bring the noyz

Granted my dear reader, it is well past two o'clock on a Friday night. So I guess that means it's technically Saturday morning. It matters not how this moment in time is defined. No decent person not completely falling into turpitude could possibly be awake right now to see such, such, such. . .

shamefully decadent indulgence? sinfully enticing debauchery?

or just another program hawking lots of cheesy cheap-ass imported crap?

Either way, I implore thee to please take the advice of The Good Doctor Polymer Noyz and by all means check this out (but first I must warn you, my dear reader, this is most definitely neither workplace nor family friendly) ---

Have you seen this new cable television home shopping program?

Now please excuse me my dear reader. I am interested in learning more about the vibrating nipple clamps and the butt plug with the "rubber ticklers" that hang down thus giving it the appearance of a tail for "pony games".

It's a crazy world. Somebody oughta sell tickets.
|

"It's finally Friday, I'm free again
I got my motor running for a wild weekend."

- George Jones

Okay then.

Or not.

Yes my dear reader, it is finally Friday, but neither you nor I expected it to begin such as this.

As I begin these words, it is around two fucking thirty five in the gahdanged morning, blast it.

Cripes man.

Slightly less than one hour ago, The Boy finally calmed down and fell soundly, peacefully asleep. His heart rate and respiration rate finally fell down into reasonable if not quite perfect levels. His blood oxygen levels have elevated and remain constant, again at reasonable if not quite perfect levels.

Slightly more than one hour from now, I am scheduled to gently turn him while he sleeps to prevent fluid from pooling in his lungs and cause a nasty case of pneumonia. I am also to administer three different medications through his g-button.

This poses something of a quandry.

The Boy is exhausted, just plain worn out from two days of battling a summer cold / sinus allergy thingy. He needs to sleep. Yeah, that's all this is, just let him rest, he'll be fine in the morning. Somewhat ironically, we have learned that he does not sleep deeply during these times. The slightest movement or sudden quiet noise is likely to wake him. He will be irritated, confused, tight as an angry fist, and just plain on the edge of a bad freakout. It happens from time to time.

On the other hand, maybe he's not just exhausted with a mild summer cold / sinus allergy thingy. Yeah sure, that's how it started. But maybe now, while he sleeps, within him bacteria and little nasty viral things begin to move in and party down. He needs the meds to prevent him from slipping any further.

So I am trying to determine which choice carries the least risk. It is not an easy decision.

And I have no doubt my dear reader you remember what can happen even if you guess correctly and make the right decisions. I have never known greater fear than how I felt on that day, staring powerless at the sheer terror of possibilities.

I ain't going back without one helluva fight.

So, what to do? What to do?
__________

Ah blast, I fear my decision has been made for me. I just heard The Boy wake up. It's gonna be a long night.
|

Sunday afternoon. So far this weekend I've got absolutely nothing accomplished. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zip.

And I quite honestly don't give a fuck.

All around us piles of things remain unpacked, unpainted, unbuilt, and just plain un-put away. Tools and pieces of things continue to clutter most every room.

Okay, so I'll admit we underestimated the amount of effort and expense required to get the house up to our standards of livability. ("livability"? Did I just make up a word?)

And today, we don't feel like doing any of it.

So were not.

The Wife is in our currently bedroom with The Boy, watching Lifetime movies. I'm in the living room listening to the conspiracy theorists, kooks and the crazies on the local AM radio station while playing FIFA 2006 (a nasty little habit I picked up during the recent World Cup in an effort to aid my understanding of the game).

The adults in the house are currently consuming strong alcoholic beverages. Lazing on a Sunday afternoon indeed.

As for the New World Order One World Government Mind Controlling Enslaving Free People types. . . joke 'em if they can't take a fuck.

I've been down the rabbit hole, just not so far down that I can't get back out. Is it all true? Perhaps? Immanentizing the Eschaton? Maybe.

But perhaps knowledge is not always power and maybe sometimes Orwell was right about ignorance.

Tomorrow I go back to two full time jobs: special ed teacher by day, working on our new house from late afternoon 'til bedtime. No rest for the wicked.

Today, I shall in my own way honor the sabbath and keep it holy. I'm just going to chill out and enjoy the slow drunk of a lazy day.
|

Ah my dear reader, I am quite glad to see that like I, you are also still awake. So much for resolutions about changing habits with new beginnings.

