult-me have commented on my gap-toothed smile.

I have never been insulted or offended by my gap-tooth smile as it is what it is; my smile. I’m proud of my smile. I also share my gap-tooth smile with lots of famous people.

David Letterman

Alfred E. Newman.

And Lauren Bacall. Now I couldn’t find a gap-tooth image of Lauren as in all her beautiful images, she has her mouth shut. She must have been embarrassed by her toothy grin.

Too bad as I believe the legend of the gap-tooth grin began with her. See, the legend holds that a gap-tooth grin has a special purpose and meaning in a gap-tooth persons’ life. It means they have a very high sexual quotient.

An Inconvenient Truth

”…can it be compared with the Ease and Comfort every Man living might feel seven times a Day, by discharging freely the Wind from his Bowels? Especially if it be converted into a Perfume: For the Pleasures of one Sense being little inferior to those of another, instead of pleasing the Sight he might delight the Smell of those about him…” Ben Franklin

I recently read that Australia has announced it will ban incandescent light bulbs in three years. This legislation is an effort to reduce greenhouse gas emissions. In such a move, Australia would become the first country to do away with this 125-year-old technology.

“The Environment Minister says that replacing incandescent light bulbs with fluorescent bulbs would cut 800,000 tonnes from Australia's current emissions levels by 2012.”

One Billion Bulbs

If every home in the US replaced just one light bulb with a compact florescent bulb, we would save enough energy to light more than 2.5 million homes for a year.

Imagine then if people all over the world mobilized to replace the one billion standard incandescent light bulbs that exist today, with energy-efficient compact fluorescent light bulbs. It would result in an energy savings equivalent to the power consumption of tens of million of homes.

A Better Idea

But I have a better idea. In addition to saving our planet from global warming, we should be focusing our attention on an even more important warming and sense-attacking agent. The humble cow and steer.

“A steer releases enough methane gas in its lifetime to power Miami's fleet of public transportation vehicles for one day”.

All this methane can add up to a significant amount. Australia's 140 million sheep and cattle are estimated to produce one seventh of the nation's total greenhouse gas emissions, whilst America's 100 million cattle also are major contributors.

“Livestock are responsible for 18 per cent of the greenhouse gases that cause global warming, more than cars, planes and all other forms of transport put together". So forget the bulbs, focus on the flatulence:

“Retain the wind by compressing the belly.” Desiderius Erasmus

Being John Malkovich

I am unsure as to the exact date it happened. One would think that significant, life-changing events would not pass un-noticed, but it did. Unbeknownst to me, a change happened. Ignorant of the dramatic turn of events, I recently transitioned from being a young hipster, to being, well…my dad.

Recently, I was out for dinner with a friend of mine who is the same age. It was a nice dinner, followed by drinks at the accompanying bar. Perhaps it was the work attire I was wearing, or maybe it was the subtle lighting of the place casting deep shadows over my face, but either way, it the midst of a conversation with some young lady at the bar, she called me “dad”.

At that very second, I decided that it would be educational and enlightening to have a Being John Malkovich -type portal. Such a portal would allow me to be able to view myself through the eyes of somebody else. See, in the movie, the main character finds a portal leading inside John Malkovich. For 15 minutes you see, hear, and feel whatever John Malkovich is doing…and then you fall out by the New Jersey Turnpike.

Except for the New Jersey Turnpike part, it sounds great. Just think of the ego-boost. I could flatter myself with comments like “you look like you’re 29” and generally flirt with myself.

Let me tell you, if I had my very own portal, there would be no more of this “dad” crap from anyone except my daughter.

Bong Hits For Jesus

In this weeks Washington Post, I read a fascinating article about "the most important student free speech conflict to reach the Supreme Court since the height of the Vietnam War".

Bong Hits For Jesus

This was the "important message" being debated in our highest court. The defendant, Joseph Frederick fashioned a 14-foot scroll of paper and some duck tape with the devastating message.

Five years ago, Deborah Morse, principal of a Juneau, Alaska high school stormed across Glacier Avenue, off school property, to confiscate the banner from the anarchist Joseph. After eloquently paraphrasing Thomas Jefferson's admonition that "speech limited is speech lost".

