January 30

If I am to die by the bullet of a mad man, I must do so smiling. There must be no anger within me. God must be in my heart and on my lips..
Mohandas K. Gandhi on January 28, 1948, two days prior to his assassination.

At the Ferry Building in San Francisco, there is a statue of Gandhi. The other day, during the weekly “farmers market”, I was gazing up at the statue while climbing on the pedestal with my young daughter. I began to think his life and about his death.

Today is the 59^th anniversary of Gandhi’s assassination. At the risk of critical analysis from faithful readers M. Slither and H. Hughes, I personally find the events leading up to his assassination on January 30, 1948, including the re-occurrence of the Lex Luther-type character Nathuram Godse, fascinating.

1. The First Attempt: June 25, 1934, Pune, India. Traveling in a motorcade of two cars his motorcade came across a railway crossing. The car in which he was traveling was left behind and as the first car reached the auditorium, a bomb exploded.

2. The Second Attempt: May 1944, Panchgani, Pune, India. A crowd of young men, led by Nathuram Godse, held a day long protest demonstration declining an offer to talk to Gandhi when invited. By evening, during the prayer meeting, Nathuram Godse rushed towards Gandhi with a dagger shouting anti-Gandhi slogans. He was overpowered.

3. The Third Attempt: September 9, 1944, Sevagram Shram, India. While leaving for Bombay for talks with Mohammad Ali Jinnah, a group of Hindu activists stopped him. The protesters were stopped by volunteers of the ashram and the leader of this group, Nathuram Godse was again found in possession of a dagger. The policeman who found the dagger then looked up to him and joked,"Why do you want to kill Gandhi?

4. The Fourth Attempt: June29, 1946. A train carrying Mahatma Gandhi called the Gandhi Special derailed near Bombay. The report submitted by the motorman or driver of the train claimed that boulders were placed on the tracks of the train with the intention to derail it.

5. The Fifth Attempt: January 14, 1948. A group of six, including Nathuram Godse, came to Birla Bhavan (aka Birla House) in Delhi to carry out an attack on Mahatama Gandhi. The group placed a cotton ball enclosing a bomb on the wall behind the podium where Gandhi was to speak and ignited it. The bomb went off without creating any pan

6. The Sixth and Successful Attempt: January 30, 1948. Like Lex Luther, Nathuram Godse returned to Pune with a purchased Beretta automatic and eleven rounds of ammunition. He proceeded to get close enough to Mahatma Gandhi to shoot him twice in his chest at point blank range.

Happy Death Day Gandhi.

Street Marketing Inc.

Last night around midnight, I was driving home through the Tenderloin of San Francisco. Now the Tenderloin is an interesting enough place during the day but at night the word interesting takes on new meaning.

I had just finished playing in my hockey game and I was still pumped with adrenalin and I was wide awake. At a stoplight, I looked around to take in the various characters and creatures that tend to inhabit the Tenderloin and there she was; the first dwarf prostitute I had ever seen.

Now having lived in places like Tokyo, fetish capital of the world, I generally wouldn’t be too awe-struck by the sight of a little-person prostitute because, after all, they are people with problems just like the rest of us. But I had never seen an honest-to-goodness, street-walking, small person in mini-skit and fishnet stockings. I wonder where you buy super-small fishnets?

As she was obviously targeting a niche market, I began to realize that she was probably in desperate need of marketing help. It seems that with a little bit of demographic marketing, she could not only get off the street, but she should set up shop with web sites, conference speaking engagements and other targeted marketing.

Then it occurred to me that the whole street employment market is vastly underserved. I previously had written about Bush Man’s need for marketing help. As after 19 years serving the San Francisco tourist market, he still doesn’t have t-shirts, nor does he have a web site. I believe he is leaving vast amounts of money on the table.

And what of The-Guy-Who-Stands-On-His-Head, or the Two-Large-Opera-Singers, both of whom operate near Union Square? I would definitely buy t-shirts from them all. What better alternatives than the ubiquitous “I escaped Alcatraz” shirts that are brought in, and purchased, by the (literally) boat load.

So that’s it, I’m starting a new company to offer marketing assistance to all these street performers. I’m calling it Street Marketing.

Stay tuned for my new e-commerce engine.

Five Year Old Millionaire

I’ve always liked the game of Monopoly. I also distinctly remember being told of the legend of Monopoly, how it was invented during the Great Depression by some down-and-out person; part of the “American Dream”.

