bring the noyz

This story is totally worth reading for this phrase alone:

naked Chocolate Jesus

mmmm. . . naked chocolate Jesus. . . mmmm. . .
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Okay, my dear reader, I have thus far received less than stellar results in my past efforts to advocate an issue or make a point with our political heroes.

Maybe this time will be different.

Yeah, right.
__________

March 29, 2007

The Honorable Florence Shapiro
P.O. Box 12068
Capitol Station
Austin, Texas 78711

Dear Senator Shapiro,

I wish to congratulate you on the successful recent passage of Senate Bill 9, the School Safety Act, from the Texas Senate. I am in complete agreement with a statement you made when announcing this bill on your Senatorial Website. It is quite true, “Nothing is more important than our children's safety and security”.

Like yourself and your fellow most esteemed and respected colleagues, I recognize the inadequacies of the current law and the possibility of placing children at risk by only requiring complete background checks on teachers hired within the past four years. The possibility certainly exists that a few veteran teachers are lurking out there in the shadows along with their illicit pasts, ensnaring and victimizing children, or waiting to do so like a spider in its web. The complete retroactivity of your bill is surely the only sensible and totally safe way to proceed.

I am on my fourteenth year of service in the classroom as a public school teacher in the Great State of Texas. My annual evaluations have never been less than exemplary. I have earned certification by the National Board of Professional Teaching Standards.

As an experienced and dedicated teacher, I realize that your legislation’s direct attack on the professional integrity, respect, and dignity of myself and other veteran educators pales in comparison to the need to protect the children.

So great is the need to protect the children I agree with your implied assertion that this legislation rightfully trumps a longstanding tradition of the American system of justice: the presumption of innocence until proven guilty. Surely those of us with nothing to hide could not possibly object to spending mere moments on some future day being treated as a common criminal.

Some might wonder how a Republican, an individual who ostensibly believes in smaller government, fiscal conservatism, individual freedom and personal responsibility; could possibly advocate for a program that proposes spending future millions adding another layer of state bureaucracy so that the liberty of innocent people can be needlessly limited by adding their personal information to giant government databases.

To be quite honest, I find myself wondering that. But I am not concerned about any perceptions of hypocrisy because I realize that this legislation is for the children, and as Whitney Houston sang, “children are the future.”

However, I fear your legislation does not go far enough.

I often see elected officials standing in front of groups of children promoting and publicizing their efforts to protect them on local television newscasts, in newspaper photos, or on the internet. From the prevalence of these images, particularly during campaign seasons or when the Legislature is in session, one might be lead to believe that politicians spend almost as much time in the schools as do the teachers and other employees. What assurance does the public have that these individuals can be trusted?

For the safety and security of the children, I propose you expand your legislation to include not just public school employees who educate children, but also to the public officials who wave the banner of their protection.

Before you dismiss this as a ludicrous suggestion, please allow me to further elucidate this notion. As is evident by a great many fiscal and financial decisions frequently made by all levels of government, politicians seem to have no qualms about sticking their hands in the pockets of children to steal from their wallets. It is not unreasonable to assume that some might be tempted to feel around a little more while their hands are in there.

You state, "We must be diligent in our pursuit of child safety, and provide the safest public school system we possibly can.”

If this is your true belief, and not simply a grandstanding statement to play on fear while pandering to your affluent suburban constituency, then surely you see the wisdom of my proposal and need for the expansion of yours.

As I am quite certain that you are well aware of the adage “great leaders lead by example”, I have no doubt that you will be the first in line at your local Texas DPS office for fingerprinting.

I thank you for your service and dedication to The Great State of Texas and Its Children.

Sincerely,

The Good Doctor Polymer Noyz
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And in the spring when the clouds unfold
The leaves are born again
I won't help but to think of you
When my heart still needs a friend

- Jon

I find it appropriate and somewhat comforting to quote a song by one friend when taking a moment's pause to remember another.

Two years ago today.

While my anger has mellowed with time to the inevitable acceptance, I still have naught but loathing for the place that has cursed me.

Sigh.

This afternoon I spent a few hours listening to Rush while mowing and tending to some long overdue yard work. Ob la di, ob la da, right? It felt great to be outside. The melancholy cloud that had followed me all day dissipated in sweat and the sunshine.

I remembered pictures of the places and the way it used to be.

When I was done I grabbed the tallboy of Mickey's I had icing down inside (sorry, but the local convenience store didn't have those widemouth bottles). I cranked up Xanadu on the briPod and stood in silent reflection in the middle of my back yard.

For I have dined on honeydew
And drunk the milk of paradise

I looked to the heavens and raised my brew high. . .

