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Thursday, July 28, 2005

on a personal note 

Hey Mr. Golatron 3000!

What's up with your work e-mail? Messages are getting bounced back to me as undeliverable with the following explanation:
Sorry, I couldn't find a mail exchanger or IP address.


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Wednesday, July 27, 2005

a damn fine read 

an quite possibly my new hero. . .

The Best Page in The Universe

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Thursday, July 21, 2005

stomach bug 

One of the many perks of a career serving children and young adults is the continual and constant exposure to all kinds of things daily.

As a consequence it is widely believed amongst my coworkers that if the terrorists ever release some sort of horrible bio-toxin plague we will outlive everyone and survive. Our immune systems are hard, tough, well practiced and highly trained at dealing with the constant threats against our bodies, like a microbial version of Sgt. Fury and his agents from S.H.I.E.L.D.

However, those invading germs are sneaky little buggers. In a single year typically one will make it through my immune system defenses and BLAM! I'm layed out for a day or two.

Such is the predicament I find myself in today. I have spent about the past twenty four hours lying in bed, experiencing a feeling very similar to the world spinning dizzy nausea and headache that occurs when you drink too much. Except this time I have been cheated out of the joyful experience of spending the time drinking too much beforehand.

I realized just how sick I must be when a beer commercial almost made me vomit. Can you imagine, my dear reader, my shock and horror to discover that I was sickened by the sight of beer? Oh, the inhumanity!

My lower regions are doing their level best to recreate the London terrorist tube blasts. The naseau when I stand makes me think an above ground explosion is imminent.

Ah, joy. . .

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Wednesday, July 20, 2005

my shepherd 

My dear reader, as we move past Rovegate and move forward as a nation and begin the process that will surely for a brief while be All Supreme Court Justice Confirmation All The Time, I urge you to remember and never forget the following:




















Have faith and trust in him.

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Saturday, July 16, 2005

a thousand words 


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Friday, July 15, 2005

from the department of you sick twisted bastard 

As if this wasn't enough. . .

More bestiality in the news:

Man allegedly had sex with guide dog

Um yeah, okay, that was fucked up and weird. Now check this out:

Enumclaw-area animal-sex case investigated
Deputies don't believe a crime occurred because bestiality is not illegal in Washington state and the horse was uninjured, said Urquhart.

But because investigators found chickens, goats and sheep on the property, they are looking into whether animal cruelty — which is a crime — was committed by having sex with these smaller, weaker animals, he said.

The farm was talked about in Internet chat rooms as a destination for people looking to have sex with livestock, he said.

"A significant number of people, we believe, have likely visited this farm," said Urquhart..
How can I possibly add to that?

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Thursday, July 14, 2005

foreboding of gray days ahead 

It's incredibly easy to abuse a child. They're little. They're trusting. They don't know any better.

It's easier still to abuse a child with disabilities. . .

. . . to make a victim of the voiceless.

And it is exponentially more repugnant and repulsive.

When the abuse is masked in medical terms for medical reasons, when the abuser is a parent, primary care-giver and a trained medical professional. . .

And a giant fucking asshole with cantelope sized balls who's method is this freakish combination of bullying and bullshit designed to intimidate or coerce people into accepting or agreeing with his fucked up world view and ideas for caring for his child. . .

Yes yes yes, my dear reader, shades and shadows of Ms. von Munchausen indeed.

I wanna throw up just thinking about it.

For the past four days I have done little but wrestle with this issue.

I have a student in my class just for this summer. During the school year he attends his home campus, a local high school.

There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that his father is physically abusive. I have seen it. Three times now.

Each time I sat in stone silence, slack-jawed with astonishment at what I witnessed. I felt a terrible and nauseating sensation building in my stomach. I thought to myself, "Sweet fucking crap, if this is how the man acts towards his child when he knows there are people watching who have previously discussed the inappropriateness and overall wrongness of his actions with him, what the fuck does he do to the kid in the privacy of their home?"

Then I wondered about the mysterious injury in the middle of the student's back that has all the appearances of a burn, possibly caused by a cigarette.