But that's okay. Really. It is.

Because my dear reader, much like yourself, I too find myself up way to late on a school night with a margarita in my hand.

Oh well.

I initially sat down to write thoughts about the "news" of the day, or perhaps yesterday.

(and believe you fucking me I shall in the near future write more about The Cock Sucking Pussy in yesterday's news and his extremely stupid lameness. And okay, although I try to remain impartial, I am naught but a man. My judgement may be admitedly impaired by a previous bias sneaking through.)

But suddenly, my "umph" is all "umphed out" as it were.

Something stirs deep inside and tells me that it is all a hoax, a sham, it's a put-on, it's a put-on.

It's all sleight of hand, my dear reader yes, it's all slight of hand. It's the distraction that allows the trick.

But you already know that, don't you.

Like me, you're just waiting for the other shoe to fall.

Oh well.
|

Ah, another school year has begun.

I thought my dear reader, that you might enjoy a photo of a proud father and son on the first day of school. Today I begin my fourteenth year as a special education teacher. My son, The Boy, age 5, begins his third year as a special education student.

No my dear reader, your eyes do not deceive you, The Boy's shirt does read "I listen to SLAYER with my daddy"

Indeed, he does.

Here's to a great year.
|

Well my dear reader, as you will doubtless recall, I spent the past month "sin internet", if you will.

True, quite true, but that did not mean that I lived without my muse.

What follows is the first in a series of transcriptions from my mental ramblings over the past month which merited the tenacity to make me actually grab a pen and for gah'sakes just write some damn thing down.

Over the course of the next few weeks there will doubtless be others. Enjoy. . .
_______________

Saturday. 9:45 am. 7/15/06

Beware the Ides of July? Nah. . .

As you enjoy and read these words my dear reader, please beware that they were written old school, sans technology con papel y pluma, or something like that. So I am only marginally responsible for their content. Be warned. . .

I sit outside, listening to Fred, to, for, and by the Kids in America, woh-oh.

In my brand fucking new backyard!

I belch. I fart. I scratch my balls and say "fuck".

Indeed, my dear reader, I am quite The Man. Or such is how I feel on this fine morning.

I kick back and discretely enjoy a tall cold Star, discretely poured into a plastic cup so as not to offend any new and unknown neighbor with the unpleasant site of me. . .

"There's some damned bearded hippie sucking down beer before noon on a Saturday. Shit Marge, there goes the neighborhood."

I go inside to refesh my cup. I observe my family begin to stir and rise.

Lots to do. . . It's a beautiful day.
|

Yes, indeed my anxious and troubled dear reader, he is.

As the Late Great Black Irish Cowboy once sang, "The boys are back in town. . ."

Two days shy of the month anniversary of The House. One calendar month minus two days shy of the day I took brief respite from the global social world. I left the virtual world behind and set out to stake my claim on the physical world: an oversized corner lot with an almost 50 year old house and lots of pretty trees.

For the sake of convenience, let's simply round up. What a long strange month it's been.

Fear no more my dear reader, let me ease your furrowed brow with my light caress, the long overdue and much beloved Good Doctor Polymer Noyz has returned from his month of walking in the wild with The Devil by his side.

Okay, that was way over fucking dramatic.

But ya missed it, di'n ya?

Lord knows I did.

The House is taking shape and slowly turning into The Home. This has been accomplished at a painstaking pace involving much difficult mental and physical labor. Like day after endless day of it, twelve, fourteen, sometimes sixteen or eighteen hours at a time.

And many nights of falling asleep on a camping air mattress clutching the last sips from a Lone Star tallboy, dirty as fuck from head to toe with blood, sweat, dirt, and dust but way to fucking tired to care. Then getting up around 8:00 and starting all over again.

Constructing, deconstructing and reconstructing. Yup, I done all 'em things. Plumbing, wiring, painting, ceramic tile: check, check, check, check.

I love every beer filled and near Advil overdosed moment of it.

It is mine (or at least it will be officially and finally in September 2036, until then, on paper at least, I shall have to share it with Bank of America).

But more than that my dear reader, yes, much much more.

It is OURS. It is a house that is The House that is well on its way to becoming The Home where I shall love and live with my family.

Oh yeah, one more thing, yesterday we got our digital internet connection and cable TV back.

Fucking sweet.

More to soon follow. It's good to be back. Really.
|