To the brotha that ain't here.
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Cheney says House doesn't support troops

Yeah, whatever.

Ah, the deceitful smile of a one-eyed trouser snake.

Granted, I might just be a little confused (and maybe a little drunk).

But really now, just what the fuck is going on?

I'm just kinda doing some stream of consciousness rambling while listening to the 60's on XM so forgive me, my dear reader, if I don't back up the following rant with adequate links for supporting documentation. You are at least as informed and educated as I am, so I feel confident in asking that you just trust me on this.

As I understand it, we can't bring the troops back home because why?

Our boys have yet to accomplish their mission or meet their objectives?

Well, pardon me for asking my dear reader, but what the fuck is the mission and what the fuck are the objectives?

Remove a tyrannical dictator from power who poses the greatest threat ever to Truth, Justice, and the American Way?

Check. Been there, done that. I saw the online video of that bastard's hanging. And like you, my dear reader, I remember seeing our Commander in Chief standing on the deck of some bigass boat beneath a "Mission Accomplished" banner.

Mission accomplished? I guess not.

That whole rid the world of Weapons of Mass Destruction bullshit?

There aren't any there. We all read the fucking news. We've looked. We've stopped looking.

Freeing and bringing democracy to a group of people who were sorely in need of our help? Well, I seem to remember some televised event when we were told that we're not into nation building.

And if we are, we sure have a damn funny way of showing it.

So what the fuck are we doing? Fighting "Them" with a capital "T" there so we don't have to fight them here?

Whatever.

I do feel quite confident in saying that we, and as "we" I mean the good people of by and for the U S of fucking A, are doing little but tacitly supporting the further enriching of already deep pockets.

But really now, is that all that surprising? Oceania is at war with Eurasia. Oceania has always been at war with Eurasia.

Careful now, there may be dogs about.

And remember, my dear reader, Cheney's boss is the son of a bad man.
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EVER!

Okay, so granted I'm a little late to this. As is sadly quite typical, I am not quite keeping up with the curve. I guess my tangent must be just be a little wider.

Whatever the reason. . .

Please my dear reader, I trust you will grant my request of forgiveness at my tardy arrival to the, um. . . as they say. . . the scene.

I have just now discovered this.

It is freaking amazing.

That is all I have to say.
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That's just got to be about the coolest phrase ever.

You should totally read this article:

Pin the tail on the whoring sea donkey!

Trust me, my dear reader. If you are not a subscriber, it is totally worth the small hassle of getting the site pass.
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Friday night I went to church, in a manner of speaking. Le'me tell ya my brotha, was there ever a whole fucking lot of preaching to the choir.

Public Enemy.

Where to begin?

Well for starters, I could begin by talking about how kick fucking ass it was to be out in the world, going to see the PE with a forty and a fatty along with Bishop Groove, a past present future collaborator and co-conspirator.

I could begin by trying to describe the grooves, the rhythms, that incredible gahdawful wailing wall of DJ generated noise that is awe inpiring to exerience as it demands your attention?

I could describe how the S, the S, the S1-W's looked a little larger as they did their militaristic dance steps than when I last saw them, but it has been 15 or so years. I too am a little larger.

I could describe Flavor Flav celebrating 48 years of age and two decades as the the crowned clown prince of hip-hop.

I could try to descibe and grant justice with my meager words the staight talk and the true speech of the Gospel According to Chuck D. He knows the son of a bad man when he sees one.

I don't really know where to begin.

And I don't give a rat's ass how you might try to characterize it. The group fucking still rocks harder than anyone on the streets today.

However, I do think it odd that Flavor Flav seems content to remain the jester and has expanded this role beyond the stage. Somewhat ironically he transforms into what PE has always preached against. Like some kinda anti-Chuck, he becomes another puppet dancing on strings for the entertainment and enrichment of The Man in those VH-1 "reality" series. Why he would chose to do this, I have no clue. Perhaps the drugs are better. I've watched the shows so I know it ain't the women.

Actually, I wouldn't be surprised to learn that it was all part of some master Public Enemy plan to extend their demographic and market their music to new audiences. Use Flavor Flav, the happy puppet to lure those who only know him from the awful "reality" shows. Like Brigette Nielsen, I'm sure they all "love the little black man". I can imagine several conversations that went a little like this:

"Why look Buffy, I see in the paper that some old rap group called Public Enemy is playing an outdoor show for SXSW. Aren't they from the '80's? Hey, isn't the Flavor Flav guy from that cute VH-1 show in that group? He's funny, we should go, it's a free show!"

"Oh, yes my darling Biff, maybe Miss New York will be there! We really must go!"

