Musings directly from my muse

Hot Cross Bunnies!

Singing for Dummies...

I have really weird dreams sometimes.   I remember many of my dreams in fairly good detail (at least for a little while), and I tell my girlfriend about them.   She's one the who tells me they are weird.   That's how I know.

 

Let's take last night's dream.   I know I dreamt more than this, but the tail end of the dream that I caught in the 6 minutes of "snooze alarm time" is still pretty fresh.   In it, I was singing to/about a dummy.   No, really...a ventriloquist's dummy.   

 

I don't know what the event was, but I was on stage with my dad (who turns out to be Hank Hill from "King of the Hill" -- wow!), and we had to say something from our family -- you know, something like "Happy Holidays from the Hills" or whatever.   As soon as each family said their piece, the ventriloquist would do his little show for our entertainment.

 

Well, I saw that microphone, and I just snapped.   I started improvising right there on the spot.   Apparently, the band (oh, I forgot to mention, the ventriloquist brought an 80's band with him for some reason) was feeling it, and they backed me up on my little improvised poem.  

 

Honest to god, these were the words to my "dummy song," sung to the tune of Bon Jovi's "Always."

 

There's a little guy

Yeah, he's a little small

And, if you don't help him

He doesn't do much at all

Yeah, we all know him

He's made of wood and nails (at this point of the dream, I thought, "Shit!   I meant nails and wood.   What rhymes with 'nails?'"

And if you don't give him a hand

Well, he always fails (Whew!)

Yeah, I wanna hear him talkin'

I was see him move

But, baby, that's surely gonna happen

Once he gets in his groove!

And, I....will....listen to you, Biiiiiiiiiiiiilly (the puppet's name was Bill)

'Cuz you're my little man

And, you can talk, any time you want

Billy, I know you cannnnnnnn.....

 

Then there was a big guitar solo and the crowd went wild.   I got of stage, and...

 

...woke up to the alarm.

 

See, I told you it was weird.

Posted by: Windhazel at 07:46 | link | comments (3) |
pointless

Windhazel Unmasked?

I remember back in high school, Kiss came out with an album called "Unmasked."   Just the name of the album was a big deal because no one really knew what Gene Simmons, Paul Stanley, Ace Frehley or the other guy who nobody cared about really looked like.   Sadly, the joke was on all of us, because the album art just had a cartoon strip where they took off their "masks" and they looked exactly the same as they did with the masks on.  It would take another three years for Kiss to give up their gaudy makeup in favor of just wearing heavy mascara on their "Lick It Up" album.   It would take about three seconds for most of us to wish that they would put the makeup back on.    Kiss is not a particularly good-looking bunch.

 

You know, I struggle with the same questions as to unmask myself here in this blog.   Based on past blogs, anyone who really wanted to find out who I am in person could piece it together pretty quickly and without much math.   And, there are about a cubic bazillion pictures of me on the Internet, so that's not exactly a mystery either.  (That's right -- I'm Tom Cruise.   Katie and Suri say "hi.")

 

But, somehow, I just don't feel right about saying, "Oh, yeah.   By the way, I'm so-and-so, and don't you recognize me from my milk carton pictures?"   It just feels so...um...icky somehow.

 

Oh, it's not that I don't like who I am.   Good lord, no!   Anyone who knows me is aware of the fact that I find myself one of the best people to be around!   I'm charming, fairly good-looking, funny, smart, and (best of all) incredibly modest.    You know that song, "Oh, Lord, It's Hard to Be Humble?"   Yeah, it's about me.  ;-)

 

Anyway, back to the point.   It's not because I'm insecure about who I am that I don't post pictures on this blog.   Instead, it's another reason.   And that reason is...

 

...well, I don't know what that reason is, but I'm sure it's a good one.

 

I guess part of this is that I really don't want my boss, coworkers, or friends out here mucking about in my life.   I see people like Hawkeye and DJ Groovy Slug, and they just put themselves out there to their friends.   They probably put their blog on their business cards or something, "Hey, I'm DJ Groovy Slug.   Why don't you come out to my blog and see what fun things I've said today.   You'll be amazed, astounded, and likely amused by my quips, quotes, and quibbles.   Fun will be had all!   Huzzah!"    But she's funny and interesting and I'm just...well...me.

 

Of course, I really don't want people I know to read the stupid things I've written.   Part of it is because I've written some really personal things.   Part of it is because I've detailed exactly what a freaking moron I am in excrutiating detail.   (P.S.   Don't worry...I do stupid things every day.   More stupidity to come.  Oh, I can't wait!)   Part of it is because....well, I can't think of another part, but I'm sure I have a third part trapped in my brain somewhere.

 

Also, I have this every lingering suspicion that if I wrote my first name or posted a picture that some future employer would do a Google search and come across my blog.   That would be bad, bad, bad.   I can just hear them in the executive washroom at my potential place of employment discussing my blog.  