She gave him detention and he sued.

Oh, how I miss high school (not).

Godless

I just returned from a news-less vacation and logged onto the CNN website. The first article that caught my eye was one of the “godless coin”.

When I was young, I collected coins. The interest has stayed with me throughout my life. A few years back, my mom made me clear out my secret stash of goods stored at her house because she was moving home. During the clearance evaluation, I found my old coin collection. Most were in damaged condition because the collection albums sold at that time contained some form of corrosive material. I guess we all got ripped off during the 1970’s.

When I moved to Japan, during the “pre-web era”, I found a news group where coin collecting enthusiasts, “numismatics”, would post their coins for sale. Around 1992, I purchased a gold, one-yen coin. I still have that coin and according to Ebay, my investment has performed dismally. I paid around $900 in 1995 for the coin and it’s now worth somewhere around $1200 today.

But the intrigue of coin collecting is still with me. When I saw the “godless coin” article today, I immediately went to Ebay and completed a speculative purchase of the coin.

“Due to a glitch that still has federal officials befuddled, the U.S. Mint printed thousands of the new $1 coins without the "In God We Trust" inscription traditional on all its money. The coins also are missing the "E Pluribus Unum" inscription, as well as a mint mark indicating whether they were produced in Philadelphia or Denver. Also, the coins are missing edge inscriptions specially made for the new dollar.”

I paid, including shipping insurance, $318 for a one-dollar coin. We’ll see how foolish this speculative investment turns out to be.

DeVry

The other night, I was out for dinner with one of my smartest and most successful friends, let’s call him Conan O’Brien. As he is British, he refers to the skills and lessons learned during the whole university experience as “qualifications”.

Conan, my smart and successful friend, has issues with his lack of a college education. Despite his obvious skills and confidence in the workplace, he displays the subtle personality trait in that he refrains from ever participating in conversations about any kind of formal schooling. Despite the infamous Bill Gates and Larry Ellison college dropout legends, the lack of “qualifications” for my friend seems to be a psychological threat to Conan.

Now I would have titled this blog “my confession”, but I already did that story . This blog is about my undergraduate alma mater, DeVry University. Now DeVry is informally known (by my friends) as the “1-800 school”. It is resides amongst the infomercials and lore of late-night commercials. But as they say in the Bible “You have…done good to me”.

Ok, so my highly paraphrased Biblical quote may be too edited to be relevant but in this instance, I maintain my right to declare a certain degree of literary license. In the two-years, eight-months it took me to obtain my Bachelor of Science degree, DeVry was the most cost effective and efficienct path to a higher paying job. Regardless of the frequency and candor of my friends ridicule.

When I was young, I always did well in school. And then adolescence took hold of me. Not only did hair start to grow in weird places, my grades dropped dramatically. Throughout the time school mattered, I sucked. I graduated from a school in a town of 1000 people and a class of 83 in a position of…well, I have no idea what my rank was, nor of what the future held.

Being a high-school principal, my dad, Aristotle, was not going to let me shovel roofs during the winters of Minnesota for a living. As I had no redeemable high-school attributes, no school was going to let me in. I distinctly remember my pleading, high-school principal dad, sitting in the living room of our house, begging a sales guy to let me into DeVry. Imagine a 1-800 school and commissioned sales guy, arguing with a professional educator about even allowing me to pay them tuition to let me into the strip-mall-based institute.

But whilst listening to a recent NPR story and in consideration of my experience ,I began to consider a profound concept as epitomized by a quote from this story: ““The name of the school you go to is not going to decide how happy you are for the rest of your life.” Abigail Wetzel, prep school senior”.. And how I can attest to this concept. My friend Conan can even take it further…it’s all about the person.

And one last point. Here is the chart of DeVry’s stock. It worked for me and it worked for its investors.

Marriage

I recently celebrated my 10th wedding anniversary. I also recently received this story in an email. It made me consider the trials and tribulations of marriage.

"Young King Arthur was ambushed and imprisoned by the monarch of a neighboring kingdom. The monarch could have killed him but was moved by Arthur's youth and ideals. So, the monarch offered him his freedom, as long as he could answer a very difficult question. Arthur would have a year to figure out the answer and, if after a year, he still had no answer, he would be put to death.

