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Sunday, June 30, 2002
So, Little Mistakes, (eat that, Mel) it looks like I'll be gone for about a week and a half. I'm going to a Christian music festival in Bushnell, Illinois called Cornerstone. I'll be back in about a week and a half, at least before 1:00pm on the 10th, because I have a dentist's appointment. So, until then, Little Mistakes, don't get eaten by bears or abducted by aliens. And listen to your mother. And wash behind your ears. And don't stick your finger in the cake. And no boys in your room after dark.
| Mr. McBastard | 9:52 PM | | |
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Friday, June 28, 2002
Three ideas have been bouncing around in my head for the past couple of days:
- I've been writing (actually, every other day or so I stare at my computer screen and add a line or two to) a script about a guy who gets a new college roommate and it turns out to be Jesus. But that's not the idea. A couple days ago, while listening to a song by the O.C. Supertones called This Is What It Comes To, I heard the line "Even Jesus Christ was betrayed with a kiss." I've been trying to think of a way to add something about that into my script.
- I was watching The Learning Channel and caught a program about the human face. There was this one man who had been in some kind of accident and suffered head trauma and now he can't recognize people's faces -- not even his own family's faces. I had a couple story ideas stemming from this: A guy is whitness to a murder but suffers from whatever this disorder is and can't identify the killer, a spy is in some sort of espionage-related accident and suffers from this disorder and can't tell who the good guys are and who the bad guys are.
- I thought up a phrase in my head the other day: I'm only a man in the dreams of this boy. I thought it was very poetic, but can't think of anything else along the same lines to constitute making an entire poem.
| Mr. McBastard | 6:21 PM | | |
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Wednesday, June 26, 2002
As a guy who has never had a sun burn in his life (except for the occasional peeling on the ear, but nothing serious), having a sun burnt shaved head really hurts.
| Mr. McBastard | 10:51 PM | | |
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Tuesday, June 25, 2002
Ever feel like you're useless?
Ever feel like the last thing you need to do is think?
Ever feel like your patience for just sitting there is wearing thin?
Ever feel like you're missing out on something?
Ever feel like a jerk?
Ever feel like you've over-analyzed everything?
Ever feel like you're family doesn't care for you much?
Ever feel like the only reason you hang out with your friends is because they let you?
Ever feel like you'd rather not feel anything at all?
Ever feel like you've felt this way before?
Yeah, me neither.
| Mr. McBastard | 5:43 PM | | |
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Sunday, June 23, 2002
I'm the first one to say that I hate anonymous posts, and I'm the last one to admit that I'd ever make one. Sorry, Mel, I guess you knew what you were doing. But this isn't a place to air gossip; it's a place to tell how I feel. So I will do that, just and only that.
It's not that I'm mad, not at all. And I don't want it to seem that way. Because of all things I am, I'm not mad, or jealous. So what am I? New Emotion: part hurt, part embarassment, mostly confusion. But I think my inability to voice my emotions might make it appear that I'm angry -- hell, I think that’s already happened. And my tendency to bottle my emotions inside will only make things worse. So I sit here with a lump in my throat knowing that I'm probably going to blow this out of proportion -- hell, I think I've already done that too. Things look skewed and misshapen when viewed through a bottle.
So why did I lay there and take it? Maybe it's because I always 'lay there and take it'. Maybe because I was scared that they'd think I was dirty. Maybe because I was afraid to disturb them. Maybe because I didn't want to make them feel uncomfortable. But if that's true, why did I move at all? Why didn't I just pretend the whole thing didn't happen. I'm good at that. But not this time. Why?
| Mr. McBastard | 11:42 AM | | |
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Friday, June 21, 2002
I put some [essays] under the ::writings:: section. These are all from my first two semesters at Truman. I only chose a few essays that were at least slightly interesting and informative. My personal favorite is the ENG226 Self-Evaluation Final. Here is an excerpt from it:This intrigues the evaluator and he looks to the “Last Assignment” handout for the “obvious questions” to ask himself in his evaluation: “Did I read every page of every book? Did I come to class?” The obvious answers to these obvious question came easily enough: “No; and for the most part, yes.” But the subjectivity of reality makes the evaluator question these answers. If the evaluator did not read some of the pages and chapters, then did they, in fact, exist? And as for that one class period the evaluator slept through, did it ever even take place? From the evaluator’s perspective it has been alluded to in conversations of its passing, but no direct evidence remains of its happening; therefore, how can the evaluator be sure of its existence?
| Mr. McBastard | 11:45 AM | | |
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This is an exerpt from a story I started writing yesterday:The car had turned nearly nighty degrees. It was at rest perpendicular to the road, the front end in the left lane. Marv had banged his head against the passenger door window. He felt his head and found the right side, just above his temple, to be very tender. He pulled his hand back to look at his palm. There didn’t appear to be any blood. He looked to his left. Ted was staring wide-eyed in front of him, breathing short, nervous breaths. Both of his hands tightly gripped the steering wheel. His foot was still pressing the brake to the floor. Marv looked to his right. Through the cracks his own head had put in the passenger-side window he could see the body. It lay face down over the two yellow median lines, not moving.
“What the hell was that?” asked Ted between breaths.
Almost in a daze, Marv responded, “It was a guy, he’s over there.”
“I know it was a guy!” yelled Ted.
“We hit a guy.” Marv repeated.
“I know we hit a fucking guy! But what the fuck was he doing there?”
| Mr. McBastard | 12:55 AM | | |
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Sunday, June 16, 2002
Staring at my bookcase, I realize that there are so many books in my own room that I haven't read (some I intended to read but never got around to it, others are my brothers that he's left me).
