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Friday, May 31, 2002
I now have what is known as a mullet. . . . And it is glorious! To see the transformation of my hair into it's beautiful state, click on home grown mullet under the ::content:: heading on the menu.
This is probably the best (and worst) picture I have of my mullet. It seems to really bring out the hick in my face. I am so white trash.
Though I have only had the mullet for several hours, I can feel it's power pulsing through my veins. Every passing second, I grow more and more powerful in my mullet. Soon, we will rule the world.
| Mr. McBastard | 4:39 PM | | |
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I've been living in my house for about three years and I finally made good use of the tire swing in the back yard: I swung around in circles and watched the sun come up. I’ve never really noticed it before, but early mornings are full of birds. I've always heard them singing, but I never just watched them. They're everywhere, flying around, having a party.
I imagine that early mornings for birds is the same as Friday nights for humans. They are living it up, hobknobbing and rubbing elbows with all the other bird-folk around. There are birds of all different kinds sitting on telephone wires and fences. There are male birds chasing female birds all over the sky (and, I suspect, some females chasing males as well). I watched a group of five or six finches chase each other around trees, through the air, and even on the ground in some variation on the game of Tag. Though I could never quite figure out who was "it" -- or if there was an "it" -- they seemed to have the game down to an art. There was hummingbird that kept chasing off another hummingbird from his apple-shaped feeder. The barn swallows were probably the most rowdy bird; they careened in and out of every window and doorway on the barn. Their split tail reminds me of spoilers on snazzy sports cars. They were showing off just how cool they could be by swooping perilously close to every post and rafter as they chased each other around the wooden building.
I discovered that there was a cat living in there, in the barn. She was walking next to the horses when she spied me. We looked each other over. She was mostly white but had several patches of dark brown. She had the poise of a domesticated cat – she didn’t slink or make quick glances at every moving thing – and she sauntered like only a cat owned by humans would. But it was obvious by her size and stature that she didn’t have the luxury of laying about all day on someone’s sofa and eating Fancy Feast. She had definitely been an outside cat for some time. After she had looked me over, I guess she decided that I was bad people and trotted back into the safety of the barn. I asked my dad about her and he said that she had just shown up one day, but she was very friendly. He also said that she had a litter of three up in the hay loft. I think I’ll go play with them.
| Mr. McBastard | 7:43 AM | | |
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Thursday, May 30, 2002
Want to see something crazy-weird? Check this out! While you're waiting for that to download, read this article from The Onion: Nerd's Parents Afraid Son Will Fall In With Popular Crowd. The two really aren't related, but both are very funny.
Also, since the comments are "temporarily unavailable" (and reading your comments is actually half the fun of having this website) I've decided to add a message board. It can be found in the menu as ::board::. Now you can start your own discussions instead of just reading mine all the time. Won't this be great? Tell you what, the first person that posts something will get a special prize! So go check it out, kiddies!
| Mr. McBastard | 3:46 AM | | |
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Tuesday, May 28, 2002
I was bored and decided that I didn't know enough about the FreeMasons. I'd heard rumors of conspiracies and such, and being an X-Files nerd, I thought I'd check it out: The Truth is out there! Well, I skimmed through about ten websites or so and found two that were most interesing. The first website is a masonic-sponsored site and actually tells a lot about the freemasons and their history. But this little page of propaganda sounds like all the common rhetoric against conspiricies. Coincidence, or cover-up? Anyway, I also wanted to show another website that is very anit-masonic. This site is basically the quintiscential (sp?) anti-masonic site. It delves deeply into the symbology and secretivism that the masons supposedly subscribe to. All in all, it's a pretty fun read, at the least just to see what ludicrous connections will be made to show how freemasons have taken over our world.
| Mr. McBastard | 5:10 AM | | |
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Monday, May 27, 2002
The following is a scene from the script I recently finished, The Ghosts of Centennial Hall. The full script is on the scripts page under the ::writing:: section. It really needs some revising and editing, but if you have time, read it and tell me what you think.
Scene 11: A dark corner of the library, minutes later
The Library Gypsy looks on the shelf in the background while Ellen and Greg talk in the foreground.
Greg
This is stupid. We're looking up demons in the library?
Ellen
This is the best way to do research. Weren't you paying attention during your campus tour?
Greg
Do you really think we're going to find anything?
Library Gypsy
Having found some books. I think this is what you’re looking for. She produces a huge, dusty old tome. She blows the dust off of it.
