Enough With the Capri Pants Already

                They seem to wake up from their fashion hybernation earlier every year. The wrapping paper is barely off the Christmas presents and they are being rescued from plastic coffins in attics throughout the world. They can be seen in malls, at the town pool and even in the classroom. Capri pants, once adored by men, have become so tragically over-worn by women that men are now praying for snow in July and August. 

                 Carpi’s pants are designed to end mid-calf or just below the calf. More recently, the length of the pants has been shortened to just below the knee in some designs. Fashion designers have figured out an ingenious way to cut a foot off the bottom of a pair of pants, create a whole new style, and charge the same for it. I’m told that the Guatemalan children working in sweat factories love the pants because their is less labor involved. Lazy 5 year olds. I’ve been cutting off the sleeves of my t-shirts for years and nobody has ever called me a fashion icon. Though Capri pants are typically worn by women, they have become popular with men in many countries, especially Europe…go figure. As if European men couldn’t look any more effeminate. Seeing a guy in Capri pants and clogs would just send me right into a fashion fit of rage followed by me walking behind him for miles while stepping on his heel every other step until he turns and slaps me in the face with his man-purse.

                      I remember seeing my first pair of Capri pants on Laura Petrie in the Dick Van Dyke show in the early sixties. Mary Tyler Moore, caused a fashion sensation – and some mild controversy – by wearing snug-fitting Capri pants during the show’s run. Sure, it was hot then. That was 40 years ago and the only fashion alternative was the long flowing dresses June Cleaver wore that made you wonder if she had legs at all. After a drop in popularity during the 1970s through the 1990s Capri pants again became a dominant trend during the 2000s where they remain a fashion plight on society to this day.

                  I’m not saying that Capri pants should not be worn at all. Quite to the contrary, I like Capri pants. I’m only saying that they should be worn in moderation…and with the right shoes. Come on, a thirty-nine year old woman in bright yellow Capri pants and plaid slip-on sneakers with a cell phone surgically attached to her bulging waist-band only looks good if she’s driving her trailer to her Garth Brooks Fan Club meeting dressed as Blossom. If any woman asks her husband, boyfriend, soul-mate or even father if she is over-doing the Capri pants they will probably say yes. If they don’t say yes don’t feel exonerated and go on a Capri pants shopping spree. They are lying. They are lying right through their “Days of the Week” pantys and don’t want to hurt your feelings.

                     In defense men wearing Capri pants somone recently told me that popular tennis star Rafael Nadal wears them for the majority of his matches. My rebuttal was, “It’s Tennis dude, come on”!

Real Men

                     Real men don’t cry. Or do they? The lines of masculinity are so pix-elated in these troubled times that men don’t know how to act like men anymore. Many men have become so sensitive and concerned with being politically correct that manliness has taken a back seat to tender progressiveness. A knee injury caused by a rough and tumble pick-up football game is now considered archaic compared to a thumb callous caused by extreme text messaging on a Blackberry. So who are the real men today?

                       I have always considered myself to be a sensitive person. It was my sensitivityy as a child that caused most of the tension between my father and I. He was a hard-core manly man who didn’t have much use for crying or whining especially coming from a two year old. It was my mother who provided nurturing and encouraged my sensitivity. Looking back now I have probably benefited from both of their influences. It has served me well in my life. It gave me the courage to not be “One of the guys” yet be accepted as one. I have always been involved in sports and have many friends who are as well. While I may play a game with the ferocity of an Olympic hopeful at a family picnic, discussing excrement capabilities and marathon burping is simply not my bag baby. I was an outsider on the inside and I knew it. I respected women. I didn’t have a favorite sports team. I don’t drink and I do believe in suppressing most bodily functions in both public and private.

                      I have become comfortable in my ability to fit in for moments in time without selling out. I try to live with a profound understanding of my own truthfulness. Shakespeare said it best in Hamlet – “As this above all,to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day. Thou canst not then be false to any man”. Okay, reciting a line from Hamlet is not going to get me invited to the Beer Leauge Rugby game. To be honest I haven’t used the line in years…yet I still remember it. My friends accepted my sensitivity and awkwardness in certain social situations and they still do. I am rarely invited to functions by friends who know I wouldn’t feel comfortable. I have been told that table settings have been arranged with me in mind so that I am not sitting with psuedo-intellectuals, tough guy want-to-be’s, cell phone addicts, know-it-alls, supermodels, and suicide bombers. I would always be cordial and contribute to the conversation until someone says something like, “I wish they would give illegal aliens citizenship”. It makes me wish I had an AK-47 under the table. I of course would never shoot anyone for such an uninformed moronic statement…I’d just point it at him until he took it back.

                   When we look back at some of history’s toughest men their are tell-tale signs of sensitivity in all of them…excluding serial killers and accountants. Our first President and fearless General wore lipstick, make-up, and a powered wig…which was apropos for the times since he was fighting against other men in make-up and powered wigs. Alexander the great decked out his saddle in lavender and rhinestones during his wins in battle after battle which later inspired the over-sized rhinestone infested bright sweatshirts worn by strippers in the eighties. Lawrence of Arabia demanded that his camels be color coordinated in his Calvary platoons. Allah help the poor bastard who placed a brunette camel next to a blonde one. Even though these men were fierce in battle they still exhibited signs of sensitivity. I know, Alex the Great and Larry The Cable Guy of Arabia were gay. They were still tough. What does it matter if you kill a guy with a spear, or scratch his eyes out? A kill is a kill.

