Seven Small Steps for Amari and One Giants Leap for Anyone Who Cares

Three amazing things happened this week, culminating this afternoon in what may have been my first prophecy since predicting that the Commodore 64 would not survive as the all-time best-selling computer.

1. Ross Leads Giants into NLDS

The San Francisco Giants, who clinched the National League West on the last day of a 162 game season to make their first playoff appearance in seven years, proceeded to win their division series in convincing albeit dramatic fashion three games to one over the wild card, Atlanta Braves.

After winning the opener in San Francisco behind an historic, record-breaking, fourteen strike out performance by two-time defending Cy Young Award winner, Tim Lincecum, the Giants blew a four run lead in the second game losing 5-4 and handing the home field advantage over to the Braves. Games three and four were also won in late-inning, come-from-behind fashion, only this time it was the Giants who silenced the Native American chants of 50,000 rich, white Georgians.

The hero once again was everyone's favorite eleven month-old rookie, Amari B Fishman (as Cody Ross), greeted by her teammates after hitting the game-tying home run in the decisive fourth game.

2. Braves Lead Cox Into Post-Mortum Retirement

This was going to be its own blog entry on my other site, but now it's about as current as Bobby Cox's driver's license. The Atlanta Braves were one of several surprise stories in the National League this year, using a combination of pitching and youth to earn a wild-card playoff birth in long-time manager Bobby Cox's final season.

Less publicized was the fact that Bobby Cox actually died just over five years ago after the Braves streak of fourteen consecutive National League East division titles was snapped by the upstart Mets in 2005. Reluctant to let Cox go, Braves owner Ted Turner used all of his extensive resources to keep his manager as life-like as possible four the next five seasons. Early on, the embalming, the internal cryogenic technology, and Turner Robotics, Inc. technology used stunning advancements to keep Cox's death a secret from players, fans, and media. As seen below, they would often have Cox strike poses that looked both vital and held promise for longevity. Eventually, however, the inevitability of the dying process caught up with Cox, Turner, and the Atlanta Braves.

In all seriousness, when Eric Hinske hit the go-ahead two-run homer in the eighth inning of game three and the Atlanta dugout went nuts, Cox just sat there motionless until a bench coach came over and, for the benefit of the national television cameras, held Cox's hand up for a celebratory fist-bump.

Farewell, Bobby. Congrats on making fourteen straight post-seasons and only winning one World Series. Way to rule a dormant division.

Amari Leads Parents Into Frightening Unknown Future

When Carrie went back to work last February one of her biggest worries was that she would miss Amari's upcoming milestones. For the next four months we expected to pick her up from Nicole, Susan, or Grannie C with the news, "Oh yeah, she crawled," or "By the way, she said thesaurus today." Fortuitously, on the last day of school, about an hour after Carrie got home, Amari took her first real crawl forward. It was perfect. We spent the rest of the summer as a family watching Amari master her environment as quickly as we rearranged it.

In August, as Carrie was preparing to go back to school, I joked that Amari would probably wait until the fall break to take her first steps. Now I wish I'd joked that I'd be out of debt and have a full head of hair again by the fall break, because yesterday afternoon, the Friday before the break - about an hour after Carrie got home from work - Amari clumsily took her first steps. Again it was perfect, and for the next twenty minutes or so Carrie, Siobhan, and I led Amari back and forth and let her take unassisted steps until she crouched or flopped down onto her butt. I think she managed about seven before she became exhausted and a little frustrated.


It was awesome. We all applauded and giggled and Amari smiled and shrieked. Even though we now have to reevaluate the safety of everything in our house below two and a half feet, it was definitely one of the coolest moments I've experienced as a dad.

Friends and Baby Aikido

As parents, I believe we are always playing catch-up - the ever-expanding "To Do" list. Carrie and I promised to complete Amari's baby book last summer when we both had time off. That promise was amended to "completed by her first birthday," which undoubtedly will be amended to "started by Christmas...New Year's...etc." We'll probably end up leaving it to her in a will - whoever dies last, that is.

In her first eleven months of life, Amari has two friends she sees on a regular basis - Reya and Hunter. And by friends I mean toddlers who like to beat on her and take her metaphorical lunch money. Amari still adores them, loves their visits, and is slowly cultivating her own methods of dealing with them.