 

"Oh, Chaz, did you read Windhazel's blog?"  

"Oh, did I, Jonathan!   I almost peed myself when he was talking about when he put his foot through the windshield of his car!"  

"I know what you mean, Chaz.   He's obviously not XYZ Company material.   Too bad, because I was seriously considering hiring him with a rather sizable increase in his current salary!"   Then they would chortle amongst themselves, finish their business at the urinals, and wipe their boogers on the wall.    At least, I think they would.   Those bastards!   I hate them!

 

A secondary reason is that I really don't need any more ego stroking.   Really, if my ego were a cat, you'd be able to hear it purr from Jupiter.   I stroke it enough myself.   Sometimes my girlfriend helps, and then my ego gets really big, then I put on some soft jazz, pour a little wine, and...

 

Okay, really, back on topic...

 

I just don't want this blog to turn into a Myspace situation.   God, please shoot me if this becomes a Myspace blog.   "Here's my picture, here's my current dating status, and I'm a Virgo." <shudder>    I actually have a MySpace blog with my picture on it and I get all these weird, unsolicited "friend requests" from people.    Of course, I haven't posted a blog entry in Myspace since...oh...2005, but I still get them.   This makes me think that it's not really my personality that they're interested in.   

Oh, this is seriously off-topic, but I have a propensity to attract seriously overweight women.   I don't know why, but that's the way it works out.   Lucky me.   The e-mails usually read:  "Windhazel, I was looking at your blog, and I thought you'd be a good 'friend.'   Here's my picture."    What I get is a blurry picture of a woman who could be a close relative to Bigfoot.   Mostly, I'm happy that the picture is blurry, because there are some things you don't want to know.    I'm left wondering, "Is that Tom Selleck?   I mean, it looks like Bigfoot has a mustache.   What is that?!"    Just in case she's reading, the current girlfriend isn't anything like a Sasquach.   I call her Nessie and she has a "loch" on my heart.  (Just kidding, honey!   You're really very beautiful and wonderful and I would trade you for all the Bigfeet in the world!)

 

So, I don't know about all the anonymity.   Why not just unmask myself and say, "Yeah, I said it.   Big deal."   It would certainly be easier to say my name than to have to keep changing all references to myself as Windhazel or Mr. Hazel or whatever.   But, on the other hand, I like my privacy too.   What a dilemma!

 

Until I decide that it is okay to come out of the Mo'Time closet (so to speak), I'm sticking with being just Windhazel.   Perhaps in another 3 years I'll change my mind and be posting all sorts of things about myself and my ego. 

 

On that day, I'll "go Kiss" and not makeup.    Then we'll all rock and roll all night and party every day!   Huzzah, indeed!

 

 

 

 

 

 

     

Posted by: Windhazel at 23:57 | link | comments (3) |
reflections

Just a few quick notes about technology...

You know me...I love techonology.   If you've got 1080i resolution, HD DVD, Dolby 5.1 surround-sound, on what we call a BFS (that's big freakin' screen, for you non-techogeeks), I'm in hog heaven.   Add some popcorn and mood lighting, and I'm ready to go, baby!

 

But, tonight I watched two movies that showed the limits of technology.   One was "Lucky Number Sleven" and the other was "The Fast and the Furious." 

 

First, Lucky Number Sleven.   Okay, I have to say that Bruce Willis looks pretty old in this movie, even when he isn't in hi-def.   Bruce, get some Pons or something for that look, because Gene Hackman looks a few years younger than you in most movies.   Yikes!

 

Sadly, no amount of surround sound could hide the dialog that was straight out of the Gilmore Girls.   Why does everyone in this movie have to have some snappy comeback?   After watching this movie, which didn't suck too much, by the way (in Windhazel speak, that's two rabbit paws out of four); I felt a little intellectually violated because real people don't always have something snappy to say.   Oh yeah, and even when I put the movie on "full-screen" mode, it couldn't hide that the plot was pretty unimagnative.   Think Kafka's The Trial meets any revenge movie and you've pretty much got it.

 

Speaking of unimaginative, let's talk about The Fast and the Furious.   I rented this because I figured this would be a quintessential guy movie that would look great at with technology.   Fast cars, Vin Diesel, and...well, fast cars.   The verdict?  It didn't look bad, per se; but if I were on a trite hunt, I wouldn't have to get out my chair.   Good lord, the plot was thinner than Nicole Richie after a week of binge puking!   I thought maybe the car scenes would show of the powers of technology, but they kept going back to the plot...and let's face it, the plot sucked.   At least in Rocky 1 - 6 (we're up to 6 now, right?), we knew the plot but it kept it interesting -- boy wants to fight, boy gets the shit kicked out of him, boy learns something essential about himself, boy kicks the shit out guy who kicked the shit out of him in the first place.   Predictable, but somehow entertaining, none the less.   I still tell my coworkers from time to time, "Let's face it, Rock; ya can't win!"   Now that is clever dialog in some alternate universe! 