                    Here are a few of the things I’ve been told real men don’t do…I was of course told these things by real men. 

1. Real men don’t cry. Not even a whimper. The last time a real man should cry is at the age of 4 when he runs out of BB’s trying to kill a bunny rabbit.
2. Real men don’t share their feelings, with anyone. Short sentences and grunts are the language used by real men. Any line from an action adventure movie is fine. “I’ll be back” works very well in just about any real man social situation.
3. Real men don’t play golf. Unless it’s miniature golf and you are drunk it is not a real man sport. If you are seen on a golf course it better be because you’re cutting the grass.
4. Real men don’t read Playboy or Penthouse. Real men don’t read. Reading is for beer labels and bar menus.
5. Real men don’t go to the doctor. Chest pains are just growing pains for real men. You should only see a doctor for your death certificate.
6. Real men burp, fart, put their finger in their ear, and scratch themselves both front and back anywhere, anytime.
7. Real men don’t wear any cologne unless it’s Old Spice, English Leather, Pinaud, or whatever that crap is that the barber slaps you in the face with after a haircut. By the way, real men go to barbers not stylists. And they call it mouse or gel…not product.
8. Real men don’t apologize when they hurt someones feelings. Real men don’t know it when they hurt someones feelings.
9. Real men drink. This is to drown their sorrows into a cascading pool of reflection and thought that floats feather-like on the wings of butterflies into the wind-chimes of change. Real men don’t write lines like that last one.
10. Finally, real men don’t get hurt. Emotionally, spiritually, or otherwise. Real men take it in stride and move through life without remorse or reflection. Then they realize, far too late in life, in their loneliness and despair that real men aren’t real. 

 

                      I spent over twenty years bouncing in some of the toughest bars in New Jersey. I spent most slow nights sitting at the front door checking ID’s and reading a book. One summer evening I was sipping a cranberry juice and reading a philospohy book at my post by the door.  The summer evening air was hot and thick like a rainforest after a deluge. Every time the door opened the heat came rolling in like a silent but deadly killer. I was mind deep into the book when I heard a man swear loudly at the bartender. He was apparently being cut off and was not happy at the prospect. I’ve seen the type before. Being cut off in your local bar was like being castrated at your high school reunion. Very threatening to the all powerful male ego. I knew this guy. He was a regular and he was the perfect poster-child for Real men. He had teased me just an hour before for reading during a Yankees game. I told him I’d rather read than watch a bunch of  over-payed steroid freaks who weren’t tough enough to play football run around bases and play tag with a ball. He was of course wearing a softball uniform at the time and had just finished playing a big game. The alcohol, heat, testosterone, and smart ass little turd sitting at the door came crashing in on him the moment he was cut off. He grabbed the bartender by the shirt and pulled himself over the bar. I was on the other side of the room but jumped over the bar in a second to grab him by the back and pull him off the bartender who was now on the floor screaming like a wounded wildebeest. The guy turned and swung at me with a wide right hook. I ducked the punch and grabbed his head in a Muay Thai clinch. I threw about twelve knees into his beer-filled midsection and dropped him like he was out at home plate. The rest of the patrons clapped as I went back to my book. In the heat of action I must have thrown the book. It wound up under the bar where the tough guys girl friend found it. She gave me the book and apologized for her boyfriends behavior as his friends helped him out door to reflect on his actions and vomit in the parking lot. I told her it’s not a problem and these things happen. No hard feelings. She gave me a strange look of disbeleif before leaving as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t. Looking back now, my actions followed by my understanding of the situation may have redefined for her what being a man truly is. He came back the next week and apologized himself. He was humble and told me he’d been in a lot of fights and he’s never been hit so hard before. He went on to say that he was out for the rest of the season with three broken ribs and a ruptured spleen compliments of the wimp by the door(me). He also confided that he was getting help for his drinking and anger issues. In my wimpy book reading opinion it was the first “Real Man” thing he had ever said to me. So it goes…”To thine own self be true”.

Obama’s World Tour Diary

6:30AM: Woke Up. Had a strange dream that McCain flubbed again and stated that, “Obama is inexperienced and that he is the white man for the job.” He said WHITE instead of RIGHT. That would be so classic. 

6:35AM: Smoke a Cigarette and raid the honor bar. 

6:45AM: Send the new guy out for more cigarettes and find out what country we are in.

7:55AM: Where the hell are those cigarettes?

8:00AM: Breakfast – Hair of the Dog. Boy those Jordanians sure can party…or were they Israeli’s?

8:30AM: Met with British Prime Minister Gordon Brown. Tried not to stare at his teeth. I could not understand a word the guy said. They call that English?  Strolled with him to get as many photo ops as possible with London background. Discussed terrorism, climate change and financial markets. I promised him that if I’m elected I would outsource all of America’s technical jobs from India to Great Britain. I asked if he could arrange it for me to meet Austin Powers but apparently he is a fictional movie character. I blew it off as a joke but I think he was on to me. I asked to meet Bono instead. I’m now told he is from Ireland. More info I could have used earlier.