Or the strange circular bald pattern above his forehead which dad insists is because his child self-injuriously bangs his head while citing it as evidence that he is inadequately supervised at school. To me it looks like it is regularly shaved and trimmed.

By a crazy punk ass bitch of a father who has little to do but clamor for attention.

Again, I am quite convinced. There is no doubt in my mind.

But therein lies the problem, no doubt in my mind.

My mind is not that of those who will be investigating my claims. Those who will be investigating are not so easily swayed. They are much more easily deceived and conned. They lack the knowledge and understanding to accurately assess the situation.

It is not their fault. Like the rest of us who toil on the behalf of children and people with disabilities, they are overworked and underpaid. The population of students I serve is literally such a minute portion of the total population they are easy to overlook. Those investigating have little to no experience, no baseline from which to guide their judgements.

We still live in a society where it is socially acceptable, however fucked-up ass-backwards and plain wrong, to strike a child as a means to discipline. I have learned that the line between just bad parenting and abuse is frequently quite wide, gray, and fuzzy.

This makes it even easier for the reprehensible behavior of the perpetrator to exist in this nebulous gray area masked with terms about therapies, behavior modification methods, medical necessity, blah blah blah as though the ends justify the means.

I mean really, we all need to eat. Food is a requirement. Nutrition is non-negotiable.

Agreed?

Okay.

Does that make it acceptable to push, shove, hit, slap, and shout at a kid to bully and badger him into eating? Does that make it acceptable to literally pick a kid up by the collar and push and toss him into a chair like an angry child who throws down a ragdoll? Does that make it acceptable to then grab the child's chin with one hand and force open his mouth, while using his elbow to pin the child's hands down? Does it make it acceptable to use the free hand to jab a spoonful of food into the kids mouth, blathering in a harsh and abrasive tone about the need to eat?

As I have stated, in my mind it is quite clear.

NO.

The right of an individual to be treated fairly, with respect and dignity at all times is the most basic of human rights. It is unbreachable.

[Or at least it should be. It is tragically unfortunate that those at the top levels of power apparently do not share that belief. They do not lead by their example. Some would say they scarcely lead at all, but that is a topic for a different rant.]

I am quite clear as to my course of action. The law requires it.

So I comply with the law and do what is morally and ethically right while remaining quite certain that my action will have no impact other than to come back and bite me on the ass. . .

. . . really fucking hard.

My experience with Ms. von Munchausen quite clearly illustrates to me those entrusted to protect individuals with disabilities are powerless, clueless, and quite useless at performing their duties.

I am angry.

Angry at at once again being unwillingly tossed into this situation.

Angry at the father who abuses his son to satisfy the needs of his own twisted ego.

Angry at the utter inability and ineptitude of The System set up to protect those who who cannot help themselves.

Angry at the Grandstanding Ego Gratifying Pig Sodomizing Dog Ball Sucking Political Heroes who talk the talk but have yet to try to walk.

I know nothing positive will come from my reporting this abuse. It will certainly do nothing to improve the situation of my student. It will only serve to anger an already disagreeable and litigious pompous egocentric fuckhead.

I am fully aware of the probable futility of my actions.

But nonetheless, I am compelled to act. It's just what I do.
"My Rocinante sailed by night on her final flight"
Let's hope not.

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Friday, July 08, 2005

bleating and babbling 

Bleating and babbling I fell on his neck with a scream.
Wave upon wave of demented avengers
March cheerfully out of obscurity into the dream
life imitates art

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Thursday, July 07, 2005

vacation day coffee shop pondering 

It almost seems at least ironic or at most just plain wrong for me to be sitting contently here, in such a tranquil place when all around the world is chaos.

But not for the reasons that you might think. It is not empathy, not compassion, not an urge to get out there and do something, anything, in an effort to save the world.

It is because I am missing it on television.

This is the kind of event I secretly yearn to see.

Please don't misunderstand me by any means, my dear reader. I do not wish for Death to darken anyone's door, for any reason. I quickly pass judgment on the vermin scum that cowardly attack the innocent.

However, I know that terrorism, like history is defined by the winners. Those are semantic games best left for the politicos and talking heads.

It does not matter how you define it. It is a profound tragedy.