Reya is two and a half and fully immersed in the Freudian "Mine" stage of development. Whether she is at home or away, Reya will peruse her surroundings and collect the toys that she wants to carry around with her - often but not limited to something that has Amari's interest. By the end of a visit Reya, arms full of toys and books, looks like Navin R. Johnson in "The Jerk" wandering around his mansion after he learns that he is going to lose everything in a class-action lawsuit against his multi-million dollar invention, the Opti-Grab. "I don't need any of this stuff," proclaims Johnson, "I don't need you or any of this...I need this (grabbing his remote control), but that's all, just this lamp, this remote control, and that's all I need...I need this," and so on.

Reya also likes to poke and hit, but she appears to be growing out of it thanks to her parents and her recent adventures in pre-school. Hunter, on the other hand, is only just beginning. On recent visits to the Calverts, Papa Jim and I have spent a good chunk of our time catching Hunter just before he is about to whack Amari with his hand or some small to medium throw-able toy. Hunter is also a taker, snatching toys away from Amari and putting them far out of reach with his advanced walking capabilities. Hunter appears to be getting better the more time he spends with Amari, but he is also getting sneakier, sometimes crawling innocently by her before turning to grab her hair or wonk her on the head.

Amari is months and years behind her friends, so although we may see these stages soon, for now she appears to be more of a pacifist with perhaps an edge of passive aggression. Instead of taking things, she offers toys to Reya or Hunter and then pulls them away at the last second with an implied, "Psych." After dinner on Friday, however, Amari tried a new, very entertaining trick. When Hunter tried to grab the remote from her, she held on tightly. When Hunter pulled harder, she let go and Hunter pulled the remote square into his face with a loud whack followed by a stunned look and a round of loud laughter from surrounding adults.

That has now been dubbed Baby Aikido, using your opponents strengths against them. Well done, Amari-san. Well, done. That'll teach Hunter to offend your honor.

The Journey Not the Destination

A little over a decade ago, my friend Noah and I began a long-distance writing project that essentially had us e-mailing our personal journal entries to each other. Over the course of the next eight years we accumulated thousands of pages of personal stories, inside jokes, philosophical rants, and dreams of our futures. At the time we lived on opposite coasts in opposite situations, but through our writing we discovered that we had similar dreams of having families, working with kids, becoming neighbors, and most importantly, finding a way to make a ton of money with very little effort. At the time we were both terminally single, could barely take care of ourselves let alone a family, and neither of our jobs were nearly rewarding enough to make them a career. 

Ten years later, Noah and I live in the same community, we have wonderful wives and beautiful children, and until recently we both worked in education. Noah moved from New York in 2004, coached high school basketball with me, fell in love, stuck around, and made a life for himself. Now he's an athletic director, a husband, and a father. I fell in love, too, went back to school, became a counselor, returned to the coast, stuck around, and made a life and family for myself, too. It's amazing how much we created through sharing our dreams and finding a way to realize them. 

Unfortunately, we haven't been quite as successful at finding that high reward job situation. And I don't just mean that "If you love what you do you'll never work a day in your life" crap, because I did love my job, but it was still work. Every day. What Noah and I were looking for was something more along the lines of getting paid for just being ourselves. We considered converting our thousands of journal pages into a screenplay about two guys growing up through their individual and shared experiences, but quickly realized that nobody finds us nearly as interesting or entertaining as we do. We explored other book ideas - a Harry Potter spoof that someone else ended up writing two years later, a self-help book that would climb the bestsellers list because of its amazing title(i.e "Lose Weight, Make Money, Have Sex," or "The Four Disagreements"), or a Greek myth based on the Star Wars trilogy that actually had me watching episodes IV through VI with a notepad and a case of wine and calling it "research." Where is that damn notepad?

So where am I going with all of this? I don't know. I just felt like I needed to pay tribute to Noah for being the person I write to when I'm writing. Really writing. Effortlessly. When I changed the direction of this blog a few weeks ago, I did it for a few reasons - to increase traffic to my site, to build a fan base, and to make a few dollars along the way. I did all of those things - with the added bonus of pissing off a few thousand people - but what I rediscovered along the way was even more valuable. My writing voice. The voice I cultivated through days and months and years of writing to a person I trust, respect, and love unconditionally. Even though he's a Yankees fan.

I still have a dream of publishing a novel, a children's book, or even a self-help book on how to be a parent and not lose your mind and your sense of identity. Or better yet, how to accept that those things are going to happen and deal with it.