9:30AM: Visited Buckingham Palace. British police steer us away from Palace due to unknown possible threat. The British cops don’t even carry guns. What are they going to do, throw bullets up in the air and hit them at the bad guys with their night-sticks?  I do not feel safe here.

10:00AM Watched performance of The Lion King by British Middle School children. I was photographed yawning in the audience but had my boys take care of the photographer. I meant pay him some money but they told me that they had already beaten him senseless and smashed his camera against the wall of a quaint little pub. They assured me that nobody saw them. I need to be more clear with my directions to the staff.

11:00AM Met with former Prime Minister Tony Blair. I’m not really sure why I met with Blair. He isn’t a player anymore he’s just an envoy to the Middle East now. That’s like going from Night Manager to the deep fryer at McDonalds. Hmm…McDonalds. Sent the new guy out to find some Mickey D’s.

12:00PM Where the hell are my burgers?

12:15PM Burgers arrived but they tasted like crap. The food in this country sucks. I can’t wait to get back home for some real food. Gordan Brown left 2 messages on my cell phone for me to sign papers on that outsource thing I mentioned. Apparently he took me seriously. I should have never given him my cell number. Stall but don’t panic.

1:00PM Watched some more British kids play Cricket. Stupidest game I’ve ever seen. Totally pointless. If you think the British adults accents are annoying you haven’t heard the children. I did a photo op wearing the traditional Cricket uniform. I have never felt so ashamed.

1:45PM Called Michelle and the kids to say hello.

1:46PM Wired money back to the states for that little problem in Boston. For $50,000 the girl said she’d keep quiet. I trust her.

2:00PM Met with the Queen. Had a funny itching sensation in my shorts from wearing the Cricket uniform. Sent the new guy out for some Cruex to alleviate the jock itch. Hope the Queen didn’t notice me scratching. She wears a lot of make-up and her hands were as cold as McCain’s campaign.

2:45PM Regrouped at the hotel and had a staff meeting. Where is the new guy with my Cruex? Discussed strategy and planned the rest of the world tour itinerary. Read the press on the Germany trip. Great success…over 200,000 people. Telling them that we were giving out free beer was brilliant.

3:30PM Visited Muslim neighborhood in London. I was allowed in but most of the media and the unattractive unveiled women in my entourage were not. The  neighborhood reminded me of the Bronx but with Muslims and no unexploded bombs sticking out of the ground. Did I say Bronx? I meant Baghdad. I thought the stores were closed for prayer but apparently their is a televised PPV Soccer game and half-time beheading in Iran that everyone is watching. Those Iranians love their sports. A few of the signs on the store windows read: NO VEIL, NO SALE. Hey, that rhymes. Get me the hell out of here. 

4:30PM Visited old-fashioned English Pub on the west side of London. It reminded me of a Benigans but with a lot of English people. Ate Meat Pie and did shots with some of the locals. Played darts and sang some bar songs. They teased me about being a lightweight drinker. I told them to put some lines on a mirror and I’ll show you limey bastards how to party Washington style, then I fell.  I was later told by a staff member that I had promised a cabinet position to a guy named Morty from the bar. I can only hope I didn’t give him my cell number.

8:30PM Call from Morty. I didn’t pick up.

8:31PM Another call from Morty. I gave it to the new guy and told him to handle it. The idea of touching my cell phone knowing that I’ve been scratching my crotch all day didn’t seem to bother him. He is a team player. Perhaps I should bring him into the Obama inner circle. Note: ask the guy who always wears the blue ties or that woman with the thing on her neck what his name is.

8:45PM Gordon Brown just called and he has already drawn up papers for that outsourcing thing I mentioned…or promised. Morty has been calling non-stop. Had to turn off cell phone. Not sure what to do with the Brown problem. I could always have the CIA snuff him after I’m elected. I think the President can do that. 

9:00PM Visited night shift of factory that makes Cricket Uniforms. You’ve got to be kidding me. Put on Cricket Uniform again for another picture. Nice shot…me twitching around in an outfit looking like an Ice Cream Man on PCP. Not one factory worker smiled for the photo and only one knew who I was.  Total waste of time. Need more Cruex.

10:00PM Back at hotel. Smoked as many cigarettes as possible in an hour. Had to blow smoke out the window since it’s s non-smoking room. I drink a few mini bottles of Gin that I stole from the plane. I’m beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol. The pungent smell of cigarette smoke and Cruex is intoxicating. Tomorrow is another day in another country. I drift off to sleep.

10:13PM Cell phone rings. God damn Morty.

McCain: Save the Drama for Obama

                     This past week’s media cycle has been dominated by Barrack Obama’s overseas trip to try and garner support from foreign leaders for his assumed Presidency. The media has been tripping over themselves like three-legged wolves while embedded in this carefully choreographed political carnival. While Obama is out of town visiting our friendly global neighbors to shore up his experience in foreign affairs and jump at every photo opportunity available,  John McCain is back home crying about his lack of media coverage. The McCain campaign complained publicly that the New York Times had rejected an Op-Ed by the senator that responded to an Obama Op-Ed in the paper. The Times is notoriously known as a liberal newspaper and John McCain should not be surprised that they would reject a rebuttal from him. This is not McCain’s first time to the Presidential Campaign dance yet he is being beaten to the dance floor by Obama at every opportunity. Instead of fighting for media coverage like the tough soldier we know, he is complaining about it like Hillary Clinton on a bad hair day.

