Crank Calls

I don’t believe in crank calls. I never called a store to ask if they had Prince Albert in a can. It’s not that I don’t like a good joke – I just don’t like aggression, and there are few things more aggressive (in my humble opinion) than to activate a klaxon in someone’s home, place of business, pocket, or blue tooth that demands immediate attention.

So I don’t believe in making phone calls of any description, not to mention crank calls.

Transforming a call into a crank call when someone aggressively rings a bell in my ear is another matter entirely.

Ring, ring

Headley: Beauchamp, ques-que-sais?

Caller: I’m very sorry; I was looking for Headley Hauser. I seem to have called the wrong number.

Headley: De rien. (hangs up.)

Of course I’m counting on the caller having neither a knowledge of French, nor an ability to distinguish that my accent comes from that part of France that is just west of Greensboro, North Carolina.

Maybe that’s more properly in Quebec.

If the caller responds in French, I would probably say – uno momento (completely ignoring the fact that that’s Spanish,) put the phone receiver down and leave the room. They can wait all day if they want – I don’t mind the phone staying off the hook. What’s the worst that can happen – I miss a few phone calls?

As soon as email came around, the telephone was dead to me. I hear that some folks say that as soon as texting came around, that email was dead to them – but they’re barbarians and they don’t even write out their words properly.

But still the phone hangs on the wall in my kitchen taking up space like that slicer/dicer machine that does EVERYTHING… except I’ve yet to use it out of fear that it will scoff at me for not properly appreciating julienne fries.

Yes the phone is on the wall and NOT in my pocket. Why anyone would want to carry around a device that can rip them out of the serenity of driving in rush hour traffic, or the enjoyment of an ice cream headache from sucking on a Friendlies Fribble, I’ll never know.

Once in a while that phone on the wall rings, and the routine begins again – “Volkov, kak va?”

I’ve made a point to learn foreign-sounding names and terse greetings in 15 different languages. I may not remember them all correctly, but it’s not as if my goal is communication. That’s why I had to stop using my Spanish greeting – too many people understood what I was saying, or even corrected my gringo pronunciation.

Those who know me well are not fooled. They just ignore whatever I say.

Headley: Jer shrr Li.

Caller: Yeah, Headley, you need to tell Go Figure Reads to move your books out of my store, nobody’s going to buy them.

Headley: War yaoww chyoo tser-swor.

Caller: Right, and soon, please. James Patterson is coming out with a new book he had someone else write for him, and if I don’t display 30 cases, a crack CIA strike team will burn my building down.

Headley: Wor ting boo-dong

Caller: Yeah, you too.

…

I know I had a point to make here.

If you can think of it, give me a ring.

But the master of phone humor will always be the beloved Bob Newhart.

Chapbooks!!!

Four years ago, Go Figure Reads asked me to put together two chapbooks, one of stories, and one of old columns. Being a diligent fella, I handed them in a couple months later, thinking they’ll want to publish these shortly after Trouble in Taos finally gets released.

Then two years later they told me to start this blog. After a few months of the blog, the chapbook with old columns got thrown out. Then they went to work on the remaining chapbook, gutting most of my work, adding stuff, and dividing it in two.

Well, at least I was going to get some money out it…

Nope. (%^$*@@&!Z*QQQ##*) They’re free.

Postage isn’t, but they’re free.

If you want your own copy of The Money Mountain (and other stories) along with Mortified (and other stories) send me a stamped self-addressed envelope large enough to enclose two 9x6 (actually 81/2”x 51/2” but by saying 9x6, I will hopefully avoid those who send a tiny envelope suitable for Tinkerbelle’s hankie and expect two honking chapbooks to be stuffed inside by magical fairy dust.) The postage on your SASE should be 182 cents (AKA a dollar – eighty-two,) in whatever postal denominational configurations you choose to employ.

Send your request to:

Headley Hauser

c/o Will Wright

5765-7 Hickory Knoll Dr.

Winston-Salem, NC 27106

Helpful tip: If you put two dollars and twenty-eight cents on the outer envelope, the post office will cancel all the postage – not just the forty-six cents to get your letter to me. They’re just that way. You won’t get any chapbooks from me – though I might mock you in a later post. I’m just that way.

So… you aren’t asking, so I’ll ask to cover your embarrassing silence, when do the e-books come out so we can save our one hundred and eight-two pennies, our honking big envelope, and the pain of addressing and licking stuff.

Well – based on track record, I’d advise you to check back in about four years.

MORTIFIED

(and other stories)

In This Book

The Only Roach: One roach has enough sense to avoid the exterminator’s trap. Now can he learn to live in a house of humans?

Toto in Munchinland: You know the story. Now see it through the eyes (and nose) of Dorothy’s little dog.

Mortified: Stan Plotz tried to play it safe. He died anyway. This is going to require some adjustment on his part.

The Money Mountain

(and other stories)

In This Book

The Money Mountain: Commerce could get confusing in the land of Monet, but how much “help” was too much?

Doeg’s Story: A songbird meets another bird in a lovely garden. There’s something about the other bird’s golden tether that seems disturbing.

