How Deadwood helped me raise my children.

"Either way this comes out, we're only going to have to do this once."  Al Swearengen.

I have never had very much internal discipline.  This statement will come as no surprise to anyone with even a passing knowledge of me.  One of the most daunting elements of raising a child for me was the question of how to instill within them the positive character qualities I myself lack.  Self discipline - hell, discipline in GENERAL - being chief among these.  (all my other character deficiencies haven't really bothered me much).  I haven't' been through this with the little one, but I clearly remember the turning point in my discipline relationship with Isaac.
It was a brisk Rosh Hashanah afternoon.  Isaac, then an only child, was napping peacefully in his crib.  My wife had gone to her mothers to help get ready for the big family dinner and all I had to do was dress my two year old when he woke up and head out the door.  Seems easy enough...
It was starting to get late and I decided I should wake up Ike to make sure we made it on time.  He woke up ANGRY.  I was able to change his diaper while he laid on the table screaming and crying, but the nice outfit was a different issue.  He started squirming so hard he almost fell off the changing table, so I brought our fight to the floor.
"Isaac, you have to put your pants on." I said calmly
"NO!" He screamed back at me.
"Isaac, either you will put on your pants, or I will FORCE them on you."
"NOO!!" he replied.
Swiftly, I moved in, grabbed my screaming, naked child in one hand and the tiny, adorable corduroy pants in the other.  While Isaac screamed and kicked, I grabbed one tiny ankle in my hand, hoisting him briefly like Achilles, and threaded his foot into the cords.  I repeated the steps while he swung his arms at me wildly and screeched at the top of his tiny little lungs.  With both legs in, I flipped him over.  I wrapped one arm around his torso, immobilizing his flailing arms and started inching his pants up his legs and over his hips.  I had to wrap my leg around his to keep it from kicking and flinging the pants off.  All this action was set to the soundtrack of a child screaming in, what I like to call, pain-ger-steria.  Eventually, I got the pants snapped and released my lock down of all his limbs.  Immediately, he turned onto his back and fled from me in a panicked, reverse crab walk, reminiscent of Newt scurrying away from a face-hugger.
We took a pause - each eying up the other.  I kept my mean ol' Dad face on, and I could read fear, terror and surprise in Isaacs face.
No dad ever wants to be the cause of fear, terror and surprise in their child's face, but what happened next made it all worth while.  Slowly, and with Clint Eastwood-esque resolve, I said to my son, "Now, put on your shirt, or I will force you to put it on."
Isaac got up right away, walked over to the bed where his cute sweater and fake collar shirt was waiting and without fuss or argument, slipped it over his head.  All the while maintaining eye contact with me.

Over three years later and the ultimatum of, "...or I will force you" remains INCREDIBLY effective.  I have modified it slightly depending on the circumstances (i.e. "come along or I will CARRY you"), but it really only took that one encounter to establish that part of our relationship.

Redux - A Love of Deadwood May Save Your Life

Re-reading my old posts and this is one of my favorites.
ORIGINALLY POSTED AUG 9, 2006

WARNING - the following anecdote may not be suitable for younger viewers.
So there I am, standing on the street in Santa Monica, minding my own business, when I see a scary crazy person coming at me from down the street.  I know this person was scary, not because they were screaming and yelling profanities at no one in particular, but because years of working in Santa Monica have taught me how to tell the scary crazy people from the benign crazy people.  Anyway, this guy was riding right up to the Vons parking lot exit, and as he approached, a van pulled out quickly and almost struck the cyclist.
"Hey!  Fuck you, man!  Why don't you watch where youre fucking going!  Fucking pedestrians have the fucking right of way, asshole!"
Legally, I thought Crazy Man was on solid ground.  Van Guy should have pulled out of the parking lot with more caution.  But Van Guy wasn't done making mistakes
"Hey Asshole," shouted Van Guy as Crazy Man rode off, "why don't you watch where YOU'RE going!"
Big mistake.  Crazy Man turned around in the middle of the street, stopping traffic and almost causing an accident.
"What'd you say!?  What the FUCK did you say, motherfucker?  I'll fucking drag you out of that fucking car and fucking TEACH you about how driving works!"
The string of profanities continued and Van Guy quickly rolled up his window as Crazy Man reached the side of the van.  With the traffic stopped (thanks to Crazy Man), the van was able to pull out of the lot with a squeal and get onto Lincoln Avenue before Crazy Man could catch up and follow through with any of his threatened Drivers Ed.
"Thats right, dick!  Fucking run off!"
Now Crazy Man was surveying the scene.  He was all worked up and looking for somewhere to land with his anger.  He saw me, standing on the corner and watching the whole exchange.
"What the fuck are you looking at?"
Now scary Crazy Man was focused on me, riding over to where I stood
Digression...
When David Milch talks about the language in Deadwood, one of the comparisons he makes is to gorillas in the wild.  The string of profanities most of the characters in Deadwood spew is similar to a gorilla beating their chest in order to convince the other gorillas that they are strong and shouldn't be messed with.  In a world as violent and dangerous as Deadwood, the first way a human being can express that they are as violent and dangerous as the environment is through language.  Hence, when someone uses a lot of language that most, if not all, would find offensive, they are really trying to say that the normal laws of civil human interaction don't apply to them.
Crazy Man was undoubtedly doing the same.  The life of a homeless man is tough, and it must require a great many defensive techniques in order to stave off all sorts of dangers I can't even imagine.  I had to quickly communicate three things to this guy; 1) I pose no threat to him 2) I agree with his interpretation of events and 3) I am a gorilla that is not to be messed with.
"What the fuck are you looking at?" Crazy Man yells at me.
"I was looking at that fucking cunt who don't know shit about how to drive his piece of shit van."
"That's fucking RIGHT!  That guy's a fucking CUNT!" He yelled as he rode off.
I used the worst, most offensive word I could think of and I put it in a sentence that had been consciously crafted to be grammatically incorrect.  Not only did my strategy work in deflecting the ire and attention of Crazy Man, but part of me was also proud of the fact that I had influenced him a little.  He hadn't used the word 'cunt' at all before, but once he heard how it sounded, he decided it was a more appropriate word for Van Guy then 'Asshole'.
I dont swear very often, but if I'm going to, I like to make it count.

PS. This was copied and pasted from my iPhone

Blog Migration

While I don't expect to actually be writing anything new anytime soon, I figured I'd start bringing over some of my old MySpace blog post and keeping them here.  It's funny how my Myspace page never had a lot of followers, but I knew everyone one there really well.  My facebook page has become a massive storing house of everyone I've ever had any kind of interaction with.  Co-workers, friends of co-workers, random farmville players and even a few whose connection to me has been lost to history.  MySpace had its problems, but those of you who read my blog there knew me, and that's kinda what made blogging fun.  Maybe re-reading some of that old chronicle of dreams, phobias and socially awkward situations will inspire me again. 

Although, I don't think I've ever told anyone about this site, so it will probably get a LOT less traffic.