And so they go and they stand there for a few minutes politely listening to what they were expecting to be some classic old-school radio friendly hip-hop that they vaguely remember from their junior high or high school years.

Instead they are treated to obscentity laden chants ("Fuck George Bush! Fuck Dick Cheney! Fuck Tony Blair! And Condaleeza too! Fuck the war! Fuck the war!") nestled between anti-government raps ("I got a letta from the government the other day. I opened and read it. It said they was suckas").

That's it Chuck, lure them in. Then let them have it, a verbal brick right in the face.

I personally witnessed at least one Ken and Barbie couple leaving in disgust not soon after the show began.

Of course that could have had little to do with the actual music. Maybe they were just annoyed that Bishop Groove and I were standing right behind them slamming tallboys and word for word not singing, but quite literally shouting along with every song.

(Whatever the reason for their hasty departure, that accidental strategy worked to our advantage several times that night and allowed us to work our way up through the crowd nearer and nearer to the stage.)

But as for Chuck D. . . Suckas to the side, his uzi still weighs at least a mother fucking ton.

And with the opening lines of the inspiration of this humble jounal's name I entered a ecstatic state of mind that can only be characterized as some sort of cosmic pure mental energy orgasm. Ah, ah, ah, aaaaaaahhhh. . .

Okay that last bit might be slightly embellished.

Or maybe not. I'll never tell.

And well, I had an interesting revelation.

Chuck D. is still one angry pissed off mother-fucker, and still louder than a fucking bomb.

I am not.

This was interesting because I realized that my youthful anger and idealism has faded. It has been replaced with what some might refer to it as "maturity": a sense of jaded and disillusioned cynicism about the world and how it operates.

I guess that's okay. Really now, at who or what shall I attempt to rewaken and redirect the misspent anger of youth? My beautiful wife? My amazing child? My new home? My illustrious career?

So I guess what I'm saying, my dear reader, is that I am still very much fighting the power.

Just not as hard as before.

After awhile my shoulders get sore and my back starts to ache.
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You would have loved this.

It really is a far cry from the way we thought we'd share it.
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Tuesday morning. Well, okay afternoon really, but for me it still seems like morning. I'm breaking fast with a turkey sandwich and washing it down with a bloody mary. There's nothing like little hair of the dog that bit me to start the day. "Vodka and a cigarette, there's nothing that beats buzzing in the morning" is how a line from one of my unfinished songs goes.

All in all, not a bad start to the second day of spring break.

I stayed up a little too late last night, had perhaps a drink or two more than is prudent. But what the fuck, it is spring break after all. I know I've said this before, so please forgive my redunancy, my dear reader. But on this spring break from the daily grind of special education I can't help but harken back to a simpler, easier, more inebriated time.

. . . Many years ago, in a little bar in Matamoros filled primarily with underage American kids getting way to drunk than is safe in a border town I stood drinking a Corona smoking those little filterless Mexican cigarettes and talking to some typically hardened looking biker dudes. I remember them as being old and lecherous, and wondering what the fuck were they doing there as we traded inappropriately obscene comments and talked about the things we would like to do with the young coeds whose lean, lithe, and tanned bodies bumped, ground, and gyrated on the dance floor. Some cheesy Mexican cover band banged out a bastardized version of Faith No More's "Epic", screaming "Spring Break! What is i-i-it? Spring Break!".

Those were the days, my friend, those were the days.

Please don't take me wrong, my dear reader, I by know means wish a return to those salad days. Like all of us, I find from time to time it refreshing and relaxing to look back, to reminisce and wax nostalgic about the glory days of youth.

It's like Brother Bob sang:

If you know your history,
Then you would know where you coming from,
Then you wouldnt have to ask me,
Who the eck do I think I am.

The past is an inevitable and unavoidable piece of the future.

Do not mistake me, my dear reader, I wish no return to those days. I am quite blessed and content with where life has taken me thus far. I have the love of a beautiful wife, a glorious child, an illustrious career. I have a wonderful house filled with all the conveniences and toys of modern life.

Although I will confess that from time to time I do miss the comraderie and fellowship of spending my days hanging out with a group of equally grungy and like minded young men whose only goals were to outdrink and outlast each other while mostly vaingloriously failing at scoring with the girls we somehow managed to surround ourselves with: Kid Tahoe, Bishop Groove, Count Spew, The Sloth, The Sneaky Dwartz, Dave, Mikey and Mike (why they escaped nicknames I do not recall), Stump, Tesh, Curtis and Chris. Like the names and deeds of the great Roman Emperors of old, they will go down in my history book.