When I moved to England, the locals gleefully informed me that the game of Monopoly had not actually been invented by some poor, starving American. They claimed that it had been invented by an English man.

Now through the joys of search, I’ve come to realize that the first patent for a “landlord game” was not by a resourceful Englishman, nor was it credited to some depression-ridden lad. The first Monopoly game patent belonged to an American woman.

But none of this is the reason for this story. The other day on the Hasbro site, I found the greatest page. A place to print actual Monopoly money.

My five-year-old is now a millionaire.

Man of the Year Awards

Faithful reader Bob recently sent me some great photos of candidates for this year's Man of the Year competition. It's been a grueling race for the trophy and the three candidates really showed some class and chutzpah

Third place entrant:


Second place runner up:



And the winner and hero to men throughout the world:

Newfies

"Newfoundland dogs are good to save children from drowning, but you must have a pond of water handy and a child, or else there will be no profit in boarding a Newfoundland." Josh Billings

Over the last year, I have mentioned moose 108 times in this blog. But I only mentioned “Newfoundland” once. What’s really strange is that people keep showing up at LHCB to read about Newfoundland dogs. Now I know absolutely nothing about Newfie dogs so I decided to have a look around.

The first interesting thing I notice about Newfie dogs is that it must be quite the moral and physical dilemma to actually go out and acquire one of these beasts. Weighing in at 110-152 pounds (50-69 kilograms), the acquisition (at $1000-$2000 per pup) of a Newfoundland is nothing to take lightly.

But if you do have some water and children or other hapless victims around, these beasts appear to come in rather handy. According to the book Peaceful Kingdom:

"A steamer ran aground off the coast of Newfoundland. The waters were rough and the ship was coming apart at the seams. Panic swept over the passengers and it seemed they would all drown. The people on the shore could only watch helplessly because the waters seemed too rough to even attempt a rescue.

But one of the men on shore had a Newfoundland dog and he attached a line to the dog's neck. The great Newfoundland dove into the icy, turbulent waters and, following the directions of the man, swam to the ship. A lifeline was established and a conveyor device was sent along the line to the ship.

One by one the ninety-two passengers aboard got into the conveyor and were pulled to safety. One time the conveyor reached shore with a mailbag inside. It contained a baby. The conveyor went out again and again, as the ship broke apart, until there were only one man left aboard. The rescuers were surprised when they pulled the conveyor in to find, not a man in it, but the Newfoundland dog. The last man had decided to take his chances on the crumbling ship and make sure the hero dog was saved. The conveyor went out one last time and all ninety-two passengers were saved. The dog was later awarded a medal of honor."

I think the best part of this slow-blog-day-story is the beginning quote. I’d never heard of Josh Billings but he was a contemporary of Mark Twain, the second most famous humorous of his age. Other Josh Billings quotes:.

• Love is like the measles; we can't have it bad but once, and the later in life we have it the tougher it goes with us.

• Better make a weak man your enemy than your friend.

• Nature never makes blunders; when she makes a fool she means it.

• I don't care how much a man talks, if he only says it in a few words.

• As scarce as truth is, the supply has always been in excess of the demand

Mr. Blair Is Dead

So maybe this whole blog thing is about ego and expectations. For the first time in awhile, I Googled the name "Tom Blair". Now I realize this name is common (there are 622 people in the US alone with my name), but I’m a bit dismayed to be upstaged by the obituary of a Tom Blair who died in 1915.


Mr. Blair is Dead.


The Blooming Grove Rustler - Aug 19, 1915


"Mr. Tom Blair passed away Monday. He had been sick a long time and disease had made thin his frame and worn low his strength. It was a long and tedious spell and the patient bore well his suffering. He was patient and perfectly resigned. He knew the character of the ailment and knew that death only would end its inroads upon his body. He was ready to go, for he loved and feared and obeyed the Lord who reigns on high. His faith was unshaken and the greatest comfort he had to buoy him up in all his trials and pain was the assurance of an eternal resting place in Heaven. The remains were laid away in Dresden Cemetery."


I think I’d better start writing my obituary so it doesn’t end up like this Tom Blair.

The Future of Hockey

How many hours has this kid's parents spent at the hockey arena?


Via: VideoSift

Let’s Shake On It

Recently in one of my favorite sites MosNews, I read about a cure for faithful reader Howard Hughes' main problem; his crooked, two-and-a-half-inch penis.