 

So, what I have learned tonight is that no amount of technology will make a crappy movie better.   The Matrix II and III proved that to me, but I guess I needed a reminder.    Thank you, Holllywood, for the update!

 

On the other hand, maybe they will release Pauly Shore in Son-in-Law on Blu-Ray.   Hope springs eternal! 

Posted by: Windhazel at 21:28 | link | comments (1) |
rants

A brilliant Christmas!

It was a brilliant Christmas all around this year.

 

First, my dad and grandmother gave me money!   Brilliant!   How did they know I liked money?!   Gadzooks, they are geniuses!   My stepmother also knitted me a scarf in something that is strikingly close to cashmere.   Very, very cool!   The Hazel side of the family was exceptionally bright this year in their gift giving!

 

Then my girlfriend gave me a beautiful black wool overcoat to wear over my dress clothes!   Doubly brilliant on her part -- I get a jacket I totally love, and she gets to be with a man that dresses well!   How smart is that?   What did she get?   Jewelry.   It's like Santa himself came and whispered in my ear that women like jewelry.   Who knew?!

 

My brother gave me a supercool martini set in a nifty carrying case!   Again, this is a fantastically brilliant gift, because martini glasses are the first to break, and you can never have too many shakers (you need at least one for sweet, "girlie" martinis and one for gin/vodka "manly" martinis).   Also, I works well for him because he can stop by my house and have me make him some drinks to "try it out."

 

Speaking of fantastically brilliant, let's hand it to my mom who remembered to get me a Dilbert desk calendar.   Mom, I was starting to look in the mall at the calendars because I was afraid that you forgot.   Thank god you are also brilliant!   That's 365 days of Mom-love in my book!

 

Finally, let's hand it to you who had the good sense to read this pointless blog.    Thank you for being my confidants and ever-supportive bluggies (that's a portmanteau of blogging buddies)!    You guys rock! 

 

I hope all of you have a merry Christmas as well!   Take care of yourselves.

 

Talk to you later.

 

-M

Posted by: Windhazel at 23:22 | link | comments (2) |

It Tux Being Me

Dear Blog:

 

Today, I purchased my first tuxedo.   I am so excited!   

 

Now, I say first tuxedo, but that's a misnomer since I'm not anticipating buying more of them.   To be honest, I really don't do too many black tie affairs where I might need a tuxedo.   But, I do have one holiday party coming up where a tuxedo would be appropriate, so I thought it might be cheaper in the long run to buy a used tuxedo than to rent one for this special occasion.   If nothing else, I might start wearing it to karaoke (I often wear a suit), to complete my Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Bobby Darin song stylings.   I'm not sure it goes with the Johnny Rivers "Secret Agent Man," and Sir Mix-A-Lot "Baby Got Back" songs thought.    I guess they'll have to pretend that I'm dressed more casually for those songs.

 

If nothing else, it's nice to know that I have a tux ready if I ever need it.   I love dressing up.

 

I really don't know when I became such a clothes horse.   One day my closet was filled with jeans and black t-shirts, and the next day, I have a rainbow of colored dress shirts and slacks, countless sport or suit coats, and a cubic buttload of ties.    And I wear them regularly too, if for no other reason is that I like to look nice.

 

I guess part of the reason for my interest in dressing up is that I noticed that when I upgraded my wardrobe, suddenly women found me more interesting.   It's not like my personality changed, but women went from not giving me a second look to giving me second, third, and fourth looks.   The only difference between being treated like radioactive waste and hot stuff is the jacket.  Weird.

 

Also, I quickly learned that you could learn about what makes a jacket "a nice jacket" (I have several books on clothes now), and go to Goodwill and find some really nice jackets.   I always tell people, "For $6 a jacket, you'd be surprised at the fashion risks you can take."   It's really true.   First I had to get over the initial "ooginess" of wearing someone else's clothes, but after that, I quickly built a wardrobe for almost nothing.   Add a little bit for dry cleaning and tailoring, and suddenly you look like a million bucks for $30.   You can't beat that...not even with a stick!

 

So, the new tux has me excited as a schoolgirl to try it out.   Honest to god, I almost considered wearing it down to my mom's for Christmas dinner, but I thought that might be a bit much.

 

Anyway, Blog, it's late and I need to head off to bed.   Take care of yourself, and give your tux a big hug for me.   Last time I saw it, it was out in the bars looking for a some tails.

 

Talk to you later.

 

-M

Posted by: Windhazel at 00:08 | link | comments |
blog letters, mid-century modern life

Between a hard place and...another hard place...

Such is the life of a divorced father...