                    Obama is already acting like the President. He looks Presidential and he is hitting all the media hot spots. Since it is widely accepted that a picture is worth a thousand words, it stands to reason that the more he is seen and the less he says, the better off he will be.  His trip and the locust swarm of gossip columnists masquerading as journalists that drool over every word that the teleprompter tells him to say is political showboating at it’s best. I find it a little obnoxious and presumptuous that Obama is already acting like the President. Especially when he visits military installations. He is playing on the fact that if we see something enough times we will accept it as factual. That is his campaign strategy and it is a good one considering his experience compared to McCain’s decades on the political front lines is much weaker. 

                          While Obama is carefully picking off McCain’s statements about his lack of foreign affair experience with sniper-like precision during his overseas trip John McCain is looking more weak and ragged than the last guy in the wrong line at the DMV. McCain has always used his military leadership experience and the extraordinary courage and perseverance he demonstrated as a POW during the Vietnam war during his political career. McCain is a tough old bird and we like him that way. When he whines about Obama’s media coverage it makes him look old and worried. It also causes me to question his ability to carry out his strategy for making America better. Perhaps I’m oversimplifying, but it seems to be a no-brainer that when the enemy is away the streets are yours. McCain should have used this opportunity to show Americans what they want to see which is images of him responding to the housing crisis, gas prices, and the conflict in Iraq.

                      It is obvious that most Americans are filled with anger up to the top of their gas tanks at the high price of gas. The mortgage crisis has sent a ripple effect throughout the country that has affected so many industries that bankruptcy lawyers are now the only industry actively hiring. The sub-standard care given American soldiers returning from Iraq and Afghanistan is something a former POW can genuinely get behind. Pushing for better health services for the men and women who are now suffering so that liberty and freedom are possible for people living thousands of miles away is a golden opportunity for McCain to strut his leadership stuff.

                       McCain should have taken this “out-time” from Obama and visited the ANWR Province in Alaska, an off-shore oil rig, a VA Hospital, a Nuclear reactor, and Americans who have lost their homes to foreclosure. This is what Americans want to see from their next President. Trust me, nobody who has had to fill his tank recently gives a rat’s gas about Barrack Obama’s trip to Germany. While Obama is busy acting like the President, McCain needs to step up and start acting like a leader. When the whole country is complaining we don’t need a complainer in charge to lead us. Even though every President has lead our country for a period of time, history will show that not all of them were leaders.

Combat Parenting: Part 1

Boot Camp for Babies
 Terrible-Two’s, Tyrannical-Threes, and Franken-Fours

                                Once your child begins to walk and utter phrases, even if they are only understandable to themselves, it is time to begin training and laying down the law of the land. This is a time when children always seem to “want something” and therefore need to learn to accept disappointment graciously when they are denied. This can prove to be a difficult task for parents because young children are not yet programmed to take no for an answer. Up until this point their needs were basic and few. When they were hungry, thirsty, or needed to be changed they cried and they were accommodated. By two years old this ritual of demand and supply is now becoming a negative pattern because your child now desires more than the basic needs, is more inquisitive, is capable of mobilizing and must now be considered a household weapon of mass destruction. The enemy has shown himself and he is a formidable foe. Early estimates of damage on a typical Sunday morning are the TV remote floating in a bowl of Captain Crunch, a handful of his sister’s hair on the floor, the dog cowering in a corner, and some unique finger-paint artwork done on the refrigerator door with a brown substance which after closer examination was determined to have been created in his diaper.

                      This is when you need to teach, use, and enforce the word “No”. For some reason many parents have a problem using the “N” word with their children. Saying no to your child is unpleasant to both them and you. Many times parents will avoid a straight answer of no rather than facing a battle of wills with their child. This negative behavior pattern needs to be broken before it becomes entrenched in the household and accepted as normal behavior. The best way to practice saying no is to say it more and more. It will become easier for you and you will find that the more you say it the less you will need to. Your child will begin to understand that every time he asks for something he is not allowed to have the answer will be no. It will be reinforced and therefore it will become a rule that is expected to be followed always. Perseverance is key to raising well behaved children.

                       Between the ages of one to three years old is when your little soldier is most prone to throwing tantrums. Tantrums are usually thrown due to a perceived lack of attention to or frustration over not getting something they wanted. Tantrums can come in the form of whining or crying and other times it will be an all out foot-stomping, face-reddening, arm-flailing, throw myself on the floor and scream like an animal with it’s leg caught in a bear trap. When this happens in the home it is easier for parents to intervene and take control. When out in public it can be a little more difficult when you are aware that others are watching this “scene” take place and you are most likely embarrassed. These are moments of truth when your own frustration can result in your yelling at your child or even spanking. That more or less just adds gas on the fire. I advise parents to take their child to a quiet and safe place to get them under control. If that means leaving a restaurant or store and sitting in the car for some “out time” than so be it. If you have ever wondered what people are thinking when your child is throwing a tantrum they are probably thinking that you are a parent whose child is out of control. Tantrums need to be dealt with and brought under control.

