Email This Post
“…some parents, and even a few child therapists, have found themselves taking mental notes from a television personality known for inspiring discipline, order and devotion: Cesar Millan, otherwise known as the ‘Dog Whisperer.’” – The New York Times
Let’s face it. Child rearing is tough. My wife Tina and I know this from personal experience. For the first three years of his life, our son Blackie was a real terror — the kind of kid you wouldn’t mind letting fall off a cliff, like Macaulay Culkin in The Good Son (or Home Alone 2). We knew things were bad when we took him home from the hospital a few days after he was born and the first thing he does when he gets in the house is defecate all over my Devo record collection. Then he starts suckling on my wife’s breast! Dr. Spock doesn’t tell you how to deal with this sort of behavior, at least not on the dust jacket. These antics continued for three years. The crying, the poop, keeping us up all night howling because we forgot to let him back in the house. Our dog John Robert Eldridge III is perfectly happy to sleep outside. In fact, he likes it. What gives? Tina and I repeatedly asked ourselves.
Then one night, while Tina and I were watching The Dog Whisperer and congratulating ourselves on how well Cesar Millan’s techniques had worked on John Robert Eldridge III, we looked over and there’s Blackie, all apoplectic because Tina was sitting on the remote that controlled his shock collar. Tina and I thought, “Hey, maybe we’re going about this all the wrong way,” although neither of us had the courage to say it until a month or so later.
“You know, there’s something we could learn from Cesar,” said my wife.
“What it feels like to be Mexican?” I asked.
“No, well, yes, but that’s not what I’m talking about. What I’m saying is that I bet if we use Cesar’s dog-training techniques on Blackie, we could make more headway than we have in the past.” And from that moment on, our lives, and more importantly Blackie’s life, became far more manageable.
As Cesar instructed us to do with J.R. III, the first step was to identify where our creature fit into the hierarchy of his species. For example, we recognized that Blackie was:
1. A child with childish needs as opposed to grown-up needs.
2. Too much of a damned diva to drink out of the toilet like a normal person.
3. Not going anywhere soon.
Then we began implementing Cesar’s cardinal rules: Exercise, Discipline and Affection (Initially, Tina thought it was “Affectation” and had J.R. III and Blackie smoking Gauloises and toting first editions of À la Recherche du Temps Perdu. Oops.). First, we made sure Blackie got plenty of exercise. By stapling a filet to his diaper, we ensured that both J.R. III and Blackie could get in a good workout. J.R. III chased Blackie around for what seemed like hours! Of course, Blackie, still resistant to “order,” would typically collapse in a heap and play dead (the first “trick” he learned) in protest, his attempt to assert himself as what Cesar might call “The Alpha Child.” But do Alpha Children run around crying when a snarling Rottweiler comes charging toward their little tushies? No, they don’t. “Nature, red in tooth and claw,” we’d remind Blackie, but he’d just squall incessantly until we shelved the Tennyson and ushered J.R. III off to his Shiatsu-do massage appointment. Blackie was often hostile, but that’s where discipline comes in.
We learned from Cesar that Blackie’s shock collar was unnecessary, and in retrospect, maybe a little cruel (Child Protective Services echoed this sentiment in a caustic little epistle). Now, there’s nothing wrong with tough love, but we found that a leash pop from a simple choke chain was all we really needed to coax Blackie into heeling. Remember, mom and dad — YOU’RE THE ALPHAS. Dogs and children are pack animals, and it’s up to YOU to establish discipline so your child doesn’t wander off to Burning Man to do magical mushrooms and get in touch with his inner nude. That’s why, following Cesar’s advice, whenever Blackie would get out of line, we’d establish dominance by grasping the scruff of his neck and going, “Tsch!” Then, when Blackie could finally talk, we changed that to “Tsst!” Finally, in high school it was “I’m going to shake you until your fricking teeth rattle…Tchst.”
