I’ve dealt with my fair share of hosting companies since I went live on the internet in 1999. As you can expect, some were Read More...
Three-dot journalism
Caen was a practitioner of three-dot journalism. That means short items delivered by tipsters, separated by three periods. Gossip style, now long out of fashion. The guy was so buried in hot tips that he had something like three secretaries to type and answer the phone and fact-check each item before publication. In 1971, Strange arrived in S.F. and began mailing witticisms to Caen, and he kept at it until 1997 when Caen died. His first missive to the columnist read: “Since I didn't believe in reincarnation in any of my other lives, why should I have to believe in it in this one?” Caen printed it.The machete maniac and the blue carpet
And an item in the column described an incident on a BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) train while in the underwater Oakland-S.F. bay tube. Some dude was running for his life as a guy in a dress chased him, screaming, and wielding a machete. And that was it. I wondered what happened when the chase ended, since a train aisle isn’t anything like a street where you might get away. Talking with that dress designer guy later, I found out the machete-wielding maniac was him! My jaw dropped in astonishment. The guy he was chasing had hit on him. Can you imagine? The girl (or whatever) you hit on pulls out a small ax and takes a swing at you with it then chases you as you flee in panic. Then there was some advice that Caen offered to an executive in a financial district office building. The piece was vague about the building’s exact location, but he described the office as having a blue carpet. And then he revealed that this male exec and his female assistant would spend their lunch time on the blue carpet, naked, doing naughty-naughty things to each other. His advice? Close the blinds because…across the street…one and two and three stories up...their trysts were observed by dozens of office workers pressed up against the windows. I just lost it. I couldn’t stop laughing. I wondered if any of them brought binoculars or a telescope to work. I also wondered whether the guy was married. Imagine his wife reading that item. “Hey, wait a minute. Carl’s office carpet is blue!” Ouch!My Christmas gift to the commuters
I made Herb Caen's column once. At the time, I lived in Benicia, some 30 miles northeast of S.F. For some years, each Christmas Day, I would drive across the Benicia-Martinez bridge in the free direction, turn around and go back, and stop at the toll booth. Now, back then, the toll was a buck. I would hand the toll-taker $11 and say, “This is for me and the next 10 cars. Wave them through and say ‘Merry Christmas from Mike.’” And then I’d go home. That really surprised those behind. Some would catch up with me, smile, honk and wave.The overwhelming sense of loss
San Francisco, and the entire Bay Area, was shocked and saddened to learn that Caen had been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. And so the city put on Herb Caen Day to celebrate the life of this newspaperman who brought joy to so many. Strange de Jim’s website says: “San Francisco’s Chief of Protocol, Charlotte Mailliard (now Shultz) organized Herb Caen Day for Friday, June 14 (1996). Charlotte called and invited me to ride in the parade down Market Street, sit on the temporary stage in front of the Ferry Building, and then attend the luncheon afterwards. The parade was to start from the Chronicle building at 5th & Mission Streets.” The San Francisco Chronicle described him this way: “Herb Caen was the voice, the conscience, the civic maestro of a San Francisco that was part reality, part a myth of his own creation.” There's something more. If it was part myth, that myth was instilled in those who lived in and loved that city. The city dedicated a 3.2-mile length of bay sidewalk as Herb Caen Way. When Caen spoke from the podium, he said with great heart and fondness: “I hope I go to Heaven, and when I do, I'm going to do what every San Franciscan does when he gets there. He looks around and says, 'It ain't bad, but it ain't San Francisco.'” Herb Caen: April 3, 1916 to February 1, 1997 (age 80). Pulitzer Prize winner. The last of the three-dot journalists. Read hundreds of Strange's witty remarks to Caen here. The San Francisco Chronicle
If you’re hungry for more blog posts, Feedspot.com can fix you up. This page is courtesy of Anuj Agarwal. Go check Read More...
Here’s a common goof that always gets an eyeroll from me. When do you use “trooper” and when do you use “trouper”? Read More...
Let’s talk about rain, rein and reign. Three words that sound the same but live wildly different lives. Imagine them as Read More...
Let’s resolve a headache, the one that has plagued writers since…well, the plague. It is: when to use “affect” versus “effect.” Read More...
I thought this excellent opinion piece I found in the New York Times would be of interest to those who visit this site. Mr. Read More...
Here’s a treat for you, a wonderful true story found on a Facebook group called: My Cat is an Asshole. I hope you find it as Read More...
I do so love writers. People with boiling imaginations with the gift of turning those ideas into words on a page, to be turned Read More...
Let’s be honest — when we hear the word steroids, a few images probably pop into our heads: bulky bodybuilders, Read More...
I just started reading a new book. It’s about the adventures of a Hollywood casting agent. By page 20, I encountered a lot of Read More...