Ah, enough of the past. My bloody mary cup is running empty and the sandwich is long since gone. I have yardwork to do. And while it is most definitely work, I do not complain. I relish and enjoy it. I'll most likely grab a beer and my ipod and jump right in. It just seems as though it never will end and I know that is truth. When we bought our little 50 year old piece of the planet in July I knew we were taking on a big responsibility, but is our responsibility, our home. We are building the future.

Happy Spring Break.
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This morning marks the third anniversary of the morning I awoke as a father for the first time and The Boy officially arrived in our home. Since that happy beginning it has been a remarkable three years. The Boy continues to grow and blossom and make progress beyond our wildest expectations. He is truly a remarkable creature.

Hydranencephaly is his primary diagnosis. We seen the pictures on an MRI so we know it to be accurate. It is fucking amazing. You can clearly see the thalamus and all those other parts on the inside of your brain. But they two cerebral hemispheres are simply not there. They never formed. Small parts of them are there. There are a few random pieces of brain tissue just kinda floating around up there in the cerebral stew. From the profile images it appears as though there is nothing but fluid in his head above his ears. It is just plain fucking amazing, that is the only way to describe it.

Why exactly that happened will forever remain a mystery of Divine Providence. His biological mother's party lifestyle probably didn't help.

He has a whole host of other secondary ones which follow as a result of the first: seizure disorder, cerebral palsy, visually impaired, profound mental retardation, chronic respiratory issues, I could go on and on.

But there is no need to to do that. My entire philosophy about existence does not allow me to focus on the negative. If you look for problems you will doubtless find them. So just don't look.

As for his prognosis, well fuck what it says on that government site. Those bastards may know a fucking lot but they don't know The Boy. Six years old this June and going strong. So fuck them.

And all the doctors. . . every routine visit to the pediatrician, the dentist, the neurologist, the pulmonologist, the gastroenterologist, brings the same pleasantly surprised looks when they see The Boy and an occasional astonished smile if they see him do the same or laugh.

Somewhat ironically, and also as a testament to just how wrong the doctors can be, he is not currently here with us to mark this anniversary. Like me, he is also on Spring Break this week. He went home this morning with The Nurse, his home healthcare nurse, virtual aunt and therefore a real member of our family. He's spending the next couple of days at her house. Her three boys love him and are wonderful to witness playing with him. The joy in his eyes and his smile when they are near is truly a wonder to behold.

As for the whole big fucking mess and sordid affair that started this story, well. . . let me just say I have some serious unresolved anger issues. Despite my best efforts nothing significant ever happened. Nothing. I could rant endlessly on right now about how the system failed, but I just did that. So fuck off if you are thinking about asking me to do so again.

Still I remain optimistic that someday I will have the opportunity to dance on her grave.

We have tried to totally separate ourselves from the gossip grapevine that sometimes sprouts up with news relating to those days. It took me a year or so, but I finally realized that some events have past through my hands and my realm of influence. To stay sane you have to let things go.

I do my best.

Still, my anger smoulders. And from time to time voices from the past pop up with news that stoke the fire.

For example, last fall we learned that she is still out there, practicing her evil craft, still employed as a nurse who is left alone with innocent and disabled children in the darkness of the night.

I learned over the weekend that at least two of the lives she impacted are still trying to pick up the pieces. You can find them at the online children mall. Or you can if you know who you are looking for. I can not share this information with you, my dear reader, because it violates basic principles of confidentiality. It is enough to say that the evil that men do truly does live on and on.

Ah, I've had my fill of memories dredging up the dark moments of the past. So let's just cut it out, okay?

On this cool and rainy Spring Break spring night I shall raise my glass of cheap-ass blended scotch (still waiting on that tax refund check to come so that I can go back to the single malt) and pause for a brief moment to allow you, my dear reader, to fill your glass so that you can do the same. . .

All for the love of The Boy
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Well I'm takin' my time, I'm just movin' along
You'll forget about me after I've been gone
And I take what I find, I don't want no more
It's just outside of your front door.

Rock on, my fallen brother, rock on.

Lead singer for Boston found dead
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just in case you were wondering. . .

I must apologize my dear reader, if you have been taking time from your daily life to check out my humble piece of the 'net and come to contemplate the words of funky wisdom I frequently throw down. I apologize if you find that you frequently come up lacking.

I have been busy helping an old friend through a difficult time.

That poor bastard Colt Barrington thinks he's the shiznit with a capital shiz and all, but really he's just as big a fucking mess as you and I are.

He just hasn't learned that yet. I keep telling him that life not only equals art, but life is art. He just doesn't seem to get it.

Maybe that's why he keeps calling.
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