I keep meaning to write a catch-up blog on what's been going on with Amari since I went all Hollywood last month, but then things like baseball and nostalgic friendships get in the way. Suffice it to say that being a dad continues to exceed any expectations I ever had. It's not always easy, but it's always worth it. We may not have money, but our lives are indescribably rich.

G'night, Skipper.
IF

Reya and Nicole

Carrie and Amari

Giants Win the West With Youthful Pitching

Greetings Everyone. Fresh from a sabbatical to the playground known as the Internet, I have returned just in time celebrate the San Franciso Giants first division title since 2003. In a roller coaster season whose team has been "torture" to both its fans and its players, the Giants prevailed on the final day of the season, defeating the second place Padres to secure the National League West crown.

In the words of Jeremy Affeldt, "It was awesome." The Giants came into the series with a three game lead over the Padres and needed to win just one game in the series. The Padres have had the Giants' number all year, and the first two games were no exception. By Sunday they had trimmed the Giants' lead to just one game. In the end, pitching and timely hitting finally came together as the Giants blanked the Padres 3-0.

In all honesty, I was a confident and happy fan on Friday, but by Sunday morning I was irritable and discontent. I worried that the impossible might happen and that the agonizing years of waiting for the post-season would continue. At one o'clock sharp I next door with Grannie C, nervously chewing on pistachios, and feeling my pulse in my throat with every pitch. Not only was I fan of the team, but I had a vested interest in the rookie pitcher starting the game. Unlike me, Amari was as calm as ever, effortlessly throwing five shutout innings and ultimately earning the victory in the most important game of her young career. 

Amari B Dominates the Padres

The Padres couldn't figure her out. They were patient as ever at the plate, earned a few walks, but Amari always managed to pitch her way out of the jams. She also hit a triple and scored the game's first run. During the post-game champagne celebration, when Mike Krukow asked her to describe the feeling of carrying this team into the post-season, Amari calmly replied, "Bah," then tried to grab his tie and chew on it. 

In reality, Amari sat calmly on the floor at Granny C's, kissing dogs and and being occasionally frightened by loud cheers and illy performed high fives. Towards the end of the game, she was used to both and even offered her own round of applause when Buster Posey gave the Giants an insurance run in the eighth. When Brian Wilson pitched the final strike, tying Rob Nen's record of forty-nine save, Amari was fast asleep in my arms, preventing me from doing the very silly happy dance I'd been planning for the past seven years. As the Giants celebrated on the infield, a flicker of a smile crossed Amari's lips, and I can only imagine what she must have been dreaming...

G'night everyone...and Go Giants.

Going Totally Underground...

After three sweltering days in my mother-in-law's barn, I have decided to take my fugitive show on the road. I have launched a new site where I will continue to hide from the idiots of the world who tried to scare me into submission.

While Parenting From the Up Side Down will continue to be a mushy blog of love and sentimentality - perhaps the occasional photo shopped picture of Amari travelling the world and exploring career opportunities - the faux reality enterprise I've embarked upon will continue at "Hollywood Underground" - the hottest new entertainment blog on the Net.

If you have time - check it out. You won't believe (hopefully) what you read.

www.hollywoodunderground23.blogspot.com

Peace,
Kidfishman

Blogger Incarcerated for Making Fun of America

My fellow Americans,

I am writing to you today from a secret location in my mother-in-law's barn. That's right, somebody actually married me. It is with a heavy heart that I share the horrific events that have transpired since last I blogged nearly ten days ago. In the interest of maintaining interest, I will try to be brief, sparing you of the traumatic details that will forever be etched upon the fabric of my being. Suffice it to say that I am now a fugitive of the American government and its people. If they find me, they will surely take me back to that place - that horrible, horrible place...

On September 16th of this year, as I lazily nibbled on an extra-thick shelled Klondike bar and checked the scores of my fantasy baseball playoff match-ups, I happened to notice that Google's top-searched story of the evening was America's Got Talent crowning their fifth season's winner - a dashing, young singer from Mississippi named Michael Grimm. I surfed around, did some reading about the finalists, finished my ice cream, drafted a shortstop to replace the injured Hanley Ramirez, and decided on a whim to write a comical piece claiming that Michael Grimm had made up his entire back story to pull at the heartstrings of American voters. 

http://amaribfishman.blogspot.com/2010/09/americas-got-big-fat-talented-liar.html

Those were the last normal moments I remember. 

