It’s been quite a while since I’ve updated everyone on my chihuahua – Max. For new readers, Max is a rat-dog that spices up my life by transmitting love through excessive barking and shaking. Max is in his teen-doggy years, and like most teenagers, he is experimenting with his nether regions. A typical night involves me reading while Max lies next to me – vigorously licking his wiener. Life is not complete until one sees a Chihuahua orgasm, but for those who never will, it entails half of the scrawny body flailing around like MC Hammer putting on a new pair of parachute pants. Each time it happens I sit there and ask myself, “What has my life come to?”
When Max isn’t masturbating, he is usually lying down shivering or trying to entice Christina into playtime. His favorite toys are a green-level Tae Kwon Do belt and an orange frog with no eyes. In previous posts, I have mentioned Max’s singular focus and his ability to exert intense concentration; an example of this focus occurred last night. Christina likes to eat while watching TV but is entirely incapable of multitasking. She will hold a spoonful of food near her mouth for minutes if a show is grasping her attention. This is ideal for Max because he knows that Christina will put her guard down – allowing for a quick gastronomic theft. Yesterday, as usual, Christina was transfixed by an infomercial for closet organizers, and Max seized the opportunity – he ended up eating an entire drumstick – bone and all.
Upon this python-like feat, Christina began to panic and like any 21st-century woman – she immediately got on Google. For the next hour, while trying to watch the Lions game, I heard my wife read articles about dogs dying from chicken bones and how we should monitor Max’s crap for the next 99 hours. She ended up spoonfeeding the dog oatmeal so that his stomach would be protected from the razor edges of the bone – all while Max was trying to play with his orange frog. Max survived with minimal discomfort, and in the end, the only member of the Oldham family who had a stomach ache was my wife – at one point she was ready to rush Max to the emergency room. This whole ordeal made me think that we are all like Chihuahuas. Max shakes and is scared most of the time. Unlike Max’s physical shaking, we are always mentally shaking.
We worry about things that have no real impact on our lives. Max has to worry about being squished or dying of hypothermia at temperatures of 75 degrees. What real dangers lurk around the corner for us? Most of our worries revolve around social status or future plans – things that are intangible and hard to control. So when we look at these small dogs are we not just looking at ourselves? When I ask Max – “Why are you shaking?” – shouldn’t I be asking myself the same question? Extending this analogy, do we also have a loving-Filipina woman looking out for us when we accidentally eat a metaphorical chicken bone? We do but multiply that Filipina by a billion, and you have God. God cares for our shaky insignificant problems – He loves us more than we can comprehend – virtually the same as a dog’s understanding of his owner’s love. In the end, Max yet again gave me some wisdom, but hopefully next time it won’t require me to examine his poop.
My Chihuahua – Max
Are you sick of winter yet? Females, have your legs gotten to Chewbacca levels? Males, have your hands dried up to Walking Dead levels? Has your dog finally said enough is enough and now uses your whole house as a “potty?” Are your Vitamin D levels so low that you randomly have cravings for whole milk? Yeah…winter sucks. Before you put that third layer on, read this – winter is almost half way over. I am not fooling you, this coming Sunday will mark the point in which everything goes downhill in terms of seasonal suffering. Before you know it, it will be March and the prospects of summer heat will be wafting through your defrosting imagination.
Being that winter is nearly half way over, I am half way done with my 14 books on the French Revolution. Surprisingly I am not sick of the subject and I am actually enjoying my topical experiment. It is nice to focus on one thing and dig deep into the material. To celebrate this journey, I listed five quirky facts about the French Revolution for your enjoyment.
- During the Reign of Terror, the government got rid of the Christian Calendar and replaced it with the French Republic Calendar: 12 months named after weather events, 3 weeks per month known as “decades”, 10 days per week, 5 or 6 days at the end for non-stop celebration. The first date was September 22, 1792 when the monarchy was abolished by the Convention. Today’s date would be written as 10 Pluviôse CCXXV (10 “Rain” 225).
- King Louis XVI was 15 years old when he married a 14-year-old Marie Antoinette. It took them eight years before they had their first child because Louis was shy and couldn’t do the dirty.
- Charlotte Corday stabbed Jean-Paul Marat, a radical Jacobin leader, in the chest while he was in the bathtub. Marat’s friend subdued Corday by holding her chest while laying on top of her. She was eventually sentenced to death and guillotined.
- Christianity was deemed pointless and dechristianization efforts included vandalizing churches, killing priests, and dressing up donkeys as cardinals.
- In certain areas, men avoided being drafted into the Revolutionary Armies by drinking poison, dismembering limbs, and marrying elderly women.