The question?... What do women really want? Such a question would perplex even the most knowledgeable man, and to young Arthur, it seemed an impossible query. But, since it was better than death, he accepted the monarch's proposition to have an answer by year's end.

He returned to his kingdom and began to poll everyone: the princess, the priests, the wisemen and even the court jester. He spoke with everyone, but no one could give him a satisfactory answer.

Many people advised him to consult the old witch, for only she would have the answer.

But, the price would be high; as the witch was famous throughout the kingdom for the exorbitant prices she charged.

The last day of the year arrived and Arthur had no choice but to talk to the witch. She agreed to answer the question, but he would have to agree to her price first.

The old witch wanted to marry Sir Lancelot, the most noble of the Knights of the Round Table and Arthur's closest friend!

Young Arthur was horrified. She was hunchbacked and hideous, had only one tooth, smelled like sewage, made obscene noises, etc. He had never encountered such a repugnant creature in all his life.

He refused to force his friend to marry her and endure such a terrible burden; but Lancelot, learning of the proposal, spoke with Arthur.

He said nothing was too big of a sacrifice compared to Arthur's life and the preservation of the Round Table.

Hence, a wedding was proclaimed and the witch answered Arthur's question thus:

What a woman really wants, she answered... is to be in charge of her own life.

Everyone in the kingdom instantly knew that the witch had uttered a great truth and that Arthur's life would be spared.

And so it was, the neighboring monarch granted Arthur his freedom and Lancelot and the witch had a wonderful wedding.

The honeymoon hour approached and Lancelot, steeling himself for a horrific experience, entered the bedroom. But, what a sight awaited him. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen lay before him on the bed. The astounded Lancelot asked what had happened?

The beauty replied that since he had been so kind to her when she appeared as a witch, she would henceforth, be her horrible deformed self only half the time and the beautiful maiden the other half.

Which would he prefer? Beautiful during the day... or night?

Lancelot pondered the predicament. During the day, a beautiful woman to show off to his friends, but at night, in the privacy of his castle, an old witch? Or, would he prefer having a hideous witch during the day, but by night, a beautiful woman for him to enjoy wondrous intimate moments?

What would YOU do?

What Lancelot chose is below. BUT... make YOUR choice before you scroll down below. OKAY?

Noble Lancelot said that he would allow HER to make the choice herself.

Upon hearing this, she announced that she would be beautiful all the time because he had respected her enough to let her be in charge of her own life.

Now... what is the moral to this story?

If you don't let a woman have her own way.... Things are going to get ugly

Crash and Freeze

At one point in my life, I worked in Trondheim, Norway. During the time I worked there, Trondheim was celebrating it’s 1,000 birthday. A millennium celebration.

This event was fascinating enough but then I discovered that at one time in its history, Trondheim was host to a famous Minnesota resident; Lief Ericson. Leif Ericson lived in Trondheim around 1000AD as a military retainer (read: old Norse hit man) of King Olav.

Now old Lief holds a special place in my heart. Growing up in Northern Minnesota, I often heard and read about the legend of a blonde Sioux Indian tribe. A whole tribe that apparently carried the genes of Lief Ericson himself. Old Lief was obviously busy during his stay, impregnating a whole tribe of ancient Minnesotans. Other than the blonde hair gene, the only evidence he left of his stay in Minnesota were a few controversial ruin stones.

So on my first visit to Trondheim, I was keen to experience the Trondheim that Lief would have seen. But it was dark. Dark and cold. Nonetheless, I wandered around with my friends until I came upon a hill with a strange contraption embedded in it.

My discovery came after a gorgeous meal and great quantities of wine and schnapps. At first, I couldn't quite figure out what the contraption was but it was then explained to my by my local colleagues. "It's a bicycle lift".

The problem was, I didn't have a bicycle. Soon my colleagues, in their best socialistic demeanor, produced a bicycle. I tried a few times to mount the beast, only to flail into the nearest snowbank. Evenually I got the hang of it.