                                Children who have not yet mastered speech can become frustrated when they are trying to tell you that they want something and you are not responding to what they want. The word no is still something new to them and they may perceive your not giving in as not understanding them. The frustration experienced when someone doesn’t understand you is quite different from the frustration you experience when you know that they clearly understand you and you are being denied what you want anyway. It is crucial that parents are on point and are able to see the possibility of a tantrum before it happens. This way they can assert that they understand what their child wants and the answer is still no. With that being made clear if you feel like a tantrum is inevitable than remove the child from the area and help them to gain control.

                       About six months ago a father came into my martial arts academy with his eight year old son for information about classes. The young son immediately walked up to the showcase in the reception area that I was standing behind. He enthusiastically pointed over my shoulder to a huge yellow novelty boxing glove adorned with championship belts and garland from Thailand used in Muay Thai kickboxing ceremonies. “Oh cool,” he said”. Then he stated in a most demanding way, “I want that”. I looked at him and said in my most soothing voice, “ It is a cool glove, and if you are accepted as a student here maybe some day if you work hard enough you can earn a glove like that”. “I want it now,” he demanded as he crossed his arms and looked at me in disbelief as though he has never been denied anything in his pampered eight years on planet earth. Meanwhile his father has not yet uttered a word. “Well you can’t have it,” I answered back in a clear and forceful voice making sure not to cross my arms and mimic his frustration. “But I want it,” he came right back with a little more force in his voice and a dash of arrogance. “Okay, I thought. Time to end this little battle and teach this child of the corn who’s who and what’s what. I looked right at him with a very serious look on my face and said,” Let me explain something to you. Look down. The floor you’re standing on is mine. The air you’re breathing is mine. Everything you see, feel, and hear around you in this building is mine. Nothing here is yours. You are a guest. But I will tell you what I’ll do. I’ll take that.” I was pointing right at his jacket. “What?” he asked. “Your jacket,” I replied calmly. “Give it to me.” “No”, he answered. “It’s mine.” “Good, now we have an understanding,” I came back. “That’s yours, and this glove is mine and that’s the way it’s going to stay. Do we understand each other?” He uttered only one word, “Yes”. “That’s what I want for him,” the father blurted out exuberantly. His father’s lack of affirmative action during this little battle of the wills left no doubt as to why this eight year old boy had become a demanding and arrogant little tyrant. I don’t accept every child into my academy and this is an example of a child that was not accepted. To be honest it wasn’t the child I was turning down. It was the parent.

First Rule of Engagement: “No Means No”

When you say no you should mean no. Do not give in or negotiate. When you do this you are communicating mixed messages to your children by not establishing the uncompromising meaning of the word no. If you say no and truly mean it and are ready to enforce it then it should stand to reason that complaining, whining, and tantrum throwing will not change your answer. This needs to be conveyed to your child by not permitting any negative reactions to being told no. You are now establishing new rules to back-up and coincide with other rules.

Parents are aware that saying no to their child is usually an unpleasant task. It’s unpleasant because of the expected backlash of anger, disappointment, or frustration by their child. Saying no should not be a battle. Often parents will say yes when they really want to say no in order to avoid a scene or tantrum. Some parents never say no or defer to the other parent. The more a parent say’s no and doesn’t waiver, the less they will have to say it. Children, just like adults, do not like to hear the word no.  So how do we teach our two to four year old children to accept disappointment without a struggle or hissy-fit? By establishing ground rules and enforcing them. It’s amazing that when we say yes our children don’t ask why. Because it was what they wanted to hear. No does not need an explanation every time you use it. It speaks in volumes. It is all powerful.

• No means no.
• If told no…whining, pleading, and tantrum throwing are not permitted.  Being told no is not a pun
  ishment or an offense. It is simply a denial based on a request. Whining, pleading, and tantrum 
  throwing after hearing the word no on the other hand is an offense and should result in some form
  of punishment. By not permitting any resistance to the word no you will find that your child will stop
  asking for things that they know they are not allowed to have and you will not become engaged in
  a power struggle for every disappointment. They already know the answer will be no. They already
  know from past experience that arguing or whining will not do them any good but will result in
  some form of punishment. I recommend what most parents call “Out Time” as the UCHJ
  (Uniformed Code of Household Justice) punishment of choice for the whiner, tantrun thrower, and
  complainer.

UCHJ Article 1:Time Out
Sentencing a child to Out Time serves more than it’s singular intention of punishment. A child will complain or whine when they think they have a dedicated audience. When a parent has to explain repeatedly why a child can not have something it becomes a negative behavior pattern. It also suggests to me that in the past the parent has either given in or given up which has led to the hope  of changing a decision. That inconsistency will only lead to further arguments or tantrums. Out Time also gives the parent a reprieve from arguing and a hostile environment. Listening to a child cry or throw a tantrum when they haven’t gotten their way is not easy on the ears or the nerves. This is typically when parents ask themselves “who is punishing who”. It is also typically when parents give in or cave under the pressure. Separating yourself from your child during Time Out is critical to developing a positive pattern of response. They need time alone to think about, and with consistency, resolve themselves to the fact that tantrum throwing, whining, and complaining are not to be tolerated. You need time alone to pat yourself on the back for sticking to your guns. A cup of tea or a glass of wine for the warden will also work.