Hopefully, those facts piqued your interest and helped you appreciate our modern world. Stay strong and be thankful that you don’t fear the guillotine after a Facebook post or have to sleep with a 15-year-old version of King Louis.
“The” Wet Belly
It was the best of times and the worst of times. Last week Tuesday, I was having the best of days. The sun was out, the weather was pleasant, the leaves were colorful, my wife was looking sexy, and my pants were feeling loose. It was one of those Tuesdays when you almost think it’s a Friday. Feeling on top of the world, I decided to take Max, my single-minded Chihuahua, for his most favorite activity in the world – a walk in the park. Max was running through an open field full of grass, leaves, trees, sunshine, groundhogs, and the occasional cluster of white-dog poop. Being in a state of complete relaxation I didn’t notice when my pea-brain dog began to rub his neck in some putrid-smelling substance that was either a dead animal or a concentrated pocket of mud that had been overly exposed to Flint-river water. Whatever the source of the stench, I did not discover it until I came home and bent down to take off his leash. His neck smelled like a trashcan that had been sitting out in the hot sun after a pouring rain – wet, thick, and unbearable. I immediately took him to the shower and began to use the best treatment I had – Head and Shoulders Anti Dandruff Shampoo. Max was all about the shampoo and I think he may have done the stinky neck thing on purpose just to get the extra neck massage. He looked like a wet rat after the soak and I wrapped him tightly in a towel and rubbed his whole body until his fur was barley wet. He bolted out the bathroom door and jumped onto the couch like a crackhead during a bad trip –rubbing his body at random all over the cushions. This was approximately at 5:00 pm.
Around 8:00 pm I was watching TV and heard Max enter the bathroom. This did not bring me much thought because being a Chihuahua, Max is always ADHD and running around the house. I had just used the bathroom and I thought it normal that he was smelling around to access the damage. I heard a faint noise in the bathroom but took it as him trying to get into the trash for some yummy Q-Tips – nothing out of the norm. At about 8:10 I walked into the living room to give my sexy wife a big kiss and to tell her how amazing she was – again nothing out of the norm. But then, Christina looks over and there are water spots on the couch. At first we thought Max must have peed and we commence a frantic, grab-the-dog-and-throw-him-outside maneuver. Upon grabbing the spindly dog I felt his belly and it was completely wet. I lifted the animal to my nose and performed a thorough smelling – my sense of smell, being a sensitive-introvert, is above average. The liquid was not urine but rather water. I then noticed that the top of the couch, where Max usually sits, was completely soaked in water. I used five large paper towels to soak up the liquid and it again was odorless without any color. This was extremely odd, Max had a wet belly, he dripped water on the couch and his normal sitting area was drenched. We thought this was the extent of the wet-belly fiasco but then Christina, beginning to do her homework again, noticed water on the keyboard. As soon as she touched the keyboard the screen went black. This began a two hour ordeal of Christina going full-out Filipina and me trying to use my limited computer skills to perform a miracle. By 10:00 pm the computer was still not turning on, my Friday-like Tuesday was now a post vacation Monday, and I felt like returning Max back to the Humane Society. In the end we had to pay 400 dollars for a new laptop but thankfully Christina’s work was still safe in the hard drive.
Signs of Guilt
To this day I have no idea how Max got his wet belly. Did he get into the water dish, the toilet, the post-shower tub? Did his bladder somehow expand to the size of a grown man? I have lost my mind trying to figure out the mystery of the wet belly. Max and I are on tenuous terms and I don’t know if I can ever again trust him around my laptop. What do you think is the riddle of the wet belly? What caused my Chihuahua to turn into a wet burrito? Why do I have a Chihuahua in the first place? All questions that need to be answered. Yet another life-lesson learned from Max – when you have a brain the size of pea you are apt to have a wet bellow at any moment.
Max, our pea-brain chihuahua, has been a member of our family for almost two months now. I wrote about Max in a earlier post and since then our friendship has grown significantly. Initially, I saw our friendship as one sided-being that I fed and loved the dog on a regularly basis. But over time, Max has returned the favor by teaching me a key life lesson-contentment. It is hard to be content in this world that always tells us we need “more.” Max has a very simple life and for all intents and purposes seems quite happy. He is either in a complete state of relaxation on the couch or in a complete state of ecstasy while eating-especially when its tortilla chips. From my observations he never thinks about anything except what is happening right in the present moment. If he is on the couch, he owns that couch. If he is on a walk, he doesn’t even know the couch exists. Max is a master at being present. Now, this may be because his tiny brain can’t handle too much thought but nevertheless it is a skill that I am learning from my new friend. At any given moment I am trying to get somewhere, do something, or thinking about the future. It is rare that I am actually a witness of the present and fully taking in my surroundings.