Ellen
What is it?
Greg
The Necronomicon?
Library Gypsy
No.
Ellen
A book of ancient evil demons?
Library Gypsy
No.
Greg
The Advanced Dungeons & Dragons Monstrous Manual?
Library Gypsy
No, no, no! It’s uh . . . . It’s just War and Peace. But it was really old and dusty and kind of creepy looking, no?
Greg
Impressive.
Library Gypsy
Yes, and I also found these. She holds out several smaller books with colorful dust jackets.
Ellen
What are those about?
Library Gypsy
Let’s see, we’ve got Creepy Ghosts and Such, Demons for Dummies, and The Begginners Guide to Big Friggin’ Monsters.
Greg
Good.
Ellen
This will do just fine.
| Mr. McBastard | 12:59 AM | | |
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Kim, Justin, and Zach sat in a playhouse that stood in a field behind Justin home. They were laying on a blanket on the floor of the water-soaked, roofless "house." As they talked and laughed, birds in the nearby trees began chirping, heralding the eminent coming of the sun. They had been talking for hours while walking through a cemetery and along soggy gravel roads before coming to rest in Justin’s wooden backyard fortress. It's like a scene from a Stand By Me, Now and Then, or some other coming-of-age of movie, except the three main characters have already "come-of-age" -- or so they had thought.
They thought that they were going to college to find direction, purpose, a life, or at least a major. But after completing two semesters of higher education and returning home for the summer, they found that they were even more confused than they had been only a year ago in high school. Perhaps they weren't more confused; maybe they were just more urgent to locate answers that they had imagined they would have forever to find. But forever turned into four years or less if they wanted to have a job, a house, and a family when they got out of college. The three saw those around them finding niches, making plans, and preparing for the future, and they desperately wanted to do the same. However, they found it hard. What one job could they do for the rest of their lives? What one person could they marry? What about a car? What about a house? What about children, taxes, salaries, retirement plans? What about the rest of my life? They saw others easily answers such questions put before them. Why was this so difficult for them?
And in the middle of these questions, Zach (and probably the others as well) realized that the film was still rolling. The movie wasn’t over. This movie wasn’t a “coming-of-age” movie. There was no age to come to. Sixteen, eighteen, twenty-one; there was no magical age that once you’ve reached you’ll understand everything, know the answer to every question of life. The adventures and misadventures of growing up won’t end until you’ve stopped maturing. And despite what many people had told him, Zach didn’t believe that one is fully mature until one is dead. If you are mature by age twenty-five and you stop growing, thinking, expanding, then you might as well be dead. Life isn’t the happy ending (or tragic ending, in some cases); life is the two or three reels in between when all the plot twists, all the goofy shanangins and sad pitfalls happen. So as long as the theater is still dark except for the flickering of the film as it flashes every new scene onto the giant silver screen, Zach will be content. He won’t keep asking, “What’s going to happen next?” He won’t wonder why there aren’t any subtitles. He won’t even question when the movie is going to make any sense. He knows that it will all come together in the final scene just before the theme music starts playing and the credits come up and the words The End scroll onto the screen.
| Mr. McBastard | 1:00 AM | | |
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Friday, May 24, 2002
Semi-spawned from these comments to this post are these two conflicting thoughts:
Something women's lib., research papers, and sometimes the media itself tells us: Men's preference of desirable physical characteristics of women are influenced by the portrayal of women in the visual media.
Something Mel once told me: "I don't think you can really help who you find attractive."
Does this mean that we can't help who we find attractive because the media tells us who is and isn't attractive? Or does it mean that whoever we find attractive is who the media shows us? Either way, why is there so much complaint and controversy surrounding this topic? If we are looking for someone to blame for people feeling bad about the way they look, why don't we blame those people? I'm not saying that ugly people are ugly because they aren't trying hard enough to look like the beautiful people; I'm saying that ugly people look the way they do because God made them that way. So if there's anyone to blame, it's God. I would like to say that a young girl shouldn't have to feel dismayed and distrought because it is impossible for her to look as skinny as all the girls in her latest issue of Seventeen magazine, but if she does feel distrought it is her own fault. I would also like to say that I shouldn't have to work a day in my life and get a million bucks every hour just for being as cool as I am. However, I'm not going to get it just because I say it. The way we feel about ourselves is influenced by many things and many people. Ultimately, the only way you can feel good about your self-image is to realize that the girl in the magazine is not better than you because of the way she looks. Only you can determine your self-worth.