I started up the hill, the heel of my right foot implanted firmly on the lift foot-pedal. I climbed the hill faster than expected and tried my best to steer the bike at the same time. About mid-point, it all went wrong and I crashed and slid down the hill, ending up frozen in a snow-bank.

I'll bet Lief would have made it.

Jacked

The other day, I was driving down Fifth Street in San Francisco when I psychotic-looking person walked up to my car and began to tug on the door handle. He then proceeded to pound on the window of my car.

Although the San Francisco intrusion passed with no ill harm, I have twice been party to attacks in my car. The most incredible incident happened in Manila. I was a passenger being driven in a corporate car when group of kids jumped on the car and began pounding the vehicle with clubs and rocks. The driver was able to accelerate out of the attack.

But this all made me consider? What could you possible do if you were truly carjacked? what is the ultimate car security device? Other than the futuristic device pictured above, I think “The Blaster” may be the ultimate car-protection device.

The Blaster

The device is built into the car doors and is operated by pushing a button beside the foot pedals. It sends a man-high fireball from the car, engulfing the hijacker without endangering the passengers or damaging the auto's paint.

Operating the $650 device requires much less movement than pulling a gun, and therefore -- theoretically at least -- involves less risk of provoking the carjacker into shooting.

Bingo

Bingo Auto Defense operates from either a dash mounted command button or remote controler with instant response time to ward off a harmful or even deadly encounter with the would be car jacker.

BINGO at your command activates a strong defensive posture by spraying your attacker thoroughly with pepper spray. BINGO !!! Hopefully that's the end of the encounter, but remember BINGO is ready at your command to repel multiple attackers or intruders. Bingo provides real knockdown power.

It's A Problem

This video as example.

Queen Mary 2 v. Alcatraz Island

The other day, the Queen Mary 2 sailed under the Golden Gate Bridge into San Francisco Bay for the first time. As we watched her cruise into the bay, the giant ship passed Alcatraz.

From the perspective of my home, which sits about 500 feet above sea level, the ship dwarfed the aircraft-carrier-sized rock that sits in the middle of the bay. I began to wonder how the perspective actually compared to reality.

QM2:

• Length: 345 meters / 1132 feet
• Beam: 40 meters / 135 feet
• Beam at Bridge Wings: 45 meters / 147.5 feet
• Height (Keel to Funnel): 72 meters / 236.2 feet

Alcatraz Island (Alcatraz)

• Length: 1750 feet
• Altitude above sea level: 25 meters
• Width: 525 feet across at the widest point
• Altitude above sea level: 25 meters

Alcatraz Island is longer, has less height, and is wider than the Queen Mary 2, but the ship builders keep trying:

” Royal Caribbean Cruises to build the world's largest cruise ship, which will be constructed at the Masa Yard in Finland for delivery in May 2006 with an option for a second ship for 2007. Dubbed the Ultra Voyager, plans have her at 1,112-feet long and 18 stories high, accommodating 3,600 passengers with a crew of 1,400. Royal Caribbean estimated that the total cost of the project would be about US$720 million.”

I’m not going to be Howard Hughes

A new study from the Korean Consumer Protection Board has shown that shopping cart handles harbor more bacteria than public bathroom door knobs.

The study showed that shopping cart handles had and average of 1,100 colony forming units of bacteria per 10 sq. cm. Public bathroom door knobs had only 340 units.

There were an average 690 colony forming units found on a computer mouse used at Internet cafes. Hand straps on buses were found to have 380 units, elevator buttons had 130, and hand straps on subways had 86 units on average.

And now, this important legislation from Fred Allen, a freshman Arkansas legislator from Little Rock. Playing to his base of "older women", Fred apparently heard from a "number of older women" who were afraid to go to the grocery store because of what might lurk on their shopping cart handles.

“They mentioned that they didn’t want to go shopping because the shopping carts were nasty,” he said.

As a result of those encounters, Arkansas is poised to become to the first state in the nation to officially encourage groceries to offer sanitary wipes to customers who use shopping carts.

Though bolstered by his first legislative success, Mr. Allen said he had no plans to promote the sanitation of other public handles, like those of doors, vending machines and escalators.

“I’m not going to be Howard Hughes,” he said.