 

Tonight, I had a bit of good news.   My daughter said that she was staying at a girlfriends house; thus, I had the evening to my self.  I thought, "Hey, since my daughter will be gone, why not invite my girlfriend over for the night."   (Note to new reader:   said girlfriend and daughter do not get along, so it's often best to keep them separate.   See why it's a good idea for girlfriend to come over why daughter is not around?)

 

So, these are the plans I make.   Daughter says she is going to girlfriend's house, I say "My girlfriend, why not come over."   All is well with the world at this point.

 

Until, well....plans change.

 

That's right.   The plans have suddenly changed.   My daughter has decided that it is too dangerous to drive the 5 miles to the friends, and now I have to tell the girlfriend that I was just kidding.

 

And, the fact is, I feel like a creep either way.

 

I mean, it would be wrong to tell my kid, "You almost promised me that you would go to your friends tonight."   It feels a little dirty just typing it.   But, on the other hand, I want to spend time with my girlfriend, and it feels a little crappy to jerk her around based on what my daughter is doing.  

 

The fact is, they aren't going to talk.   That's just not going to happen, nor do I want it to.   After all, I have the most to lose by any animosity, so I really want to be involved in any negoitations.

 

So, Blog, what do I do?   I'm trying to be dad, but I want time for me and the girlfriend too.   I can't just consider my daughter, but also my girlfriend too.   I don't want to be in the middle of this, but I don't want it to do anything that fosters ill-will between my daughter or my girlfriend. 

 

Any advice out there?   Bueller?  Bueller?

Posted by: Windhazel at 20:41 | link | comments (4) |

Putting the For Christ's Sake back into Christmas

*I should warn you.   I have about 4 fairly interesting blogs about which I have taken the time to sketch a preliminary outline.   Hard to believe, but sometimes I actually think through things before I commit them to my blog.   I'm actually writing one that I'm thinking about putting in a fun structure and setting to music.   Think, "Windhazel is an Idiot" to the tune of "A Boy Named Sue."   I'm excited about it!

This is not one of the four interesting blogs.   Sorry.

 

 Oh, and I plan on using the word "shit" occasionally.   If you don't feel like putting up with my "shit," I guess that's up to you.  You won't be the first to tell me that you can't stand me because I'm too full of "shit."  I'm tough.   I can take it.   By the way, those were the last times I used "shit" in this blog.   From now on, you'll be thinking, "Wow!   No shit!"

 

I hate this time of the year.   Really.  Christmas, family, yadda-yadda-freaking-yadda.

 

I guess I really don't see the point.   As I am constantly reminded, "Jesus is the real reason for the season."   Oh, for Christ's sake (pun definitely intended)!    I don't think that anyone over the age of 20 still thinks that Jesus was born on December 25th.    Actually, the Catholic church (which was the only Christian Church at the time, remember), moved it to correspond with a Roman harvest festival .   What's better than 7 days of partying?   Seven days plus one more for Jesus!   More water...oops, now it's wine...for everyone!  Huzzah!  

 

Even if this was not the case, Christmas is such a stressful time.   I'm always at a loss at what to get the two most important ladies in my life, namely my kid and my girlfriend.   I think I do okay, but I always feel like I should have listened a little closer or perhaps pulled out the Magic Eight Ball long before December 20th.   "Dear Magic Eight Ball -- does my girlfriend want nice jewelry?"   Magic Eight ball comes back with a clever answer, "All signs point to 'Yes!'"   Flabbergasted at his insight, I'm often struck dumbfounded.   "You're a genius Magic Eight Ball!   Don't ever leave me alone on the mean streets like my dad did!"  (Okay, my dad really didn't, but whose blog is this -- yours or mine?   That's what I thought!)

 

Sometimes Magic Eight Ball says that my girlfriend wants me to have nice stuff too, so I have to go out and buy it.   Occasionally, Magic Eight Ball has to think about it for two or three shakes before he confesses that my girlfriend wants me to have neat technology.   Magic Eight Ball can be a tease like that.   But eventually Magic Eight Ball comes out with the truth and commands me to buy nice things for myself.  I hear you and heed, Magic Eight Ball!   After all, who am I to question the wisdom of a prognostcator that can be bought for $14.99 at WalMart?

What brings this up is that I was in the mall tonight doing a little last minute Christmas shopping.  You know how they always say, "Get your shopping done so you aren't fighting the crowds at the last minute?"   Guess what!   We're at the last minute, and because so many have battled the shopping crowds earlier this month, there were very few people at the mall.   It was me, some homeless guy, and a few people I swear were on Jerry Springer last week.   Oh, and some teenagers, but I think they live there (probably in a cardboard duplex with the homeless guy), so they don't count.  It made shopping a breeze.   Thank you, early shoppers!   

I forgot how much fun the mall is.   It seems like there are quite a few hard-core sales people out there.   These are the most fun of all.