On a similar tangent, I wrote a poem a while ago called Living in a Magazine that touches on this theme.
| Mr. McBastard | 1:59 AM | | |
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Here is an exerpt from the original story The Glass Dolls that I just put up under the stories section:
It was the middle of second period and the boys' restroom didn't see much traffic around that time of day. It was too early to take a smoke break and too late to hide until lunch hour, so the only people to be found in the poorly lit and poorly cleaned tile room was a very angry Jen and a somewhat battered Nick.
Nick watched in terror as Jen clenched her fist and cocked her arm back. It would have been a very humorous scene to any passer-by: A thickly built, six-foot, three-inch football player on his knees staring up at a skinny, four-foot, eight-inch cheerleader, begging for her to stop hitting him. He had tears streaming from his eyes and a trickle of blood flowing from his nose. A freshly made blood stain accompanied grass stains on his blue and white school team jersey. Jen held him by his collar and punched him one more time despite his pleadings. His head snapped back from the impact of her tiny fist and he fell out of consciousness. She released her grip of his jersey, letting him fall the restroom floor in a heap.
| Mr. McBastard | 12:55 AM | | |
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Thursday, May 23, 2002
Z-Gar's thoughts on the physicalities of his ideal girl:
- not necessarily the face of a goddess, but one of a good demi-goddess at least
- light enough that I can pick her up but sturdy enough to take a good kick to the breadbasket
- no wobbly arm flab
- breasts that make me say, "Hey, I'd like to grab those!"
- pot bellies are for vietnamese pigs
- it is called a tan (when I look at your skin, my retinas melt)
- by tan I didn't mean charbroiled (you look like a deep-fried human being)
- she can be taller than me, but not professional-basketball-player tall
- a smile that makes me smile
- I don't know -- maybe it's a fetish -- but I like dainty, small hands
- short hair, less split ends, no tangles, 'nuff said
| Mr. McBastard | 2:31 AM | | |
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Friday, May 17, 2002
Hey, I'm home!
Hey, what is that noise? It's some sort of buzzing. Oh, that's all the Buzz about Star Wars: Episode II: The Attack of the Clones. Well, I don't want to add the din; I just want to say that I thouroughly enjoyed it. I saw it twice yesterday (yes, I'm that big of a dork) and I must say, it was better the second time. SPOILER (highlight to read) I think that sitting through the boring first half with all that blah blah blah exposition was definitely worth seeing Yoda go ape-shit on count Dooku. And the clones versus the battle droids was pretty impressive. The battle between the droids and the gungans in the last movie kind of bit. END SPOILER. Using a colorful Michael Hollon phrase, this movie gave me big Jedi wood.
| Mr. McBastard | 7:09 PM | | |
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Tuesday, May 14, 2002
This is the last post I'll make from my dorm room for three months. I'm going home!
| Mr. McBastard | 1:42 PM | | |
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Read this post on Burning Light of Reason. I downloaded this guy's (DB's) copy of Star Wars: Episode II and face the same dilema. But I'm going to stay strong. I can't wait to see it but I don't want to ruin my virgin Star Wars: Episode II: Attack of the Clones experience by watching it on my crappy computer with bad resolution and little speakers. I imagine that would be like losing my virginity to a dirty french whore. No sir, that's not for me. I will save myself for you, Star Wars, until we may be joined on May 16th.
| Mr. McBastard | 1:25 AM | | |
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Monday, May 13, 2002
So, how do you like the new look of my site? I did it this way not only to make it look better, but it will also make it a lot easier to update and make new content pages. So give me feedback; do you like it or not?
| Mr. McBastard | 1:25 AM | | |
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Last night there were torrential rains for several hours. Around midnight, some friends and I went out to play in the rain. It was great. We joined a rather large group of rain-players and got run out of Red Barn Park -- or "Red Barn Lake" as it was last night -- by the DPS (campus police). So what if we were playing in sewage? There was a big wet hill with freezing cold water at the bottom that was a blast to slide down and into. So most of us headed over to the quad and played in the biggest puddle we could find, which just so happened to encapsulate the flagpole. Playing in a big puddle with a giant metal pole sticking out of it in the middle of a storm. Oh well, who cares if I get electricuted and die? It's finals week, so I'd get out of a couple of nasty exams. Ah, I will miss these days of wanton action and carefree youth.
| Mr. McBastard | 1:21 AM | | |
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Saturday, May 11, 2002
Sam's cleaning the dorm room, Justin is sleeping (as usual), and I'm sitting here typing this. Everybody is moving their stuff out into the rain to shove it into vans and trailers. I've found that endings are sad. I've also found that I'm very sentimental when I haven't had much sleep in the past two days.