“Russian doctors have conducted an 11-hour operation to replace a patient’s deformed penis with one grown on his forearm.

The man had a defect from birth— his penis was crooked, two-and-a-half-inches long and lacked a scrotum, the newspaper writes.

The doctors had the penis removed and attached to the man’s arm. Using his body tissue it grew to six-and-a-half inches and was sewn back on to his groin. Silicone tubes were inserted into the organ to ensure an erection was possible. Doctors also created a scrotum from the patient’s own skin and placed silicone testicles in it.”

So Howard, although there is hope for you, I am never again going to “shake on it” with you.

Happy Places

For the past fifteen years or so, I’ve lived in very happy places. Happy spots include places like Graceland. At Graceland, no-one is ever unhappy. What could one possibly be unhappy about at a place like that? He even died on the shitter at that place. I personally cannot think of a better way to go.

In retrospect, it was never my plan to live in happy spots. Perhaps it’s just the karma of each of these places. You go there, it’s got a good feel, and you decide to live there. Shiny happy places I’ve lived near:

Abbey Road Studio’s.

Since Mark Chapman was convicted of the shooting of John Lennon, most of the people at Abbey Road Studios in London are quite happy. They take buses, tours and individual treks to this happy spot. At the spot, they gleefully pose for pictures, hold up traffic by walking across “the crossing” (always in groups of four and one with their shoes off). The Beatles tourists write lyrics and lovely messages on the white-washed wall in front of the studios. I lived four doors down from Abbey Road Studios.

Roppongi, Tokyo

Roppongi may actually be the happiest place on earth. Or perhaps it’s just the stupor from having more bars per square mile than any other place on earth. When you combine about 44m people in the Tokyo metro area with lots of bankers, expats and models, you end up with a place that has single buildings with 20 or 30 bars in them. People from all over the world flock to the joys of Roppongi, and I survived living in center of it all.

The Crookedest Street

Lombard Street in San Francisco – actually there is a correction here. Lombard isn’t entirely, always, a happy spot. Sometimes, there are honking, angry people giving all the tourists the finger.

Usually it’s me, frustrated at the throngs of cars making illegal turns onto the crooked street despite 10 picture signs to the contrary. I guess my "living in my happy spots" streak has finally come to an end.

It's Better That Way

Last year in this blog, I rambled on for 65,382 words. I began to wonder about how many words would typically be in a book. A simple question until you also start to consider what would constitute an “average” book length.

And what I found was this set of guidelines for average manuscript lengths:

	Average Number of Words	Approximate pages, Double Spaced
Short-short story	500-2500	2-10
Short story	2500-5000	10-20
Novelette	7000-25,000	28-100
Novel—paperback	35,000-80,000	140-320
Novel--hard cover	25,000-150,000	100-600
Humor feature	300-800	2-4
Oped	500-1000	2-5
Book review	400-1000	2-5
Newspaper feature	800-3000	4-12
Magazine article	2000-5000	8-20
Nonfiction book	20,000-200,000	80-800
Cookbook	10,000-200,000	40-800
Juvenile picture book	500-1500	(varies)
Juvenile book—mid	3000-25,000	12-100
Young adult book	15,000-80,000	60-320
Poem	2-100 lines (4-16 lines)	1-3
Play: one act	20-30 minutes	20-30 playing time
Play: three act	1 1/2 - 2 hours	90-120 playing time
TV script	1/2 hour	25-40
TV script	1 hour	55-70
Movie scenario	1 1/2 - 2 hours	120-250 playing time
Radio feature copy	15 ds lines =1 minutes 3 min = 2 pages

I guess if I’d had actually had anything to say, an important message, a cause I am passionate about or Google hack I had just written, I could’ve just written a “Novel – hard cover”. But my hallcinogenic duck dander and ferret legging stories, thrown in with the occasional hockey fight video, just don’t add up to a book.

And it’s probably better that way.

Moose Mugging

"I've never mugged a moose, but I guess they're pretty wimpy once they're on the ground," Justin Dolling, Master Moose Mugger

I learned this week of a specialized moose sport called moose stalking.

In this difficult and highly specialized sport, the moose wrangler stalks and captures moose with a net. His team-mate, the moose mugger, then sprints into action to try to tie the animals’ legs, blindfold them and stick cotton in the giant moose ears.