 

For example, let's take the jewelry store people.   Now, I stroll in the store, just browsing.   The anorexic 20-something behind the counter says, "Oooo...there's a man who knows what he wants!'   I mean, she says this out loud.   To me.   I'm not buying it for a second.

 

Then she starts chatting me up like we're old friends.   "What is your girlfriend like.   Oh, you have taste!   That will be perfect!"   By the way, there is a hundred dollar difference between "very nice" and "perfect."   I'm sure that if I wanted to drop a grand or so, the girl behind the counter would probably come up with some new adjectives, like scrumptious, and tell me that men that know what they want are kind of sexy.    They're twice as sexy if they buy the ring AND the ankle bracelet.  Rowl, baby! 

 

Somehow I resisted their siren's call and don't buy anything.  But, the fun doesn't stop at the jewelers   There are hucksters operating kiosks too.   Hooray!

 

As I was walking back from Barnes and Noble's after buying my brothers some gift cards, I was accosted by a slim 20-something (probably one who couldn't get on in the jewelry store), who stops me in the middle of the mall.

 

"Come here for a second," she says in a low, sultry, bad-Romanian accent.   Obviously she doesn't know that I studied at Piss-Poor Accents-R-Us too.   I must have been a few classes ahead of her or something. 

 

She grabs me by the hand, and leads me to her kiosk.   "Let me show you something."   Although her top is dangerously close to slipping off her shoulder and exposing her bony clavicle, I don't think that's what she means.

 

She continues to hold my hand.   "Let me show you this."   She holds up a rectangular, multicolored cube, and slips it on her finger.   Somehow, the Magic Eight Ball forgot to mention this strange woman with a bad accent in our talks earlier.   I must admit, I find women who can foil the all-knowing Eight Ball strangely intriguing.  I let her continue with her little pitch.

 

She looks deep into my eyes, and begins rubbing my fingernail with the cube.   This is when I notice that her eyes are a striking green.   Well, around the middle they are green.   In the part that is supposed to be white, she has a nice bloodshot look going on there.   I guess in Romania, it's okay for a few drinks before work.   

 

Oh, yeah...back to the fingernail.   She's rubbing it with the cube.   "This cube has four sides.   This side is made with crushed diamond dust.  All the ridges that come with old age (Okay, now I'm old?  Screw you, lady!), the discoloration...everything.   It's gone with the diamond dust."   Her sexy, inebriated eyes find mine for a moment.   Oh yeah...this is hot.   Kind of like watching my cat use his box kind of hot, which is not at all.

 

"This side," she continues, "helps to smooth your nails.    It's pure cotton."   By now, the accent is so thick that I thought she said "pure butter".   Butter on a cube.   Okay, weird, but...sure.   Whatever.   Just rub away, drunken lady.   Butter me up.   Rowl!

 

She flips the cube again.   "This side," she says while softly rubbing my nail.   "This side, is pure silk.   It shines and polishes the nail."  

 

Although there are four sides to the cube object, I never find out what is on the fourth side.   Perhaps more butter.   We'll never know.

 

Finally, after a minute or two of rubbing my nail, she prepares to show me the result.   She says in a deep voice, "Before I show you this, you must promise not to scream."

 

"Do you think I might actually scream?" I respond in an excited, confidential whisper, very intrigued.

 

She leans in to me and says breathily, "You might."

 

She unleashes my new nail, and I can't resist screaming just a little bit.  More of a high pitched, loud squeal than a scream, really.   She seems surprised by my startled scream in the middle of the mall for some reason.   Her surprise at my squealing is a little unexpected.   After all, didn't she just warn me that this might happen?   Sometimes I just don't understand people.

 

To make a long story even longer, she wanted me to have the cream, the cube, the massager (which is a luffa or whatever you call it), for half price -- $34.99.   I tell her no dice.   

 

Then she tells me because she likes me so much, I can get it for $29.99.   Wow!   Little did I realize that my squealing was such a chick-magnet!     One little scream, and I knock $5 off the price.   I underestimate my squealing skills, apparently.

 

Nope.  I can't do it.  Not for $29.99.  Not in a box.   Not with a fox.   Not in a house.  Not with a bony college chick with a fake accent.   Not here or there.   Not anywhere.

 

She even gets her friend with an even-worse Slavic accent to join in with the hard sell.   "Oops, I've already rung it up," the friend says.   "We can't go back."   Umm, no lady.

 

Finally, I disengage myself from these two young girls and continue my shopping sans luffa and nifty diamond, cotton, silk, and butter cube.   Awww....

 

I guess this is what I hate about Christmas -- it's about shopping.   It seems like an excuse to go out and spend a lot of money at a prescribed time, instead of letting people know that you care about them all through the year.   I'd much rather surprise my girlfriend with something on some random day then to do it on Christmas.   Christmas makes it feel so...so...obligatory for some reason.   All the fun is gone.   Now it's mandatory.

