The Web Site Formerly Known As
Chez Chaz

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The Charles G. Hill Web Pages, HTML Bad Example and Bandwidth Wastage Station
Dustbury, Oklahoma, USA

"We are born crying, live complaining, and die disappointed."
- Thomas Fuller, M.D. (1654-1734)

Vital features:


The Vent

Oh, the places I've been

Random scribbles

The Chaz Awards

The Chaz Music Room

Stillsane: a Carolyne Mas page

The Femmes Invisible Database

Further comment from me would be superfluous

People I have loved, known or admired

Your 15 minutes are up

A brief history of Dustbury

Message board

World Currency Cartel report


This page is dedicated to Jessica Jane Stults, who taught me the value of online communication many years ago, and to Anastacia Rachelle Lear, whose own home page, Kitiara's Palace, served as my first object lesson in the fine art of home-page construction. Please do not blame them for this site.

If you're drawing a blank so far, you may have me confused with someone else.

Web space courtesy of

Nifty digits accumulated and displayed by Site Meter.

Special thanks to Laura Lemay, Kevin Werbach, Jeffrey Zeldman, and Steffanie LeCompte.

Copyright © 2000 by Charles G. Hill.
All rights reserved. Read this site's revised (October 2000) privacy policy.

Charles G. Hill

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The hard way

Thursday, 19 October 2000, 8:10 pm

The service manager was baffled. "We are unable to duplicate the symptoms you indicated," he said, and sure enough, Molly was running just as nicely as ever.

Not wishing to go through this again, I hiked across the street to the sales department and basically traded my life away for Molly's younger sister. So far, Sandy seems nice enough — it does run in the family, after all.

As for Molly, I'm sure she'll find a good home somewhere. And she dropped her trunk lid on my head while I was retrieving my possessions. Temperamental to the last, she was.

(Note to Barbara at Fred Jones: Computers, like I said, are hardly ever as reliable as they're supposed to be.)

Wednesday, 18 October 2000, 5:50 pm

George W. Bush now admits that the wealthier you are, the greater a benefit you would derive from his tax plan. Well, duh. Who paid in most of those taxes? Sure, I'd like to get a $50,000 tax break, but since I don't make fifty grand a year, let alone pay fifty grand in taxes, it's highly unlikely I'm going to get one. Under the Bush plan, I'm promised a comparative pittance — a couple hundred bucks or so. Then again, Al Gore's "targeted" tax cuts won't give me a dime.

By the way, if you followed that link and read the article, you may have seen this line: "More than one of three Americans on the Forbes 400 list are self-made men." Ignoring the trivial gender issue that this line invites, you might still conclude, as I did, that somewhat less than two of three Americans on the Forbes 400 list are self-made men, which doesn't at all help the author's argument that wealth is one's deserved reward for productivity and enterprise. Not that I take it personally, of course — so long as they pay their taxes.

Tuesday, 17 October 2000, 7:00 pm

Any notions of trading Molly for something newer and/or less temperamental flew out the window during the trip downtown; even the densest Daewoo dealer wouldn't take this poor little creature in trade in this condition. So she's boarded at the Expensive Care Unit, and in the meantime I'm getting some seat time in a Ford Focus.

This hypernew compact — accent on hype — is actually a pretty nice ride, despite its ungainly proportions. There's plenty of room for four, maybe five if three of them are utterly inseparable and/or joined at the pelvis. Some of the plastic bits inside were apparently filched from the Fisher-Price parts bin, but the arrangement is mostly sensible, considering that it's a Ford. I took the long way home to check its credentials, and while the Focus — this is the El Cheapo base version, of course — doesn't have quite the tenacious grip of, say, the Mazda Protegé (yes, Dr C, they do spell it that way), it's happy in its role as More Than A Mere Econobox. The blue-oval guys did all right with this one. I just hope their Japanese protectorate learns something about transmissions in the next few years.

Monday, 16 October 2000, 6:15 pm

It appears to be time to put Molly out to pasture, after a mere 25 months. The perceived problem — torque converter lockup doesn't unlock, causing stalling. Not that I'm an ASE-certified mechanic or anything, but I do have a certain amount of insight into these transmissions. Of course, the warranty is up, not that it matters.

Needless to say, this pushes the Stress-O-Meter way off the scale, since I owe more on this car than it could possibly be worth in trade, and a hefty repair bill doesn't help. It's getting to the point where the best I can hope for is a massive myocardial infarction. You may think I'm overreacting. On the other hand, if you're at all familiar with the rest of this site, you're probably surprised I don't have a revolver against my temple already. We are all born under a sentence of death; some of us, it appears, are fortunate enough to be able to look forward to it.

Sunday, 15 October 2000, 8:45 pm

I admit — sometimes I'm actually willing to boast — that this particular Web design, while about as up-to-date technologically as your dad's 386, is at least functional, and it loads with something resembling speed. For the exact antithesis of such considerations (our thanks, if thanks they be, to, try By a considerable margin, this is the most irritating page I have ever seen — worse than Bud Uglly Design, worse even than B1FF#S K3WL H0M3 PAG3. At least Bud and Biff were funny.

Sunday, 15 October 2000, 3:10 pm

After a mere fifty-one weeks of procrastination — geez, is that Godot coming over the horizon? — I have finally gotten around to updating the various Stillsane pages. About 60 people a month wander over here looking for Carolyne Mas information (up from two or three when I started Stillsane in 1996), and I do hope they're happy with the new material.

I caught a Honda Odyssey ad on the tube last night with the following scintillating dialogue:

Kid in back seat: "Are we there yet?"
Dad: "Nope."
Kid in back seat: "Good."
This strikes me as slightly implausible; most people end up having to resort to devious means to anesthetize the little carpet-crawlers.

Sunday, 15 October 2000, 12:00 am

I still can't figure out what Equity Broadcasting, a group from Arkansas, is going to do with their TV facility on channel 30 (or their DT facility on channel 29). Right now, what visibility they have in the Okay City comes from a low-power station that carries the music-video programming of The Box; their Web site (warning: requires Shockwave Flash) mentions other stations in the general area, with a hint that they may ultimately be formed into some sort of statewide network, but there's no mention at all of KQOK, the call letters assigned to their channel 30 facility, despite the fact that KQOK, unlike their smaller properties, packs a 5-megawatt punch and presumably will reach a lot farther than their Box station, which I can barely receive halfway across the county.

Saturday, 14 October 2000, 5:10 pm

Received Wisdom at the supermarket today: "Do not, I repeat, do not, let a woman do your hair, girlfriend. They always have something in the back of their mind and they take it out on your head." This wasn't addressed to me; then again, while a woman does do my hair, it's not like she has a great deal to work with, regardless of what her agenda may be.

More useful, at least from my point of view, was the return of the "10 percent off all the frozen food you can stuff into this bag" promotion. If you can't get $60 worth in there for $54, you're not trying. (I didn't try that hard, and wound up with a mere $21.60 - um, $19.44.)

Rolling Stone has weighed in with its official editorial endorsement of Al Gore, complete with the unbearable lightness of a Jann Wenner interview. I'm starting to think Wenner should turn the whole shebang over to Rob Sheffield — Pop Eye is one of the few consistently readable items in RS these days — and concentrate on Us. Fawning over celebrities, at least, has a precedent.

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