But, let’s not forget affection. Affection is crucial in making sure that your child doesn’t grow up to be like one of those Menendez brothers. Be sure to praise and reward your child for good behavior (they like candy, and later in life they will appreciate cash) and encourage nuzzling and licking between your child and your dog and even other children. If you feel like they still aren’t getting enough affection, you can pay for six years of college at Chico State while they loaf around studying “Modes of Being” or glassblowing or some other dopey thing.
If, after carefully implementing Cesar’s training tactics, your child is still rambunctious, ungrateful and disobedient, I’m not sure what to tell you. We’ve tried to contact Cesar to see if Blackie (or, “Timothy,” as he now insists on being called) would be welcome at his Dog Psychology Center in South Central L.A. but we have yet to hear back. In the meantime, Blackie responded to our well-intentioned inquiry in his usual belligerent fashion, biting me on the nose, urinating on his mother and kidnapping John Robert Eldrige IV, announcing that he was going to Burning Man to do magical mushrooms and get in touch with his inner nude.
Now, Cesar’s techniques may not work for all children. But they’re certainly worth a try. After all, you only get one shot at child rearing, sometimes more if you like sex. And there is at least one lesson taught by Señor Millan that every parent needs to know: No matter how much your child bitches and moans about it, Alpo Prime Cuts in Gravy with Liver may not be “cool” to serve at their 10th birthday party, but they’ll thank you later for the protein.
Email This Post
Clients:
Bay Family.
Policy:
Auto (2 vehicles), Home (fire and flood), Life (son Michael as beneficiary). Payments are up to date; well respected policy holders for over 13 years.
Exterior of Home:
The family minivan was found turned upside down and on fire in the driveway; an Aerosmith cassette could still be heard playing inside upon arrival. How this transpired is unknown to both neighbors and the babysitter. The lawn was riddled with large craters, seemingly as if the house was the sole recipient of falling meteors from space.
Note: No meteors nor any other large objects were found on or near the premises.
Observation: Some craters were shaped like what can only be described as large robot feet.
Note: No large robots were found on or near the premises.
Front of home was peppered with what upon visual inspection appeared to be bullet holes, yet no gun was heard nor was there any other existing evidence of gunplay. Front door was ajar from apparent shotgun blast to the knob; again no sign of actual gun use.
Interior of Home:
Living room furniture destroyed; wind from broken windows circulated the cotton contents of 5 pillows around the room; an ottoman was found turned upside down and on fire.
Observation: The room was beautifully lit by rays of sunshine coming through the bullet holes and contrasted remarkably with the wintry like feel of the cotton snowflakes.
Babysitter sat crying on the kitchen floor, knives and other sharp utensils stuck into the floor forming a semi-circle around her.
Interview: Babysitter was severely traumatized; all she could remember was young Michael screaming, “Stuff just got real!” and then somersaulting into an adjacent room.
Michael’s bedroom was found flooded with water; toy ships floating alongside toy sailors who were face down in the water and on fire; toy planes were suspended with wires above the ships.
Interview: Mrs. Bay revealed that the boy and his father had recently watched Tora Tora Tora together on televison; she relates that the boy was overwhelmed with the action and mayhem of the film and apparently missed the social significance of the event altogether.
Rear wall of home was demolished outward.
Exterior of Home Cont:
Rubble lay in the backyard from rear wall of home; babysitter’s car found turned upside down and on fire. The entire yard was flooded from a running garden hose; in the middle of the yard was a makeshift fort, as if one had created their own personal island.
Interview: Mr. Bay said he and his son had rented Escape from Alcatraz earlier that week and the boy asked if anyone had ever broken into the prison; Mr. Bay of course told him that was a silly idea and should be forgotten.
Observation: The angle of the fort in juxtaposition with the home and sun created a massive shadow, creating the illusion that the water was much deeper than it actually was; the aesthetics of the fort were admirable, however further inspection of the craftsmanship revealed a severe lack of quality.
Michael himself was found soiled in mud from head to toe inside the fort. Scattered around him were random toys of different genres: soldiers, aliens, robots, cars, robot cars, and car robots. Apparently the boy had gone to the trouble of also constructing an entirely different island inside the fort island. On it were tiny paper dolls made to look like his family and friends.