 

So, I guess the point of all of this is that Christmas is just another day.   Just like Christians aren't just into Christ on December 25th (are they?), the spirit of giving should be a year long thing; not an experience in blatant salesmanship because the people at the mall know you have to buy something.

And, do we really need a season to buy things for others?   Or, can't every day be about the spirit of giving, love, and charity.   For Christ's sake, can't we have Christmas all year long?    

 

As for me, I'll spend the season praying for the people who work at the mall.   I asked the Magic Eight Ball what was wrong with them, and the Eight Ball said, "Without a doubt."  

 

Man, that's deep.

Posted by: Windhazel at 22:30 | link | comments (4) |
rants

Techno-Bleak

I like to think of myself as a techno-geek.   I'm not quite to the point where I dress up in elf clothes as a System Administrator with a charisma of 7, yet maintaining a healthy strength of 17; but I'm pretty close.   There's something about the smell of freshly unwrapped 5.1 home theater system that just puts a smile on my face and a banana in my pants.  

 

After talking to some other guys, I'm not alone.   (Okay, maybe I'm alone in the banana, some guys just have plantains.   Poor lil' duffers!)    We get together, and pretty soon we're talking about the size of TV we have, the amount of the RAM in our computers, and how much hard drive we have.   It's like being the the bathroom on a submarine -- everybody wants to brag, but nobody really wants to experience the other guy's hard drive first hand.   You can tell me about it, but I'd really prefer you don't show me.  

 

But, there is a point to this rambling and man-posturing -- that point is:  technology sucks.

 

Let me give you an example.   Just yesterday, I stopped by Best Buy to pick up a couple of video games for my daughter for Christmas.   While I was hunting for the ever-elusive prey in Best Buy, the customer service agent, I ran across the section called "New DVD technology."   "Awesome!" I thought.   "I've bought a brand-new, very spiffy DVD player this year!  I'm sure that I can play some of the new DVD technologies.   Couple that with a super-cool, hi-def, LCD TV, so I should be ready to go!"  

 

They had two formats of DVD in this section:   BluRay and HD DVD.   Now, I know that BluRay is fairly new, so I might not be able to play that, but HD DVD -- hell, that should be no problem~   After all, I spent an extra hundred bucks on the DVD player with the 780i to 1080i upconverter.  (By the way, if these terms mean nothing to you, just nod your head and go along...it's really not important.   Let's just say that some techno-geek is sagely nodding his head at the screen right now.)   I hunt without success for a half-hour for someone who can tell me if this will work with my DVD player, but Best Buy people are experts at avoiding eye contact, so I'm left empty handed at the end of my safari.

 

Once I give up looking for a Best Buy guy, I decide to buy Troy on HD DVD.   I rush to get it home, put it into to my shiny new DVD player, and...

 

and...

 

and nothing.   The DVD player comes up with the ever-helpful message 1 - NOPLAY, and nothing happens.   No menu, no special features, no "special screw-you from the producer," nothing.   Nada.   Zip.   Just NOPLAY.

 

Now, I'm thinking that perhaps I have the defective 2006 model of the DVD player.  You know, perhaps my DVD player does, in fact, play HD DVD's, but somehow I need a patch for it to work.   Hmmm...

 

I decide that the best thing to do is to search the Internet for "Panasonic HT740" and "HD DVD."   Normally, this would turn up porn of Britney Spears for some unknown reason, but the gods of Internet searching were merciful today, and I only got links to "Did you mean Panasonic Hottie Head DVD?"  Although this is absolutely NOT what I'm looking for, but I'm feel adventurous, so I click on it.   What do I get?   Porn of Britney Spears!   Thank you, Google...for nothing.  I'm turning my safe search back on.

 

By now, I was ready to give up, after perusing some websites that were absolutely no help and that were obviously written by even bigger techno-geeks than I.   For example, Do I know what my bios is flashed to?   Perhaps I should download new code and burn it to a CD-R, and then upload it to my DVD player bios.    Oh, then perhaps I should just rewire the garbage disposal to accept X.10 commands.   After I get the coffee pot's assembly code up to date, and stand on one foot, perhaps I can watch the movie.    What?!   You lost me at "for example."

 

Finally, in desperation, I went out to Wikipedia.    Wikipedia provided a nice synopsis of HD DVD and BluRay.   The final verdict -- my brand new DVD player will not work with the new technology.   Do you know why?   No one had decided the new techology!    That's right -- we're back to VHS verus beta, and let's let the best man win.

 

Bottom line, I'm left with a DVD that I cannot play on my DVD player.   I'm thinking about regifting it to a friend who has an Xbox 360, which is one of the two players in the known universe that can play the HD DVD.   The rest of us have to buy a new player.   So solly, Cholly...your new player sucks rice patty water.