• Time Out will be sentenced and carried out for each and every time a negative response is
  received after being told no or denied something.
• Time Out sentences are to be served until the designated time period has expired. Early parole or
  reduced sentences are out of the question.
• Complaining or whining about being sentenced to Time Out will consistently result in additional
  time on sentence. (Remember the library scene from The Breakfast Club between Judd Nelson
  and the Vice-Principal?)
• Time Out will be served in the child’s room…unless it resembles Disneyland and is more like a
  Club Med all inclusive vacation than a punishment. I recommend a quiet place where the child can
  reflect on why they are there in the first place. An hour of watching Spongebob Squarepants is not
  a punishment. Parents or siblings should not be in the room with the prisoner.

Next Exerpt: Why some parents have a problem saying No

The Carnival

                        I remember standing in the dusty baseball field of the middle school with my friends watching as the summer carnival caravan pulled into town. This was a yearly ritual in Waldwick and one that I looked forward to with panting anticipation. It was all there. Neon lights flashing on rides just daring you to buy a ticket. Cute girls roaming in packs like baby wolves under the watch-full eyes of their snarling mothers. Strollers pushed by little big brothers wanting to help but barely reaching the handles. Freshly tatooed guys and girls with half shirts too cool to be seen at the carnival huddle in the shadows by the fence their faces only visable by the light of their cigarettes.

                       What intrigued me the most wasn’t the glitz and glitter of the carnival but the social  outcasts who worked the rides and the booths. In my young and semi-innocent eyes they were mission control for what appeared to be some of the most complex machinery ever constructed by mankind. I would go back to the carnival early the next morning and search for discarded tickets on the ground. How someone could carelessly just drop a perfectly good ticket was beyond my comprehension. Three more tickets and I can go on a ride. It was a numbers game and I was damn good at it. During my morning search for tickets the carnival workers would slowly emerge out of trailers like vampires. They covered their eyes from the glaring morning sun flailing their arms like zombies on acid. After adjusting to the light and remembering what town they were in and for a few what day it was they would sit around and wait while one of them went for coffee. It was during those early morning sessions that I learned the true nature of the fascinating beast-man known as the carnival worker. Their stories intoxicated me like a rush of Jolly Ranchers exploding in my mind. They used swear words and described woman’s anatomy in phrases that would make a longshoreman blush. Their graphic tales of sexual conquest from the prior evening with a few local high-school girls were my earliest memories of how men talk about women when they aren’t around. I knew that these weren’t typical men and that most men probably held women in a higher regard, their stories were thought provoking nevertheless. I decided right then and there that the carnival life was going to be the life for me.

20 YEARS LATER – A father of 2 daughters

The carnival is back just like every summer past  

The days seem so long but they roll by too fast                                                                                             

A funeral procession of trucks, rides and games                                                                                        

You can be one of them, they don’t ask for names                                                                           

Nighttime comes and neon lights fill the sky                                                                               

Everyone comes out to give it a try                                                                                                       

Mom’s smoking Marlboro’s watching the high school boys                                                                     

Dad blows forty bucks to win a bucks worth of toys                                                                                

The guy running the Ferris wheel has the young girls attention                                                              

Tells them his life’s story, things he shouldn’t have mentioned                                                           

Shows them tattoos and a scar on his arm                                                                                                   

He buys them some beer but he gives them the charm                                                                              

He speaks like a renegade and looks kind of ruthless                                                                               

His eyes like a hand-grenade and his smile almost toothless                                                                    

He was busted in Alabama, he was seen behind a trailer                                                                         

With some sweet sixteen, he was trying to nail her                                                                                     

He told her it’s cool as long as nobody knows                                                                                        

Gave her lines from a Lynard Skynard song as he took off her clothes                                                     

The carnival is the place you go to for fun                                                                                            

Seems more like a place I’d want to run from                                                                                           

Bingo the clown walks around waving his hand                                                                                

Thinking about the evening and the drinking he has planned                                                                    

He has a date with Rosie from the Rotary Club                                                                                         

He’s meeting her after at The Beef & Brew Pub                                                                                            

He was run out of the Dallas circuit, his life was a wreck                                                                           

He got caught dealing from the bottom of the deck                                                                              

Before that it was Kansas City, where he found another man’s wife far too pretty                                     

His smile became a frown when the bearded lady wouldn’t get down with the clown                               

The VFW guys with their proudly worn caps                                                                                                

Still talking about the war and killing the Japs                                                                                          

The Lions Club is having a raffle to win a car                                                                                          

Bingo has his eyes on the money in that jar                                                                                         

Mom’s tell the kids it’s time to get going                                                                                            

Realtors are coming in the morning for a showing                                                                                    

The rides have all stopped and with them the neon lights                                                                          

The muscle boys flex and say their goodnights                                                                                         

The carnival is pulling out tomorrow, but there is nothing to fear                                                               

Like every summer past it will be back next year

Someone Call Security on Security

                    In times of economic hardship many people begin to worry about their security. These are often the same people who would worry about their security in prosperous times. By security they mean a steady and dependable job which provides enough finances to live comfortably and be able to put something away for retirement. And then you die. You played it safe and did what society dictated should be done. You put aside all of your ambitions and dreams to settle for a life of complacence and compromise. Isn’t it ironic to live a life worrying about your security so that in the future you won’t have to worry about it?