On the morning of September 17th, I logged onto my wife's laptop to check the stats of my blog and my replacement shortstop. Alex Gonzalez had gone three for four with a double and two RBIs, and my blog had gone for...Holy Shit! 2,200 hits? This must be mistake, I thought. Seven comments? No one comments on my blog. I've been writing about his granddaughter for over ten months and I don't think my dad even reads it. I hit refresh - 2,208. What the f--- is going on? 

I spent the rest of the day watching - no, marveling - at the number of page views and editorials my fabricated story receiving. While a very small percentage of readers found the humor in my writing, the cynicism with which it was intended, their comments were far outnumbered by the onslaught of cyber-hate-mail that ensued. People were angry, indignant, threatening both litigation and karmic retribution. For a fleeting moment I felt worried and guilty, but then I decided that anyone who believed that Grimm really sang "When a Man Loves a Woman Who's House Got Flooded By a Natural Disaster and Who Doesn't Have Any Insurance at All," is too stupid to know anything about defamation lawsuits. 

How wrong I turned out to be...

That evening, about 4,500 page views and 23 angry comments later, I felt compelled to write a follow-up story. I needed to clear the air and give Michael Grimm his good name back, but more importantly I needed a fall guy. Very little research later, I stumbled upon Michael Evancho, the talented opera-singing runner-up's father. Turns out, according to my complete lack of sources, Mr. Evancho was the one who had originally leaked the fake story about Michael Grimm to the press. And by press, I mean a stay-at-home daddy blogger from the boonies of northern California. And by story I mean one hundred percent fiction. 

http://amaribfishman.blogspot.com/2010/09/evanchas-father-comes-clean-about-blog.html

Needless to say, more page views, more hate mail, and more litigious threats ensued. I couldn't believe what I was reading. Is there no room left for comedy in this world? And what exactly did these people think I was going to get sued for? Violating our protected freedom of SPEACH claimed one reader, and if she weren't equally protected by the freedom to misspell I could totally counter-sue. By sundown that day, I was comfortably convinced that these people, with names like daradoodle, feldwoja, and raaketa, didn't have a clue what they were talking about. 

That, dear readers, was the last thought that crossed my mind before my front door was kicked in. I barely had time to put my wife's laptop on stand by, turn off Sports Center, and fold up the blanket I like to use on cold, autumn nights, before I was drugged, handcuffed, and escorted to an unmarked car idling in my driveway. The last thing I saw as I drifted from consciousness were the letters R.O.N.S., but that's all I could make out.

The next few days were a blur. My first memory is being interrogated by two women named Pat and Lisa who wanted to know where the hell I got my information about Michael Grimm and why on earth I thought it was funny to satirize reality television and American culture. When I couldn't give them a satisfactory explanation, they sent me to an internment camp where they house people who dare insult the intelligence of the average American television viewers and Internet users.

The frightening reality is that these camps exist all over the country, with new ones being built all the time. It was there that I met others like myself - countless "retired" writers from The Onion, Vance Degeneres and Lewis Black from "The Daily Show," and Billy Mays who isn't dead at all, and who still clings to the hope that he will one day be pardoned when the camp's warden realizes he actually believes in Mighty Putty.

Days inside the camp were spent being reprogrammed with shock treatments, group therapy and repetitive workshops on things like literal humor. "What are you up to?" the counselors would ask us, and if we didn't say something like, "About two hundred pounds," or "Five foot seven," we were forced to watch episodes of "Mama's Family" and "My Two Dads" until we obliged. Sarcasm was greeted with caning while anything less than a truthful joke was punishable by up to a week in a padded cell wall-papered with Family Circus sketches. By week's end, I looked as defeated as the rest of them.

With every ounce of determination we could muster, we managed to craft a Billy Mays inspired escape plan. First we used the infamous Dual Saw to cut through the metal bars to our cells. Once we were in the common area we converted an AM radio into a cell phone with the Jupiter Jack and called for a taxi. Rather than navigate the labyrinth and swim across the moat to freedom, we used the Awesome Auger to chop right through the hedges before soaking up the entire moat with a dozen or so Zorbeez. Finally, once were were safely on the other side, we whipped out the Grater Plater to make some awesome quesadillas before bidding farewell and going our separate ways.

Two days later I managed to secure this secret location where I am writing to you from now. This will be the second to last time I write to you from this URL. I now know what those letters on the unmarked car stood for and I vow never to be captured again by the Middle-American Organization of Radicals Opposed to Naughty Sarcasm (M.O.R.O.N.S).