The Crow and the Weeping Man: The kingdoms of Plenty and Bountiful fight for the Bay of Piscane. The Crow can bring victory – but what of the weeping man?

Here's a little help when you're counting up those old 5 cent postage stamps.

Stanley McFarland’s Top Ten

So fellow Go Figure Reads writer, Stanley McFarland sees I’m doing lists of ten and he mentions that he has one himself in this month’s edition of Bethlehem Writers Roundtable.link Stanley’s not exactly a barrel of laughs, but I figure free material for the blog is free material for the blog. If you like this kind of serious stuff, you might want to check out his story, Sammy and May in the same issue.

Sounds That Make Me Smile

by Stanley W. McFarland

1)  A baby’s laugh.  You see a creature so completely innocent and awe-inspiring – then she pours out wisdom she’ll never top in her life.  Was I ever so wise?

2)  A train whistle.  A doorway to imagination – a train can lead to anywhere, from a grisly battle to an animated wonderland.

3)  Rain on the roof.  Do I smile because there is so great a sea of water above me – or because the roof keeps me dry?

4)  The whirring of an automatic can opener.  I think of all the cats I’ve known – poised, wishing, dreaming of that sound.

5)  A bat hitting a baseball.  Do I love baseball for the sights, smells, and sounds – or the game?  Which came first…

6)  Playing cards clacking in the spokes of a bike.  You almost never hear this anymore.  As a child it made me wish I was on a motorcycle.  As an adult it makes me wish I was a child.

7)  Opening theme music from the 1996 animated version of The Tick.  Okay, that might just be me.

8)  Dixieland Jazz.  Satchmo – I miss you dearly.

9)  Crickets, peepers, bullfrogs, an owl calling to its mate.  The quiet of the night cleans the noise from the world and leaves the beauty.

10) The heartbeat of the one I love – my head resting on her chest.  The rest of the world grows dim.

Sometimes people ask me why I can’t be more like Stanley.

 To be honest, Stan kinda reminds me of this guy.

I’ll admit – he’s more sensitive than I am, even poetic, but I can write sensitive. I even write poetry! On Monday, I’ll post some of my poetry – really good sensitive crap. You’ll like it!

I'm Not Stupid!

Headley Hauser – that’s me. You might have seen my TV show, Headley and the Rug (and Cral) or read my novella, Trouble in Taos, or seen my exquisite articles in prestigious newspapers, bound compilations, web sites, and bathroom walls across the country.

Just Plain Stupid – that’s not me. I’m not stupid. Really – I’m not stupid. Alright, if you look at my latest business card it says “just plain stupid,” under my name, but that’s not my fault. I didn’t do that. You see, I write for an outfit called Go Figure Reads dot com. I write for them because… well, they’re the best I could get.

And do they know it! I don’t want to say I’m being abused but, I’m being abused. First of all, I’ve written a bunch of stuff that’s just bursting with publishability, but they’re sitting on it. It took ‘em forever to release Trouble in Taos, and then they put a bunch of stupid junk in there to ruin it for all of us. They also came up with the business cards, and now… this blog.

“You have lots of stupid stuff, Headley,” they say to me. “Why not blog it and see if anyone is willing to read it? After all, Dave Barry made a career of being stupid, not to mention Christopher Moore, Douglas Adams, and the Carls, Hiaasen and Lombardi, so why can’t you?”

First of all, I agree that Barry and both Carls write stupid stuff – or used to write stupid stuff in the case of Barry who now spends his time playing the guitar, and having high-profile marital problems, but Adams is dead, and Christopher Moore wrote, Lamb, the best book since I learned to read, so don’t talk about them.

“Yeah, stupid stuff like that,” they say. “Put it all in your blog, and stop bugging us to publish it.”

So why do I put up with this abuse? I don’t know. Maybe I’m ADHD, or have COPD, IBS, or FDIC. Maybe it’s OCD.

I wrote a song about OCD for my TV show. It would have been a big hit if anyone had watched. Imagine an obsessively compulsive, droning tune that gathers enthusiasm and intensity as it goes.

OCD

Is good for me

I would not any

Other way be

So I don’t want

Your therapy

For OCD

Is good for me

OCD

Is good for me

With afternoons

Spent blissfully

Counting the leaves

On my front yard tree

Yes, OCD

Is good for me

OCD

Is good for me

I count the seconds

It takes to pee

Still have that eighth grade

Locker key

Cause OCD

Is good for me

OCD

Is good for me

I seal the tines

On my rotisserie

I organize

My socks weekly

See? OCD

Is good for me

OCD

Is good for me

I’ll tune your doorbell

When it’s off key

And count your freckles

One two three

Sure, OCD

Is good for me

OCD

Is good for me

No need to tie me

Elbow to knee

You attached my electrodes

Sloppily

Hey! OCD

Is good for me

OCD

Is good for me

My head sounds like

A buzzing bee

Do you think this shock

Will set me free?

Nah, OCD

Is good for me!

OCD…

OCD…

Ah, the heck with it

Let’s go see some mud wrestling

Sigh… Maybe my stuff is a little stupid.

Headley