                         When you look back in history and notice that all of the men and women who imagined and then took action which ultimately wound up shaping the destiny of civilization. They never pondered their personal security because they were too involved with living rather than merely existing. They took risks and gambled with uncertainty. Where would we be without them now? It is not surprising that very few people are taking risks today. Besides fourteen year olds in half-pipe Skate Parks everyone seems to be playing it safe. They stand on the sidelines of life and propagate that life is all about working towards the ultimate goal, security. These are the same people who have buried the dreams of their childhood in the sandbox of their adulthood. Never taking chances but choosing to play it safe and convince themselves that conformity is the stepping-stone to security.

                            To most of the people I know taking the family on vacation to Disney Land, watching an action packed movie and reading a good book is exciting. That is fine but I hope that they realize their idea of excitement is due to the creativity, imagination, and experiences of others who did take a chance. They got off the treadmill of fear that prevents most of us from waking up this morning and begin pursuing the dreams that we had last night regardless of risk.

                          I don’t think anyone looks back on their life with complete satisfaction. Their will always be something that wished we had said or done. Should we try to view our life as if we were on our last breath? Would we be happy that we stayed on the shore and existed or would we have been better off going out into the storm and living?

I’m Greener Than You Are

                Celebrities trying to “Out Green” each other has become all the rage lately. Notice that you don’t see many of them getting out of Hummer’s anymore. I think even Arnold Swarzenegger shoehorns himself into a Hybrid these days. The mean streets of Beverly Hills have certainly changed since everyone has gone from off-white to green. The parking area on movie sets looks like the front row of a Prius dealer. I heard that Leonardo Dicaprio is now almost as Green as Ed Begley Jr.

                        Pushing a climate change agenda in nearly every interview has become notoriously chic in Hollywood. Sipping Perrier in a decked-out trailer complaining about people not doing enough is ironic considering the trailer was towed in a massive parade of trucks carrying studio equipment to and from locations. Each movie produced probably emits enough exhaust from diesel engines and generators to kill the entire Brazilian Rain-forest. 

                    Leonardo Dicaprio has been one of the most outspoken of Hollywood’s elite on climate change. It’s nice to see a celebrity standing up for something he truly believes in. It’s also nice to see the same celebrity performing in movies with so many special effects explosions that the toxin level spewed into the atmosphere equals that of Hiroshima and Nagasaki after Fatman and Little Boy dropped in. 

                    Corey Feldman is doing his part. The former Goonie and Lost Boy  just did a new project for Peta. He and his Playboy model wife did an ad to promote vegetarianism called “Give Peas a Chance”. The ad is a knock-off of John Lennon and Yoko Ono’s Give Peace a Chance bed-in to protest the Vietnam War. Feldman with a  guitar in hand and his wife without a thought in her head sit in bed with signs reading “Go Veg” and “Give Peas a Chance.”  With the fear of Tomato Salmonella and Lettuce E-Coli still fresh in our minds it is amazing that the healthiest part of a BLT is now the bacon. I’ll take my chances with Mad Cow’s Disease over E.Coli any day Corey. It is nice to see a child star all grown up and come to the realization that at an early point in his life cuteness was mistaken for actual talent.

                            In his Academy Award winning  documentary An Inconvenient Truth, former Vice President Al Gore calls on Americans to conserve energy by reducing electricity consumption at home. According to the Nashville Electric Service Gore’s mansion in the upscale Belle Meade area of Nashville consumes more electricity every month than the average American household uses in an entire year. Ouch, that is an inconvenient truth Al. The Gores average yearly electric and gas bill is $30,000. Hey, you could run Leo Dicaprio’s air conditioned trailer for a week with that kind of extra cash.                       

                      Edward Norton is continuing in a family tradition of conservationism with his own nonprofit cause called  BP Solar Neighbors.The program helps stars help others. Every time a celebrity buys a solar power system for his or her home, another one is donated to a deserving family in South Central Los Angeles. Without BP Solar Neighbors, gang-bangers wouldn’t be able to power up their X Box’s or use high powered plant-lights to grow sticky weed in a closet. Do you really want a fourteen year old cleaning his gun with poor lighting? A misfired bullet could ruin a perfectly planned drive-by shooting. 

                  Going green in Hollywood is just going to be another eco-fad fashion of the month. Once tabloids start running pictures of celebrities doing anything inconsistent with their “greener than thou” status, the interest will fade. Consider all of the recent past Hollywood fads like Kaballah, Scientology, adopting multi-ethnic children, and making out with Brittney Spears. Now just disturbing memories. If the stars in Hollywood had the focus and commitment of a two year old Chimpanzee they might make a difference. Since we have witnessed celebrities flip-flop and go from cause to cause it is difficult to take any of them seriously. But, when someone so prolific like Pamela Anderson starts talking about the environment it’s really time to listen. It is inspiring to see her set such an example by switching from silicone implants to soy implants. Let’s face it the only thing celebrities have been strongly committed to over the last thirty years is rehab.

Life Isn’t fair

                  ”Life Isn’t fair”. I, like most people first heard that phrase from my parents. It was usually predicated by not getting what I wanted in a given situation. We have all used it as a response to pacify someone’s disappointment even though it’s stating the obvious and doesn’t help the current situation in the least. So if we all know that life isn’t fair then why do we still expect it to be? Many are hoping to “wait it out” and then life will become fair. These are the same people who sit in 7/11 parking lots and scratch off lottery tickets with their lucky penny while chain smoking Marlboro Lights. Waiting for your life to turn around and set itself on a steady course is nothing more than giving in to the whim and mercy of every circumstance that affects you and challenges you.  