Me neither...

Amidst the Chaos

For a couple years, I lived in the Causeway Bay district of Hong Kong. This area of Hong Kong is especially crowded with nearly all of the 8 million or so inhabitants trying to cross the same street at the same time.

You may see pictures of this bustle or maybe even experience the crowds, but unless you actually live there and have to swim upriver in this stream of humanity on a daily basis, it’s hard to image the confinement and smell of these crowds as you try to deal with them every day, multiple times per day.

After the excitement of living in HK wore off, I began to get annoyed at all the sensory bombardment that would occur. In the midst of this trauma, this very peaceful, musical note would ring out. It took me awhile to figure out what the peaceful sound was amongst all this chaos. I finally found the source of the sound. The source was a bald, saffron-robed monk holding a finely tuned, brass bowl that doubled as both an offering bowl and as a beautiful instrument.

After months of listening to the gong of the bowl and of receiving the peaceful calm that would overcome me upon hearing the clear notes, I approached the monk who was banging his bowl-gong. We smiled at each other and I rambled on asking where I might be able to purchase such a fine instrument. He continued to smile at me until I realized that we had no common languages. I deposited an offering in his bowl and went on my way.

Over time, I would observe the bald, robed monks at the crossing in Causeway Bay. Occasionally, I would approach them again and go through my same standup routine, only to drop more money in their bowls and depart with no more knowledge about the mysterious ringing bowls.

Finally, I mentioned my quest to one of the Chinese executives of my company. The next day, we jumped in a car and we drove over to one of the ubiquitous and anonymous 40-story buildings that populate the Wan Chai district of Hong Kong. We entered the building and took an elevator to the 16^th floor. We got out of the elevator and I looked to my left where there was yet another office. I then looked to the right where there was a non-descript door. He led me to the door and we entered to find an entire Buddhist temple, resplendent with incense smoke, all the normal offerings, statues and peaceful calm that you always find in such a temple. Right in the midst of this skyscraper! He then led me to another small alcove where there was a little shop selling an assortment of Buddhist items, including three different sizes of my magic bowls.

I still occasionally bang on my magic bowl, much to the chagrin of my wife, but to this very day the sound brings me a peaceful calm.

The World's Most Useful Substance

As previously discussed, my readership leans toward the slightly neurotic. Everyone has their “issues” but faithful reader Howard Hughes is the king of the neurotics.

I’ve often blogged about Howard and for Howard, providing links to new products and techniques to avoid those “things you cannot see”; germs. Howard is always surrounded by Purell. One on his desk, in the car, on the belt and I’m sure a Costco-sized barrel at home. I always thought this was due to his neurotic fear of germs. And then I read this story:

The 49-year-old Maryland inmate seemed seriously sick after he drank from a gallon container of hand sanitizer. Described as "loony," "red-eyed" and "combative," officials whisked him to a nearby hospital for treatment.

But they quickly discovered he wasn't ill -- just very, very drunk on Purell.

The October incident, detailed this past week in the New England Journal of Medicine as one of the first documented cases of its kind, has raised questions about the potential abuse of alcohol-based hand sanitizers.

"The widespread use of hand sanitizer is fraught with a great deal of danger," said Suzanne Doyon, medical director of the Maryland Poison Center, who co-authored a letter in the journal about the case. "From an infection control perspective, they are excellent. But there is this risk involved."

Purell, which is 70 percent alcohol, is far more potent than beer (5 percent), wine (10 percent) or hard liquor (40 percent). Doyon said the non-alcohol ingredients in hand sanitizer don't pose a health risk if ingested.

The Maryland inmate, described as usually calm, seemed intoxicated and began "lecturing everybody about life" after imbibing the Purell, Doyon said. His blood-alcohol content level was found to be 0.33 -- more than four times Maryland's intoxication standard.

Since the October incident, the Maryland Poison Center has received reports from five or six other adults in the state who consumed hand sanitizer because "they were looking for a buzz," Doyon said. Washington Post

This explains so much. Next time Howard starts to “lecture me about life”, I’ll calmly tell him to put down the gallon jug of Purell he carries around on his belt and sleep it off.