Observation: A severe lack of “friend” paper dolls were found.
Note: The boy had no real friends; this statement was backed up by Mr. and Mrs. Bay.
Interview: Michael, who spoke with major enthusiasm but little insight, called the paper dolls clones and insisted that they were to be kept a secret. The interview ended abruptly when a firecracker went off in the distance and the boy’s attention swiftly followed.
Damages:
Damage estimated at $157,456.
Claim:
Claim denied.
Policy:
Policy terminated.
Email This Post
Dear Ask This Old House,
My toilet is brand-new, but it’s already leaching some liquid at the base. The caulk is turning from white to brownish and the toilet itself is a touch loose. Is there an easy fix?
Easy fix? You wish. What you have there is a problem. A big problem. I can probably get out there to take a look in say a week, maybe two. But I won’t be able to fix it on the spot. Probably going to have to order some parts. Of course, I won’t know which parts until I see the disaster in person. I can tell you this, between parts and labor, you’re looking at a minimum of $575. Do not use the toilet. If it’s your only one, go to a neighbor’s when you need to do your business. I’ll be in touch at my convenience.
Dear Ask This Old House,
I love the look of crown molding. It really adds that extra touch of elegance to a house. I’d like to put it in my home. Can you give me some pointers?
Is this Bob Vila writing? No? Then no friggin’ way are you installing your own crown molding. Spend the money and have a professional do it. When I needed to lose 170 pounds, did I perform Gastric Bypass on myself? Learn to respect other people’s skills. Now, even though you’ve insulted me and my profession, I’m willing to take on this project. I happen to do crown molding. I’ll be out there tomorrow sometime between 5:30 a.m. and 4 p.m. or maybe the day after. Not sure. I’ll give you a free estimate, but the final cost will be much more. Always seems to happen that way. Just the nature of the business.
Dear Ask This Old House,
The crank handle on one of my bay windows is loose. How do you fix that little bugger?
You don’t. It doesn’t make any sense to just “fix” that piece as you so cluelessly put it. I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to take your place down to the studs and start again. The handle for a window is broken, what’s next? The mailbox gets rusty? Your house’s foundation sinks in? Do you hate your family that much that you’d put them in harm’s way like that? My God, you’re a monster. Listen, you’ll move in with your in-laws while we work for the next 18 months or so. You’re going to love your beautiful new house, but it’s going to take a commitment from you. Oh, and my friend is an architect, he’ll be in touch to discuss your custom home. He’s pricey, but when you see his portfolio, you’ll be blown away.
Dear Ask This Old House,
Someone just told me that power washing your house may void the warranty on your home’s siding? Is this true? My siding is only a 18 months old and I’ve power washed it three times already. I thought it was good for the siding!?
Hi there! I’ll tell you what’s good for the siding: new siding. I’ll have a crew out there to rip the old stuff down. Eighteen months is like a year-and-a-half in siding years. And that’s ancient. Do you have a specific color in mind for the new siding we just agreed to install? If not, I can pick one for you? How about iridescent teal? Why not, right? Push the barriers. Iridescent teal it is! You’ve got great taste. I wish my wife would have let me put the iridescent teal siding on our house. But you know women. Am I right? Anyway, since she put the kibosh on my dream, I’ve got a ton of teal siding in my garage. I’ll pass the savings on to you by giving you the better, higher price than what I paid for it!
From the Law Offices of Sanders, Harrison & Marshall
Dear Ask This Old House,
Recently you sent a team of workers to my client’s home to do some minor repairs on a loose banister. The home, as you are well aware, no longer exists due to your ill-advised demolition. My client was under the impression that the fix for the banister would be quick and easy. Not traumatizing and life-ruining. Furthermore, pre-demolition protocol requires, among other things, the demolition crew to make sure all living things are out of the building — especially children, It’s also necessary that you get the building owner’s approval before imploding the structure. Your team showed willful negligence in failing to address these and a multitude of other safety issues listed herein. Enclosed is a complaint seeking compensatory damages in the amount of $412,782 for property damage and $10,000,000 for negligent infliction of emotional distress. Your prompt response is appreciated as we want to avoid a costly trial.