The use of violence, any kind for any reason, is a complete failure of the human spirit. It reminds me of Jane Goodall. No matter how we dress ourselves with language and culture we are still little more than naked apes scampering around in the jungles bickering over our territories and resources, foolishly fighting over our ideologies and our gods.

It is another sad day in the circle of human affairs. The wheel takes another turn and the escalating cycle continues.

As time passes memory fades and most people forget. They have their own lives to contend with. You care little for the affairs of kings if you are busy trying to care for your family.

As memory fades, the entrepreneurs and marketeers move it to remind us. Memorial Day did not start out as a day to get a great deal on a new Ford or get drunk at the lake.

Call me cynical, but it’s just a matter of time before September 11 becomes a great day to purchase a gas grill at the Home Depot End of Summer 9/11 Sale!

And it's there for all to witness on that gloriously glowing box we call television.

There is a rule in today's mass media marketed world:

The magnitude of coverage is exponentially proportional to the size of the actual event.

The greater the tragedy, the greater the apparent need for round the clock non-stop coverage. Well mostly, non-stop except for the commercial breaks. The ratings love a tragedy. So do the grade-B experts, armchair analysts, and self-promoting consultants and writers.

And more non-stop coverage leaves more time for the inane banter, meaningless metaphors, and redundant information that passes for television journalism.

I love the graphics, the crawl, and counting all the FOX News logos visible on the screen at one time. My current record: 8.

I love the music! Do the networks have a whole library of disaster/tragedy news break themes from which to pick and choose?
Are there groups of John Williams wannabes scattered across the great nations churning out symphonies suitable to accompany coverage of carnage and destruction?

I love the exaggeration, speculation, hyperbole and the hair. Oh, Lordy do I ever love a grand reporter 'airdo!

I wonder openly how Geraldo will save us.

And anxiously await Rudi Bakhtiar.

I giggle, snicker and laugh and make snidely humorous sarcastic remarks to the amusement or annoyance of whomever might be watching with me.

Well, I am the kind of guy who will laugh at a funeral.

Should I be angry, like the chest-thumping politicians vowing deadly justice and bloody vengeance?

Should I be sad, like the newly made childless, fatherless, motherless families?

Should I be jubilant at the triumph of an oppressed people, striking a sharp blow deep in the heart of the crusading oppressors, defilers and non-believers?

Should I be numbed by the relentless and seeming futility of it all, by the never-ending saga of greed, violence, and death.

Tell me, my dear reader, please do tell.

Sometimes I just don't know what to think, because every day’s news seems to bring us one step closer to this surreal reality that is part 1984 and part Brazil.

I see it coming, I can almost see the strings. I feel powerless to stop it. Hell, I am powerless to stop it. It's Darwin's world and I'm a very tiny fish in a very big pond.

But it’s also the world of Einstein and Picasso, Bob Dylan and the Beatles. It is also a world of imagination, creativity, and hope.

For now I will sit here, serenely sipping my coffee. Perhaps I'll soon have a beer.

Perhaps nothing. I’ll get one now.

Ah, I am on vacation. For the moment time is on my side.

I think I'll stay for two.

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Wednesday, July 06, 2005

still pissed? maybe a little 

In response to an email sent by Count Spew commenting on Live 8:

(Sanitized for your protection and to get through censoring corporate firewalls.)

Live 8 was the biggest load of televised bowl of cottage cheese I have ever drank myself into oblivion watching. By the time it was finished I was a mean drunk and that anger was squarely aimed at those Viacom corporate cotton candy salesmen who are ultimately responsible for the soda can of coverage that aired. Had The Wife and Boy not been around to keep me in check I have little doubt that right now I would be standing in a Best Buy charming myself stupid for having thrown an empty milk bottle through the screen. Not quite Elvis in Vegas, but. . .

When will the corporate dollar signs in their eyes used care salesmen be releasing the exclusive DVD 4 disc box set with uninterrupted performances? It only took them 20 years to put out the first one. I imagine with this one though they got better contract lawyers and the bands had to sign releases to play.

(I read somewhere that was one of the reasons it took 20 years to get the first one out. I don't know if it's true but it sounds plausible, anyone?)

