Bruce Lee died 36 years ago today, the victim of brain swelling/an averse cannabis reaction/a family curse or one of any number of other rumored fates that doomed him at the young age of 32. (My favorite is the Hong Kong coroner's official "death by misadventure" announcement, a cause of death I'm sad to see fell out of fashion before David Carradine's more genuinely adventurous demise, but I digress.) Local officials jumped on the occasion, with the owner of Lee's former home -- which has since become a no-tell motel with hourly rates -- vowing to establish a Lee museum on the premises. And he's got $13,000 for anyone who can come up with the best design.
Octogenarian landlord Yu Pang-lin plans to donate the premises, which he said he hopes will include a memorial hall, a library, a kung fu studio and a film archive. He'll join Lee's daughter Shannon and a panel of other local authorities and experts in judging submitted designs, one of which they will greenlight by December at the latest.
Beyond that, nobody knows who will actually pay for building the museum; the Hong Kong government told attendees at a press conference today that it had begun collecting artifacts, belongings and interviews for a forthcoming documentary. One can only imagine the prime footage of the building's current habitues, half-dressed with their faces blurred, cracking one Enter the Dragon joke after another between bittersweet farewells. Best of luck to them and all the competitors.