Dear Law Offices of Sanders, Harrison & Marshall,
Thank you for your well-written complaint. The letter may have been typed, but the signature was gorgeous. What penmanship! And I love the letterhead. It’s gorgeous. In fact I’d like to feature your letterhead on our next show by wallpapering an entire home with it.
In response to your complaint, please accept our sincerest apologies. I never intended to demolish any children. The good news is that the house is gone and we can build a brand-new one. One that’s not an eyesore. We’ll even pick up the tab (including lunch and gas, but excluding labor and materials). I’d also like to gauge your interest in a new law office building. If it’s in a state of disrepair or if you’re simply tired of how it looks, we can build you a new one for free. Just convince your client to make this little complaint go away and you’ve got a deal. Between you and me, that complaint is a little frivolous. Am I right?
Email This Post
Most people out there have no idea I exist, that I patrol the city by night, constantly on the lookout for crime or a new singles’ bar.
I don’t wear a mask and cape, although I’ll occasionally don a muscle shirt and sunglasses, and offer compliments to the pretty ladies who pass by the front stoop of my apartment building. When they give me the finger in response, they might as well be flipping off justice itself.
I don’t drive a sleek black car that shoots fire from its exhaust. My car is designed to blend in — the kind of rust bucket you might see scattering pedestrians in a crosswalk or cutting you off in traffic, and you raise your fist and swear at the driver, but what you don’t realize is that the driver leads a double life as a crime fighter and should maybe be cut a little slack.
My fighting skills may not be the best in the world, but I can take several shots to the head before I go down, especially if I’ve had a few to drink. And on my way to the floor I’ve been known to reach out and take a handful of hair with me.
The cops aren’t on my side. Without a doubt they consider me a vigilante. At various times they’ve also considered me a loiterer, a graffitist and a ticket scalper. Just last week when I was digging for information out on the street, they brought me in for solicitation. I played along and let them put me in a holding cell until I could post bail, all the while thinking it ironic that here I was, the antihero, the “defender of the people” they’re so desperate to collar, and yet they had no idea who I really was, or that I was wanted in another state for passing bad checks.
I don’t have an arch nemesis. That doesn’t mean I don’t have plenty of enemies out there, though, including the waitress at City Diner, assorted bouncers and bartenders, and anybody who uses the word “literally” too often. There’s also no shortage of people in my own building I can’t stand — so smug and superior just because they’ve never been caught naked in the laundry room.
My parents weren’t killed by a criminal when I was a kid, although they have disowned me, so in a way it’s kind of the same thing. And I do have an origin story of sorts, going back to only last month. I was in the middle of one of my favorite pastimes — which is to hail a cab, wait for it to pull over to the curb, then give the driver a rude gesture and stroll away — when all of a sudden I heard an old lady scream that her purse had been snatched. I don’t know what made me take off after the guy. Maybe it was some deep, natural instinct for justice, or possibly it was because the cabbie had gotten out of his car and was approaching me with a tire iron. Whatever it was, I chased the thief for three blocks until eventually I grabbed him, took several shots to the head, and yanked out a handful of hair on my way to the ground.
Even though he got away, I managed to take the purse away from him and bring it back to the old lady. The contents were gone, of course, but $47 in cash, a box of tissue paper and half a roll of Lifesavers could be looked at as a reasonable finder’s fee.
And that was how my crusade began. Nothing has happened since then, but I remain ever vigilant, ever watchful, usually from my front stoop. So if you happen to be a criminal yourself, you better watch your back. And if you happen to be one of those ladies who pass by, why not cut out the snob act for once? Some heroes are millionaire playboys during their off hours. Others would settle for just a friendly smile and maybe a compliment on their muscle shirt.