I hope Bob Geldof hires a fabulous huge team of Irish Lawyers with mob connections and brings those flaccid Viacom tomato farmers to their knees for butchering his vision to start building a better world.

At times I found the VJs of MTV UK even more annoying and vapid than their American counterparts.

And for what! Countless ads for the Fantastic Four and awareness, awareness, AWARENESS!

Okay, I'm aware, now shut the super happy fun slide up and let me watch The Who!

And yes, I thought the little bit of Pink Floyd they allowed us to see was a profoundly moving experience. I told The Wife with real full-on tears in my eyes that I had been waiting for this moment, that I thought would never come, for over 20 years.

I thought that they looked like four old guys who were having the time of their middle-aged lives. What's this, Roger Waters smiling? Holy funnel cake served by a three fingered carnie! In spending 20 plus years devouring all that is Pink Floyd I have never seen an image, moving or otherwise, of Roger Waters smiling.

Please, oh please grant my request that those old bricklayers get their creative juices flowing, make Roger stop whining about "why'd they kill my dad" and present their grand view of the modern world. Let their swan song be one more "requiem for the post war dream". But I am speculating like a wild fool. . .

The best moment of seeing Floyd perform for me was "Wish You Were Here". I was seated on the couch holding The Boy. He was already becoming animated and excited because he is very empathetic, he changes his mood to match yours. Really. I am fully aware of his cognitive disabilities. This is not one of them. I believe you will find this as interpersonal intelligence described by Gardner's Multiple Intelligence Theory. Look it up. Common sense interesting stuff.

When David Gilmour gently picked into the very familiar opening of the song, The Boy's eyes lit up, he relaxed into one his full body smiles. The song literally blissed him out. He absolutely loved it. That's my boy.

To read more of my ravings on this rant's subject, make sure and check the blog.

And then check out the life and times of Colt Barrington.

peace, love and above all, increased awareness,

- The Good Doctor Polymer Noyz

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the day off 

Summer turns me upside down
Summer summer summer
It's like a merry-go-round

- Ric Ocasek
I'm taking the day off.

Yes, yes my dear reader, I am well aware of the memory of a similar such day, possibly two, scarcely one month past.

When I work, I work hard to do hard work.

But then again, some would say that when I play I. . .

. . . ah, you know me, you understand.
Again I find myself sitting at my favorite coffee shop and coolest place just to casually hang out watching the parade of people as the world passes by.

I stepped out my front door and into an oven. Another day of 100+ degree cloudless scorching summer heat that I secretly love while bitching about how hot it is.

So I am sitting and sipping an iced coffee and playing catch up on the world's events.

Iced coffee. To my beer with a breakfast taco taste buds it has a very European flavor and feel. Like I'm sitting outside a Roman cafe watching an upgraded young version of Sophia Loren eat a gelato with innocently seductive movements of her lips and tongue. . .

(tell me which way do you think that last image was moving)

Later in the day I will be off to the cleanse my mind , soul, and body in the life-affirming and resurrecting waters of the pool.

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farewell to four 

Hey! My dear reader, I'd like to know your thoughts.

Is this guy a big bull ballsack suckling scary piece of work or what?
"Journalists are not entitled to promise confidentiality -- no one in America is," Fitzgerald, a U.S. Justice Department prosecutor, wrote in one of the court filings.
No one in America?
"The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated"
Another one bites the dust.

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Monday, July 04, 2005

fourth of july 

4thofjuly

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Saturday, July 02, 2005

still more live thoughts 

It is as Roger Waters sang back in 1983:
like the moment when the brakes lock
and you slide towards the big truck
you stretch the frozen moments with your fear
I don't know for sure, my dear reader, but I have little doubt that the gin & Amp combo is a significant contributing factor. Whatever the reason, I just can't stop watching this damned thing.

I will limit my comments on seeing Green Day cover "We Are The Champions" to briefly stating I am almost glad that Freddie Mercury was not alive to witness such complete and utter crap. Allowing those cheezy (but attractive and incredibly hip) commentators to invoke his name in referring to the Green Day performance is in my mind tantamount to the worst sort of heresy and treason. Drag those motherfuckers outside, tie them to a stake and light the bastards up.