"I equate this to alien abduction. It's got to be that traumatic" Dean Riggs, area wildlife manager with the Colorado Wildlife Division.

Reached for comment, one particular moose (seen below), indicated “I resent being called “wimpy”.

Canada v Russia

I play in a Sunday night hockey league that is populated primarily by superstars over the age of forty. My goalie, a part-time CEO and professional goalie for our team sent me this video. It made me laugh and long for the cold-war era. I especially like the goalie-on-goalie action scenes.

I Shouldn't Be Alive

I recently watched a ridiculous show called “I shouldn’t be alive”. Without being exact, it went something like this: “My friend and I decided to paddle to thru the Bering Strait in our canoe in December. We lost a paddle and were soon stranded on a rocky island. We lived on seabird eggs and got hypothermic until we were able to build a fire. The fire signaled the cast and crew of a passing crab fishing vessel filming “Deadliest Catch”. Luckily, they rescued us although we lost all our limbs in the incident”.

It made me think of other near-death experiences in my life.

In the 1980’s while working at Eastman Kodak, I worked with a guy who was on Eastern Airlines flight 232. This was the flight that lost all hydraulic pressure and cart-wheeled down a runway in Iowa killing 111 of its passengers and crew. He was one of the 194 people that lived through the crash. He walked away physically unscathed and the very next week, he came to work.

I’ve never had quite such a harrowing experience but I’ve come near to death a couple times in my life.

During one of those brilliant moments that can only happen when you are 16 years old, I was riding, with no helmet, on the back of my friend’s motorcycle, trying to make some insignificant date at 115 mph. I remember seeing him move his head slightly to one side and very quickly. Just then a giant moth hit me dead-center in the forehead. As my feet came off the pegs of the motorcycle, I simultaneously began falling backwards off the machine while reaching for the jacket of my mate. I caught his jacket and survived to pick moth out of my hair and eye lashes for the next week.

Years later, I moved to Kansas City to go to college. One day, one of my friends approached me for a ride. The previous weekend, he’d gotten rather inebriated and had “lost his car”. Whilst on the drive down to the impound lot we got lost. I went to u-turn the 1972 Toyota Corolla around and the last thing I remember was a Mac Truck emblem about to smash into me. At 55 mph, the truck hit the driver side pillar and ripped the engine from the frame. The remains of the car spun 720 degrees. Other than a broken shoulder and many bruises, we came out unscathed.

Years later while living in Hong Kong, we used to take the HK Ferry from HK island over to Kowloon. One day, we were de-ferrying on the Kowloon side. The metal walkway descended to the pier and three of us were standing on the platform when a giant, rouge wave hit the ferry, pitching it violently into the pier. We were all thrown violently and the lady with us on the platform was thrown into the bay. She was crushed between the 1000 person ferry and the pier while we were only thrown backward onto the boat.

We made the Hong Kong newspaper the day after the rouge wave hit us, but to date, I haven’t received any offers the appear on stupid television programs.

The Wizard of Id

The other day, my colleagues and I got into a discussion about the ego of blogging. Their implication was that to blog was to be egotistical.

After nearly one year of writing, I’ve churned out nearly 200 posts. Even so, I realize that I will probably never reach a mainstream audience. I guess that stories about Minnesota, winter, and most frequently, variations on the theme of moose, about which I typically blog, don’t contain the cachet required to attract a wider audience.

I’ve previously thought that my main reason for blogging was to fulfill a need for self-expression, to create a play, something theatrical. But the LHCB story has no central thread. Except for the reoccurring “moose” theme, it consists solely of a disjunctive set of stories.

But it is not driven by the Ego:

Ego: The ego is an inflated feeling of pride in your superiority to others a feeling of self-respect and personal worth

I believe it is channeled through the Id:

Id. The id’s working processes are completely unconscious in the adult, but it supplies the energy for conscious mental life, and it plays an especially important role in modes of expression that have a non-rational element, such as the making of art. The primary method for unmasking its content is free association.

So I’ve determined that this particular blog is not driven by Ego, but by the Id; driven by a need for expression. It is cathartic.

But what I really think is the pseudo-Freudian rationale outlined above is a load of bullocks. Blogging is mainly a great way to poke fun at my neurotic friends in an anonymous and public forum! Happy New Year to Howard Hughes, George Clooney, Bob, M. Slither, Super Dave and the rest of the “faithful readers”.