 
Although I'm disappointed, I must say that this teaches me something about the universe.   If God is a man and we are created in His image, then we would be having surgery that would reveal that we are a cobbled-up bunch of tangled wires inside.   We'd soon find out that Man version 1.0 is not compatable with Woman 1.5, and the whole human race would explode when you plugged it in.   If God were a technologist, he'd throw whatever he had lying around the lab into a plastic sack, then hope that someone developed an interface for it. 

 

Not to worry, we'd all be in fantastic resolution.   Now, if we can only find an Earth that would play us.  Hmmm...

Posted by: Windhazel at 20:20 | link | comments (7) |
rants

Extro-skeleton

If you met me in person, you'd probably think I am an extrovert.   After all, I joke with nearly everyone, I strike up conversations with people I don't know, and I generally gladhand a lot.   I like to think I'm a lot of fun.

 

But, really, I'm not an extrovert at all.   You have no idea how difficult it is for me to go up to someone I don't know and strike up a conversation.   It's even harder when you know that you'll eventually end up introducting them to someone else (like a good host), and you have to remember their names and some smal details about them.   Really, it's very difficult, and I don't like it very much at all.

 

Some people are surprised by this.   I was at an open house, which I was requested to go to, because, in the host's words, "it's not a party without Windhazel, after all."   So, I went.   And I tried to remember people's names who I haven't seen in a year.   I've actually started writing them down so I can study for next year.

 

It's hard to explain to people, even though I put on my "extro-skeleton" when I go out, I still don't want to go out all the time.   I get a charge out of people, and I love to entertain, but I really recharge when I'm only alone.  I suppose that's why I blog so much, this is a chance for me to connect with the world in a rather quiet, peaceful way.  

Okay, suddenly I feel like a Playboy Centerfold.   Did I also mention that I like rainy days, fuzzy kitties, and electric guitars?   See me naked at www.squirrelsgonewild.com.   (I only bring this up because I get so many hits to this blog for people actually looking for this site.   C'mon now...do you really get off on totally naked squirrels?   That's nuts!   See...it's a squirrel joke, because...nevermind.)

 

But, really, I see a lot of introverts out there, and I wonder, "Do they really know what it takes to be Windhazel?   Do they know that I sometimes have a hard time approaching people too?   Do they know that everyone has to start somewhere?"  

 

I wasn't always Mr. Social Butterfly.    When I was a teen, I spent a lot of time leaning against the wall -- presumably looking "cool."   It's funny, but somehow people weren't apt to start a conversation with "Mr. Cool."   I started thinking about how lonely I felt, and I didn't know why people weren't responding to this cool look I had worked so hard to cultivate.  

 

After much reflection, I thought back to a book my uncle had given me for my fourteenth birthday.   It was called Sexual Chemistry:  What It Is and How to Use It.   I had read the book cover-to-cover but had not really implemented anything I read.   I remember that in one section, the author said, "People are not attracted to cool people or wallflowers.   People are attracted to someone who looks like they are having a good time." 

 

Remembering that part of the book flipped a switch inside me from that point forward.   I decided I wasn't going to be a wallflower or Joe Cool any more.   I was going to go out, have fun, and hope that people responded.   I approached it as a skill to be learned.

 

After some initial faltering, I made my social debut in my mid-twenties.   I went out, I stopped caring whether I looked stupid, and I made an effort.   And, it was quite an effort for me to switch my whole approach to social interactions from what had served me (rather poorly) for 20-something years. 

 

You know what?   People responded!   Suddenly, I went from the guy that no one wanted to talk to, to someone who was more at home at parties.   Oh...don't think that I didn't feel nervous and scared, and that I don't still feel nervous and scared when I'm in those situations, but I have developed a skill that serves me well.

 

And, really, this is what my extro-skeleton is -- a skill.   It's tough at times, but it's a skill that has served me very well.   Over the past 10 years, it's been hard; but I'm more at home with that skin that I have been before.   I'm out there everyday talking to people and letting them know what a pleasure it is to meet them.  And then I go home, I take the extro-skeleton off, and I stretch out and recharge.  

 

So, I guess the message here is that, anyone can appear like an extrovert.   If you're an introvert, it helps to know that we're all a little scared, but reaching out can be a very liberating experience.    It can help you connect with people in ways you never would have thought.   You can be the life of the party too, but it is going to take stretching yourself beyond what you think you can do.   It's going to take you stepping outside your comfort zone and believing in yourself.   It's going to take you looking stupid sometimes, but knowing that people will sill be envious that you are out there, while they hide in the shadows. 

 

It's a tough road, but at the end, you'll go home exhausted and you'll still be you -- the wonderful introvert you always were. 

 

Good luck!

Posted by: Windhazel at 17:26 | link | comments (3) |
reflections, how to be a gentleman

The Word Net

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, but still managed to keep eye contact.   "Can you repeat the question again?" I asked.