"Don't give me that do goody good bullshit"

"But wait," I hear you saying softly to yourself while reading this, "my dear Dr Noyz, aren't you being a little harsh? Millions have gathered to make poverty history. Are you such a cold hearted bastard that you don't want to prevent people from dying of poverty?"

Well no.

I am against giant wastes of time and resources in pursuit of feel-good do-nothing crap.

Dying of poverty? What the fuck is that exactly? Some form of cancer? A highly contagious viral infection?

Nobody dies of poverty.

True, people die from illnesses or conditions which could have otherwise been prevented or cured if they had access to resources (every 3 seconds if you believe the catchy statistic I keep seeing in the celebrity laden public service announcements), but I have yet to hear of any coroner or medical professional anywhere listing a cause of death as "poverty".

["Say Bob, whatever happed to Jack?" "Well, when the mill shut down he lost his job. He caught poverty and died."]

Consciousness raising does nothing to actually solve a problem.

You want to make the world a better place? Stop singing about it and get out there and fucking do something. You want to end poverty in Africa? That's fucking great! But let's say first you get away from your big screen television, jump in your gas guzzling car, drive to your town's version of the wrong side of the tracks and do something, anything real to end it where you live.

Right here, right now, make the world a better place, one person at a time. Stop being aware and start taking action.
__________

When those fucking Viacom bastards interupt The Who to tell me about the original Live Aid. . .

Or commit the greater sin of cutting to a commercial in the fucking middle of Pink Floyd playing "Comfortably Numb" for the first time in twenty some years. . .

They don't want our money, yet, they just want to educate us and raise our awareness. Um, yeah . .

All the constant DVR thwarting interuptions of the bands makes the cynical side of me wonder about the DVD deal.
__________

Again, this may be the gin talking, but over the course of the past few hours my "awareness" has grown into contempt, revulsion and disgust at the sheer magnitude of this pointless feel-good liberal hippie crap.

But then again, maybe I'm wrong. I hope that I am.
I'm not saying that the battle is won
But on Saturday night all those kids in the sun
Wrested technology's sword from the hand of the war lords
Oh, oh, oh, the tide is turning

- Roger Waters

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another live thought 

While watching the Live 8 concert just now, the thought occurred to me that I do not fully appreciate how "cool", "amazing", "kick-ass", "crunk", "ginchy" and/or "awesome" (or whatever the word currently is that the youth of today) use to see Jay-Z to be on stage performing with Linkin Park.

I am no longer young hip and attractive.

But I am, thankfully, aware. I am very aware.

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more live thoughts 

Music Television is not disappointing with their expanded day long coverage of the Live 8 mega concert.

For the 60 minute period from 1:00 to 2:00 pm Central Daylight Savings Time --

Time spent broadcasting actual musical performance: 25 minutes 1 second (42%)

Time spent "raising awareness" and advertising revenue: 35 minutes 59 seconds (58%).

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live thoughts 

Okay, we're about an hour into MTV's coverage of the Live 8 Concerts.

Some thoughts:

It's weird to see music on Music Televison. It would be even weirder if the hip and attractive MTV reporters would just shut the fuck up and let us hear and see the bands. I'm fairly certain they talked longer about how awesome it was for Bob Geldof to perform "I Don't Like Mondays" with some band named Travis than they showed of the actual performance.

I am already tired of people who wouldn't know a small furry animal gathered in a cave grooving with a pict if it came up and bit them on the ass talking about how excited they are and how cool the much heralded Pink Floyd reunion will be.

This may not be the most politically correct question, but has anybody asked Africa if they want our help?

The way I see it, we (meaning what is typically described as European people, cultures, governments, and their descendents) have been "helping" Africa for the past 5oo or so years. Granted, I'm not as up on my African history as perhaps I should be, but it is my understanding that they were cruising along nicely before we showed up.

Maybe the best way we could help them would be to just leave them the fuck alone.

The Wife had this observation: there is something about the event that reminds us of that South Park episode where all the hippies come to town.

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