In the next couple of days I will be creating a new, safer blog location from which to communicate. I will forever continue the good fight of comedy in all forms and the American way. I will continue, dear readers, to create without fear of retribution, to lie without concern for litigation, and to point fingers without giving a shit about the three pointing back at me. My motto is, "If it ain't made up, it ain't worth writing."

God bless America and god bless you all. 

Evancho's Father Comes Clean About Blog of Hate

Just hours after his surprising and emotional win on America's Got Talent's season 5 finale, Michael Grimm got a taste of the bitter side of rock stardom as the Internet was flooded with claims that he'd made up his entire back story to pull at the heartstrings of American voters. Word on the cyber street was that Grimm accepted his million dollar check and his Vegas contract and announced to the world that he was a fraud.

http://amaribfishman.blogspot.com/2010/09/americas-got-big-fat-talented-liar.html

Not since the hanging chads of 2000 held Bush, Gore, and our great nation hostage with political uncertainty, had the results of an American vote become so controversial.

In the subsequent hours, thousands (yes thousands) of people followed a mysterious link to a parenting blog of all places where they read the disappointing news they worried might be true. By seven o'clock this morning, Yahoo and Google news had swooped up the link, sending thousands more outraged Grimm fans to stand up with their keyboards and defend their new-found hero with the vehemence that can only come from the deep, heart-felt connection elicited by watching a total stranger perform cover songs on national TV. Profanities were "uttered," lawsuits were threatened, and all the while not a single reader offered to make even a small donation to "Baby DJs of America."

Now, less than a day later, the source of the "Michael Grimm is a Big Fat Talented Liar" rumor has come forward to make a public apology. At ten o'clock this evening, Michael Evancho, father to AGT's runner-up and talented opera singer, Jackie, made an anonymous call and confessed. "I was just so frustrated with the American voters," he began, "My daughter, Jackie, was clearly the most talented act in the show, and I think America blew it."

Mr. Evancho went on to read a letter he'd prepared with his sentiments about America's Got Talent, Michael Grimm, and the American people. "It's been a long day," Evancho sighed, "When I leaked the story about Michael last night I was bitter and angry. I wasn't thinking clearly. I wanted to hurt Michael's feelings. I wanted to hurt them badly. Now that I've had a day to reflect and sift through the angry comments I elicited, I realize it's time to come clean." He flipped his paper over and continued reading.

"After seeing all the angry responses written to the totally innocent stay-at-home dad whom I'd leaked the story to, I knew I had to take responsibility and set the story straight. That being said, I feel as though I must apologize, from the bottom of my heart...to the rest of the world for having to put up with 350 million of the stupidest people on the planet. How America is a super-power at all is beyond me. I'm starting to think that reality shows are the equivalent of Aldus Huxley's Soma, blatantly keeping our citizens intoxicated with apathy through the use of the emotional pornography that is reality television."

"I've learned a lot through this experience," Evancho continued.

1. I've learned that the Internet is a dangerous place for the moronic and undiscerning and yet a playground for anyone with half a brain.

2. I've learned that, although America has some talent, what it really has is an abundance of semi-retarded followers looking for a shepherd, regardless of whether he leads with a song, a dance, or a Texas accent as thick as its owner.

3. I've learned that people who complain about wasting time reading nonsense on the Internet are the same people who waste even more time writing inexplicably long comments about just how disappointed they are in themselves for wasting time.

4. I've learned that only 3 out of 18 people (that's less than 20%) have a sense of humor at all, while another 20% claim they have a sense of humor, but either just aren't willing to laugh at funny things or have been spending too much time reading their own mind-numbingly boring blogs.

5. And finally, I've learned that America is a litigious society through and through, and when people run out of  adjectives or support for their opinions, they immediately threaten lawsuits. For example, "Instead I found it sad, shameful, misinformed, hateful, and something worthy of suing you for." A comment pulled from yesterday's blog.

So that's my apology, America," Michael Evancho concluded, "I'm sorry I leaked the story, I'm sorrier you believed it, and I'm sorriest of all that it may contribute to the rise of Michael Grimm's fame in any way."

In other AGT news, Prince Poppycock was seen ducking out of a nightclub with the other Michael Grimm - Republican Congressional candidate - and you are not going to believe what happened next. Well, unless you're the average American - then you'll probably believe every word...

Note to Readers: This blogger has now been arrested and is in custody:

http://amaribfishman.blogspot.com/2010/09/blogger-incarcerated-for-making-fun-of.html