Cool, Calm & Contentious - Merrill Markoe [46]
“Let’s use this time to talk about anything you want,” I continued, launching into a few introductory remarks about learning to write in your own voice, and looking at your life in as clear-eyed a way as possible. I offered another Vonnegut quote: “Find a subject you care about and which you feel others should care about. It is this genuine caring, and not your games with language, which will be the most compelling and seductive element in your style.” And then, thinking I had gotten the old ball rolling, I turned to address them in earnest.
“What would you guys like to talk about?” I said.
A heavyset girl raised her hand.
“When is the drawing for the Avon basket?” she asked.
Mr. Beer Ensemble raced to the front of the room. Impatiently he grabbed the mike away from her.
“I am not going to announce the winners of the free Avon products and workout videos until after Miss Markoe has finished speaking,” he boomed. The next time I glanced at the faces of my eight-girl audience, it was with suspicion.
“Are there any other questions?” I asked, still not giving up hope. “Anything I didn’t touch on that you would like to discuss?”
“I’d like more information about moisturizers and cleansers,” said a second girl.
“Well …” I said, after a beat, as the truth set in. It was time to take my own advice. “I believe it was Mark Twain who said it best: ‘Cleanse first, moisturize later.’ Anything else?”
No one stirred.
“Okay, then,” I said. “Without any further ado, let’s get right to that drawing!”
I handed the mike over to our very green emcee. Then I bowed humbly as I got a nice round of applause.
The Dog Prattler
IN THE BEGINNING, LIKE MANY DOG-LOVING AMERICANS, I WAS transfixed by the Dog Whisperer. Between his self-described “calm-assertive manner,” his earnest, well-meaning solutions to dog behavioral dilemmas, and his genial, brush-cut good looks, Cesar Millan, host of his own hugely popular dog-training show on the National Geographic Channel, seemed to represent everything smart, sensible, and loving about the human-doggy bond.
I was glued to my set as he backed each new snarling, tooth-baring delinquent canine into a corner, letting them know who was boss with just a few graceful, well-planned moves. I sighed in admiration as he basically saved one dog’s life after another by coercing them into rethinking the aggressive behavior they were exhibiting toward the human family who was footing their bills. I cheered as he convinced each dog that it was a win-win situation for them to stop urinating in the bedroom closet. I watched in awe as he glided down the street, on his in-line skates, surrounded by his own personal pack of familiars, none of them pulling him into oncoming traffic or causing him to roll full speed into a tree.
For the whole first season, I looked forward to every new episode of his show, usually watching them more than once. I applauded as Cesar seamlessly blended the best traits of a behavioral psychologist and an animal rescuer into one affable, preppy-handsome, Ban-Lon shirt–wearing multiculti package.
But by season two, something shifted. Though he wasn’t really doing anything differently, I had scrutinized him enough to wonder if, like all big television CEOs, he had accumulated some video mange. His problem-solving techniques, though still impressive, had started to feel a little pat and repetitious, maybe a bit suspect.
As I watched Mr. Millan correct each poorly socialized dog by relocating him to the middle of his rehabilitated pack in South Central