When Max eats a tortilla chip, his one neuron must be overwhelmed by all its intricate details-the saltiness, the crunchiness, the deliciousness, the sheer heaven that is fried corn. When I eat a tortilla chip I usually am not thinking about the chip but rather how fat I will feel after eating the whole bag and whether it is weird to be eating them while taking a shower. When Max goes on walks it is like he is running through a field filled with magical grass and hypnotic trees. When I take a walk, I am thinking about tomorrow’s schedule and questioning whether or not I had pooped that day. My point being, Max is content and I am not. If I were content I would take in each moment and not feel the need to have “more.” I wouldn’t be constantly worrying about the future or trying to upgrade my material possessions. I would be happier and more at peace because all I would need would be the present moment. The next time you eat a tortilla chip, try not to think about anything else, use your “Chihuahua Super Powers” of thoughtlessness. Take a bite and see how much better it tastes. It may be the first time that you have ever consciously tasted something. Who would have thought that my dog, who I thought would never teach me anything, is now helping me see the world in a better way? Thanks Max for your limited mental capabilities, they are helping me to find greater contentment.
The circuses of today are far different compared to the circuses of 100 years ago. Today, if you go to a circus, there are usually acrobats, animals, clowns, food, and almost everyone could qualify as the “fattest” man/woman on earth. Back in the day, the attractions were much more grandiose and had no regard for human dignity; obvious in the freak shows where deformities were exploited for profits. The biggest and best place for amusing entertainment was Coney Island. The boardwalk we know of today use to be a cornucopia of parks that would be visited by millions of people each year. If you had the right show, you could make a crap ton of money in a very short time span. Enter Truman Hunt and the book that profiles his side show, The Lost Tribe of Coney Island by Claire Prentice. Hunt was a doctor who served in the Philippians soon after they were acquired by the US in 1898 during the Spanish-American War. Hunt thought it would be a great idea to bring native Fillipinos, known is Igorrotes (E-go-row-tays), to the US for display at Luna Park in Coney Island. The Igorrotes were a group of primitive tribes’ people who enjoyed simplicity, fellowship, hard work, and the occasional feast. Originally, they were brought to the US during the 1904 St. Louis Exposition and were the most popular attraction; they performed native practices and displayed their culture to a fascinated public. The success at St. Louis is what motivated Hunt to recruit 50 Igorrotes for a full year US trip in 1905. Hunt, made it clear that the tribes people would each be paid 15 dollars a month and could keep all money from homemade souvenirs they sold during shows.
The group was soon jettisoned (the journey took over 6 months) to Coney Island where they would build a replica of their village in the famous Luna Park. Hunt, being the showman he was, exaggerated the customs of the Igorrotes and fed the newspapers with several exaggerations of their “barbaric behavior.” The Igorrotes had the tradition of eating dogs during special occasions because it made them stronger and fiercer warriors. Hunt took this practice and made them eat dogs on a regular basis for the disgusted crowds. Additionally, Hunt exaggerated the headhunting rituals that young warriors had to perform before they were married-making people think the savages were apt to attack anyone at a whim. Hunt was a backstabber and he soon broke his agreement with Luna Park and took the tribes people to the rival park for more money. This would be the start of several months of moving the Igorrotes around the US and having them perform in conditions which were far from ideal. Eventually, Truman was pursued by the government for mistreatment of the tribe and was prosecuted for withholding all the Igorrotes pay, souvenir money, and personal belongings. Instead of a year in America, most the Igorrotes were forced to stay over two years performing against their will. In the end, Hunt was prosecuted by the government for stealing wages but was never sentenced because of corrupt courts that were racist (the trials took place in Memphis, Tennessee). The Igorrotes returned to the Phillipines with no money and a complete disdain for the greed of America.
The government originally agreed to have Hunt bring the Igorrotes to the US because they wanted people to see the barbaric state of the native Filipinos and thus justify the US control of the islands. The argument at the time for the US controlling the Philippines was that Filipinos could not govern themselves and imperialism was America’s destiny. This quote sums up one of the major problems with displaying the Igorrotes-“giving the people of the United States the idea that the majority of the people of the Philippines are similar to the Igorrotes…, in the same way as I would rather deprecate the idea of having Apachee Indians travelling around to represent Americans.” Sadly, many Americans believed the sideshow display was culturally accurate and hence propagated racism, scorn, and a general superiority towards Filipinos. The US eventually released control of the Philippines in 1946. This 48 year relationship is a main reason why millions of Filipinos live in the US today-one of them being my beautiful wife :). The story of the Igorrotes reminds us how far our society has come in respecting human dignity and the dangers of stereotyping whole groups of people.