About a fifth of the books are formula westerns by Louis L'Amour that I don't really ever want to read.
Several on the bookcase are Tolkien that I already have read (except for The Silmarillion).
Another fifth are "classics" that are only called that because they are old. But from their ranks I've read Lord of the Flies, The Call of the Wild, The Time Machine, The Red Badge of Courage, Frankenstein, and part of The Jungle. I really don't think that people should feal obligated to read so-called "classics" just because they're old. They should read them because they have interesting stories (and I've found that the "classics" I've read seldom do).
A large portion on the case are childrens books, a remnant of the past.
And the final portion are the science-fiction books. Star Wars, Star Trek, (even some Star Craft), Heinlein, Clarke, Assimov, and even a couple Crichton.
All in all, I estimate that I've read only about half of the books in my room. And the other half I'm pretty sure I'm never going to read.
| Mr. McBastard | 10:56 PM | | |
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Saturday, June 15, 2002
::tidbits from the week::
[Hold on, I never titled my entries before! Ah well, they do it on Burning Light all the time; I guess it won't hurt just this once.]
Justin and I are finally done with our job on Justin's grandpa's farm. Well, actually, we got done on Thursday, but I've pretty much slept since then. We got paid pretty well. We wanted to celebrate so Thursday night we invited Kim over and watched movies. Whoo-hoo! Do we know how to party or what!? Anyway, Not Another Teen Movie is still about the funniest friggin' movie I've ever seen, and Saving Silverman was better than I thought it'd be.
Before we started watching the movies, though, we cooked some frozen pizzas, and while waiting in Justin's kitchen, Kim tried to teach me to ballroom dance while Justin just looked on. This is kinda how the conversation went (or how I remember it, anyway):
Kim: This is the fox-trot.
Zach: Uh, I don't know what I'm doing.
Justin: She's man-handling you, Garwood.
Kim: C'mon. C'mon, lead!
Zach: But I don't know where we're going!
I'll leave you with this poem that I thought up in my head when Justin and I were working. It's not finished yet, but I'm very pleased with it so far. Enjoy!
Monsters
I hear voices in my closet
Strange voices calling me
I hear voices under my bed
Big voices mocking me
There are monsters in my room
As I grow, monsters grow with me
Finding new hiding places
Under the bed in my head
In closets behind my eyes
There are monsters in my room
There are monsters in my head
Monsters, masters of my destruction
Fangs of doubt bite into me
In my ear they whisper pity
Spitting sorrow on my face
| Mr. McBastard | 8:10 PM | | |
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Monday, June 10, 2002
Happy birthday to Mel
Happy birthday to Mel
Happy birthday, Melly-belly-bear
Happy birthday to Mel
| Mr. McBastard | 11:35 PM | | |
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Sunday, June 09, 2002
For those of you who loved the mullet, here's a new haircut for ya'!
Isn't that a cool shirt?
About a week ago I went to Justin's house and he and Kim, at my request, picked up some clippers and razors and made this on my head. I love it! For more pictures of the mohawk, click on last of the under the ::content:: heading on the menu.
| Mr. McBastard | 12:10 AM | | |
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Saturday, June 08, 2002
Hey, kiddies! Where have you been, Z-Gar?! you may ask. Did our beloved Z-Gar fall into a well? Was he kidnapped and taken to Russia? Is he laying dead in a ditch along the side of the road?
No, I am, in fact, quite alive. Yay! I've been helping my friend Justin with some work on his grandfather's farm. We've been "systematically" (wandering) making our way through a twenty-five acre field cutting little baby trees right out of the ground so that the field can be planted with hay. It hasn't really been fun -- although some of the conversations we've had have been interesting -- and I really haven't gotten much of a tan. The only benefit I can forsee is the pay. Justin says that his grandpa has a history of overcompensation for chores. I'm hoping this trend continues. So far we've logged about twenty hours, and I estimate that we're about 2/3 done. Even $5.00 or $5.50 per hour each would be nice. I could use an extra 150 for Cornerstone. Well, that pretty much catches us up. Keep doin' what you're doin', kiddies, and have fun!
| Mr. McBastard | 11:42 PM | | |
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Monday, June 03, 2002
Do you know what fear is? Fear is sitting alone in your room at 4:00am while the whole house is silent -- it has been silent for hours -- and you hear a small voice from behind you. There is someone unexpectedly in the room with you! You turn only to find that nobody is there. You sit for several minutes not moving, staring wide-eyed at the room around you. Fear and confusion run hand-in-hand.
Then you hear the voice again. It's coming from the closet. Only this time you recognize it as the small mechanical voice of your Yoda Furby. Fear mutates. Visions of the movie Child's Play run through your head (and, inexplicably, so do scenes from the movie Gremlins -- I think it's Yoda's ears) and you begin to wonder if you are the unfortunate owner of a demon-posessed doll. Like every stupid character that gets killed near the beginning of every horror movie, you decide to check it out. You cautiously move towards the closet. Fear and stupidity run hand-in-hand.
You search through the closet, looking for the source of the disembodied voice. Fear mutates again as the movie changes from a horror/slasher movie to a psycho-drama about a young man that discovers he has multiple personallity disorder: the first, himself; the second, famous serial killer, Ed Gein; and the third his favorite Star Wars character, Yoda. Finally, the fear subsides. You decide to rumage through the closet the next morning when you aren't afraid of waking you parents up. You go to bed fully content that there must be a logical explanation for everything. Like I said, fear and stupidity run hand-in-hand.
P.S. I found Yoda in a box of my junk in the closet the next day. Since then he has only once moved during the middle of the night without any prompt and for no explained reason. Sweet dreams. . . .
| Mr. McBastard | 3:46 AM | | |
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