Endings come and there is not much I, or anybody, can really do about it. Looking forward to new beginnings kind of scares me sometimes. I've never really been a big fan of changing -- especially changing myself.
But I don't think that's true. I've changed quite a bit over the past nine months. My views on religion, education, family, friends, enemies, and life in general have all changed. But that's not extremely amazing, because those views have been changing my entire life; and will continue to change.
So here is my revelation of the day: I change. I am not just a stagnant person. I am a culmination of changing views and evolving ideas. Every time that I have had a new thought or idea, that has been a new me. I am every person that has existed for a moment in the space labeled Zach Garwood. I am many people and many thoughts. I am not the same person that I was when I began this post. Every new second of the day, I am the New Zach Garwood.
| Mr. McBastard | 9:14 PM | | |
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Friday, May 10, 2002
I hate being the kid in class that blows his nose several while everyone is trying to take a test. But even worse, I hate being the kid that sniffles for the entire class period. So I went to my Ancient Civilizations final today with a box of Lotion Kleenex. After confidently finishing the test I walked out of the room with a satisfied grin, three less cough drops, and a baseball-sized wad of snot and tissue. Ah, being sick during finals.
| Mr. McBastard | 3:11 PM | | |
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Monday, May 06, 2002
One of my roommates, Pfaff, says that if you take medicine it does a disservice for your immune system. I mentioned to him that most medicines fight the symptoms of an illness and not the cause. But he thinks that by giving your body medicines you will make your body weaker against the next illness; your body relied on the medicine the previous time, so it hasn't gained any experience at fighting the illness the next time. His logic sounded good but I'm not sure if the science of your immune system works that way. Anybody know what's really going on inside my sick, congested, little head?
| Mr. McBastard | 4:43 PM | | |
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Friday, May 03, 2002
I received this mass e-mail from my brother:
Hello, everybody. I'm sorry to take up your time with my little gripe, but I do have something to say, which will be relevant to you even if you don't know me. I get forwards all the time, most of which I discard without reading. Occassionally I look at one when it has something about God in the subject line. And it's usually the same garbage. Not the stuff about God, but the stuff where people are trying to defend Him or stick up for Him or whatever. And it's really pointless, guys. No matter how much we believe in Him, or do things for Him, say for instance forward an e-mail to all our friends, most of whom might not even care and will probably delete the forward without reading it; despite all that, God doesn't need our defense. He doesn't even need our belief. He appreciates it, of course, as some of us know by the way He blesses us. However, He needs nothing from us. He doesn't ask us to prove His existence to other people or start massive e-mail campaigns to change the world (which is really funny, because they CAN'T). He appreciates the good intentions, I'm sure, but they do nothing for Him, actually, and they waste time and make people look stupid. I like the fact that someone cared enough about me to send me this; that is wonderful. But actually I already deleted the forwarded text and I can't remember what it said. But I'll say this: I have nothing to prove. Neither does God. He is. He is who He is. That's even His name: Yah'Weh, "I Am." And really, electronic mail has so little bearing on the spiritual realm that it is ridiculous to use it this way. If you have a passion for making a difference in the world, turn your computer off and go outside. Do something out there, that's where I'll be in a minute. I only visit this shadow world of cyberspace for the convenience it affords in communicating. But I cannot live out my life as a Christian here. Neither can any of you. Electronic crusades are invisible and ineffective.
There, I've wasted enough of your time. But I tell you this because I care about you all and know that you want to do what is good, what He wants. I just think you're all a little misguided. God Bless,
Se7en Garwood
| Mr. McBastard | 8:21 PM | | |
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I have some Swisher Sweets Kings. On the ingredients listing it reads: These cigars are predominantly natural tobacco with non-tobacco ingredients added. I just thought that was very funny. That's like saying a hamburger is predominantly meat products with other non-meat products added; it tells us nothing. Oh well, it's better than saying These cigars are predominantly made up of nastly, dirty cancer-causing plants.
| Mr. McBastard | 7:09 PM | | |
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