 

"Tell me about a time when you stuck with something even when you weren't sure it was going to work out," my interviewer responded.   She sat back in her leather chair and waited for my response.   Up until now the interview had gone well, but this could very well be the question that blew it for me.

 

"Wellllll," I said, thinking frantically.   Really, nothing was coming to mind for this answer, but I plunged ahead anyway.   "Ummm...."   Suddenly, a glimmer of an idea lept into my mind, so I went with it.

 

"Uh, well...I was married for over seven years," I began.  My horrified mind screamed at me, "What are you doing?" but I plunged ahead.  

 

"It was pretty clear that it wasn't going to work out for us in the first two, but I stuck with it for another 5 years -- even though it was horrible."   I concluded with, "That was a time when I stuck with something even when I was sure that it wasn't going to work out."

 

My interviewer's face froze.   The words hung in the air like butterflies between us.   You could hear a pin drop for several long, agonizing moments while she started at me, and I forcibly restrained my body from beating itself to death with my notebook.

 

Finally, she let me off the hook.   "Ummm, well...okay then.   Next question."    

 

Not surprisingly, I didn't get the job.

 

But what I did get was an idea for a new and fantastic invention.   This invention will revolutionize communication as we know it, and eventually may even lead to world peace.    I call it the Word Net (tm)!

 

What the Word Net does is catch all the stupid things that come out of your mouth before they have a chance to do real damage.   Say something stupid during an interview?   It will be no problem for theWord Net.   Make a dumb remark to your friends?   Let the Word Net help you clean up the mess.   Accidentally let your girlfriend know that there is someone else?   Time for the Word Net!   You'll simply take the Word Net, capture all those idiotic words, and take them home where you can brutally kill them before they are able to cause permanent scarring.   Truly, this is invention you cannot live without!

 

And the Word Net can be used almost anywhere.   Why just a year or so ago, I was tubing with some friends down the river.   One of my friends, a female, is...well...let's just say that she's blessed in the pectoral region.   Her "blessings" were a frequent source of conversation in our little group.   And really, all in all, she's very understanding about my little jokes.   But she has made it clear that her family is off limits from my brand of particular humor.

 

Perhaps it was because it was a beautiful day.  Perhaps it was because we had been laughing and joking for the past few hours.   Perhaps it was because I was pretty drunk (Personally, I think this is the least likely of the causes).   Whatever it was, I said something about her mother.   And, true to form, she flew off the handle at me.   Heck, right then I could have used the Word Net!

 

But, I am always committed to making a bad situation worse.   "What's wrong, C?   I can talk about your "blessings," but I can't talk about your mom?   Let's split the difference, and we'll talk about your mom's blessings.   

 

In the icy silence that followed, followed by a scalding rant of countless words from her, I sure could have used a Word Net!   She didn't talk to me for almost two months after that.

 

Honestly, the Word Net has thousands of uses!   You can even give them to your family as gifts!

 

For example, I remember the first time that I took my girlfriend to meet my dad.   After the introductions, I took her on a tour my childhood home.  It was going pretty well, until we got ready to show her my bedroom.

 

My father stopped us both in the hallway.   He turned to both of us, me in particular, and with a smile on his face, he nonchalantly remarked, "Oh, yeah.   By the way, when you left last time, you left a mostly full box of condoms in the drawer.   We saved them for you.   Did you want those back?"  

As the words floated in the air between us, I looked to my girlfriend's rather surprised face.   "Uh, no, Dad.   I think you can keep those.   Thanks...I think."   

Just think, if my father had a Word Net, we could have cleaned up those pesky words in a jiffy!

 

You can even use the Word net in your office.   Just the other day, I was being introduced to my boss's boss, and he asked me "What do you do here?"   Without thinking, I responded, "Well, I'm a quality junkie."  Then I did the whole rubbing under my nose thing with my finger and sniffing like a coke addict.   "You know, one good hit and I was hooked."  

 

You could taste the silence, as the words lingered in the air between us doing their happy little dance.   Oh, what I wouldn't have given for a Word Net to catch all those silly words and bang them over the head with a big rock.   What a tragedy I didn't have one with me.

 

DON'T BE CAUGHT WITHOUT A WORD NET!   As soon as I invent them, I'll be marketing them to people who really need them -- politicians, people with Tourette's, and idiots like me.    I think these could be hot sellers!

 

Why, I think I might even get one for my boss.    I remember the other day I was sitting in a management meeting with my boss, and I couldn't resist commenting, "You know, I had a boss who told me that they were in favor of change, as long as they were the one who was leading it."   Immediately, my boss stood up and frantically said, "I never said that!   I said that I was only in favor of good change!   I never said that!"

I paused and calmly looked down the table at her.   The rest of the managers couldn't resist a snicker when I said, "Ummm, L...I never said which boss it was."  

I'm going to get her one for Christmas, I think.

 

Posted by: Windhazel at 17:16 | link | comments (4) |
pointless

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