                      For a lot of people I know, complaining about life is their life. They see the bad and negative in everything that they do and they want you to see it also. Commiserating about life’s lack of fairness and injustices is the focal point of so many conversations that the Ghost Busters may be needed to straighten us out again. Pointing out the imperfection in a rainbow does not make it any less beautiful to me.

                      Life was never intended to be fair. It was intended to be what you make it. While some may have been born with a silver spoon in their mouth and seemingly have everything that they want they are not necessarily happy with their lives. I have personally known a few miserable millionaires that seemed to have it all. Once you give in to the fact that life is not fair you begin to accept responsibility for what happens next in your life. The misconception that your turn is coming is a sombering wake up call that should encourage you to stop feeling sorry for yourself and take steps to find true personal happiness.  

                      It’s all so simple, right? Personal tragedies, financial problems, relationship issues and job pressures all bitch-slapping you at every corner with no reprieve in sight. Feeling victimized? Treated unfairly? Have a pity-party for yourself and then pick one item in your life that you want to improve and then go improve it. Or, you could do what you’ve been doing and continue to piss and moan about life’s unfairness to nearly everyone you meet.

                                 Since life is comprised of individual lives interacting with each other it is easy to assume that people who think life is unfair are also quick to blame others for their failures or lack of success. Not only is life not fair but it’s everyone else’s fault. As a fighter and coach I have learned that circumstances do not make a great fighter, they reveal him. Blaming others is an admission that you are powerless over your own life. So either suck it up and make some positive changes in your life or get a new lucky penny and keep scratching.

The Computer Age

                        Now that computers have replaced almost all forms of personal human interaction in order to make our lives easier and more efficient we should have more time for our family and friends. Instead we take that extra leisure time and use it to spend more time with our video games and iPODS. Americans are so addicted to their gadgets and electronic toys that when new parents see their eleven month old playing with a plastic cup rather than a Baby Blackberry they are running to have him tested for mental retardation. Many of us have taken objects designed for efficiency and we have repackaged them in our minds as objects of efficiency with an entertaining twist to them. Sure, it’s efficient to write the synopsis for the new merger deal your boss has you working on. Fire up the old PC, work some magic and e-mail that bad boy through cyber-space and he will have it in a saint’s whisper. You’ll get to it right after you spend three hours in moronic chat rooms exchanging ideas with people you wouldn’t even spit atif you saw them in public. Then just check your e-mail and it’s back to work. After reading countless letters encouraging you to buy prescription drugs online, enlarge your penis, and become a business partner to a nice man from Nigeria, it is time to get to work. No more distractions. Hey, what’s that pop-up ad? I’ve won a laptop just for answering a few questions? Cool.

                           For a guy who is writing this blog on the most up-to-date DELL available when I purchased it a month ago, (it was as technologically advanced as an electric stapler by the time I go it in the car) I shouldn’t be talking. The only people who will ever see this blog will have computers. The guy who needed to count on his fingers to read my gas meter ten years ago can read this blog with his one good eye via the satellite uplinked hand-held computer dangling from his tool belt. The only way I can get him to speak with me now is to offer him a Slim Jim and a Mountain Dew. Interpersonal communication is becoming as rare as Rosie O’Donnell at a Weight Watcher’s meeting .

                           Is too much technology dangerous? It isn’t comforting for parents to watch their 17 year old mall-punk daughter backing out of the driveway like she’s leaving Pit Row while text messaging her BFF who only lives two doors away. This is the same little girl who once played with her “See and Say” for hours. The cow says “Moo.” So cute and innocent. The kind of childhood memory that makes you want to go and buy one on eBay. I’d go to “Toys R Us” but my GPS System would have to be programmed and that could take minutes. Just another example of how humans are avoiding interacting with other humans. If we continue down this bumpy road only stopping for roadside bombs our language and communication skills will quickly regress to grunts, head gestures, and giving the finger. The ability to see someone’s face when they are lyingto you will become lost. Who will teach our children about sarcasm and insincerity? Not to mention how all this levels the household playing field. Sure, they need you for rides, money, and food. But you need them to help you use the computer. Being raised in the computer age your children, or ”Technical Support” as I like to call them have a distinct advantage over you. While you flail and drown in a sea of techno-snakehead fish trying to pay your car payment on-line your five year old just bought 5,000 shares of Microsoft in the other room.

                            I love technology as much as the next athlete-turned-nerd. I like my electric razor, my night vision goggles, and iPod. Actually I love my iPod…but I’m not in love with it. I think that technology if used in moderation is good thing for people. I also think that most people overuse it and depend on it as an integral part of their overall happiness. “Necessity is the mother of invention.” That saying came from the Greek Philosopher Plato, a man who probably lived in what we today would consider squalid conditions. The wheel, boat, and weapons were all needed in those times to survive and therefore the need to invent and create was paramount. In these modern times everyone could survive without their cell phones, computers, and GPS’s. But nobody is willing to give them up. They are the devices that shut out the loneliness and self thought that just might surface if given a few seconds away from all of the distractions that we so desperately think we need. I know that technology is supposed to bring us together but It hurts to find out that the technical support guy in India I’ve become so close to also talks to some woman in China.