swinging ecstasy

I just want to take a moment to say how much I love swinging. My body coasts through the air so quickly I could swallow butterflies. I am in charge and totally losing control. I want my whole life to bring me to the moment of swinging ecstasy.

Christmas Spoon Miracle

Don't underestimate me. People thought I wasn't ready, but on Christmas Day I grabbed a spoon in my grand-parents kitchen and served myself a bite of cottage cheese. Grand-Pa Ira and Grand-Ma Annie cheered with glee. Maybe there is Christmas magic in New Jersey.

All I know is food tastes better when you can control your own spoon.

What will the Dermansky family wear today?

It's my daddy's dream that we all wear the same outfits. Well, he made his dream come true. He made us all wear yellow cab T-shirts. On the back of the shirt it shows the rates for a cab ride in New York. I hope when I'm 16 we don't wear the same outfits everday or that my dad's dreams change.

Tomorrow I'm taking a cab to my grand parents in New Jersey. My dad loves it there but mommy says the suburbs are only fun to visit.

Holiday Sight Seeing

FAO Schwartz is for me. Rows of stuffed bull-dogs, shar-peis, teddy bears. There was a giant elephant named Dennis. He was five times bigger than my dad. Dennis didn't have a heart to pump blood because he was stuffed. Well, that's what my dad said. As we were standing there, the elephant leaned over and collapsed on dad. The empoyess rushed to help dad up and offered him a free ice cream soda.

We also saw a giant Christmas tree.

e-card

This is my e-card. My dad was obsessed with making a holiday card incorporating me into his drawings. My mom insisted that we send out a "normal" card: a simple photo of their beautiful baby, me. She was concerned that her relatives might think my dad is "wacky". In any case, my dad worked very hard to make this card so I'm humoring him, because I love him. You'll be receiving the e-card you see above if you're lucky enough to be on his contact list.

Only one more night to go for Chanukah.

Beacon of Light Pressure

It's the sixth night of Chanukah and boy was I busy today. There was a huge bash at Music Together. Gabrielle, the head of the program, has a smile like the Joker in Batman. There was a band and according to my mom the drummer was hitting on her! Then, mom took me to Morningside Bookstore to see "Danna-Bannana", a middle aged man trying to break into the toddler rock scene. I sang along to the ABCs, and Carpenter cover songs. While the adults danced I pulled as many books as I could off the shelves. Then, when I came home I was to meet this young man my parents keep pushing on me, Luke, who is cute and lives upstairs. Well, Luke threw up. He's a goy, which has nothing to do with his throwing up, but my parents keep reminding me. They seem to like the word "goy."

I have no great wisdom to offer today, just man, it's hard to be a beacon of light during the holiday season. I'm in so much demand: case in point, holiday photos taken next to burning menorah. My parents look possessed, by what, I'm not sure, but I'll figure it out.

Last minute shopping

It's December 19th already and I have so many last minute gifts to buy. My dad wants a yo-yo and new goals. My mom wants the perfect monologue.

Stand-up Comedy

My dad really wants me to be funny. Every time I burp, fart or spit up, "That's hilarious," he says, "keep that in the act."
He talks to himself. Last night he was pacing, "People are unhappy all the time...Happy Merry...Kapow!" Daddy rambles, allowing any thought to be spoken out loud, trying to say something funny. He gets annoyed when no one laughs. Mommy ignores him. I laugh when he throws me in the air. Unfortunately, he can't throw people at the comedy clubs in the air.

The first spoken word

Today I learned about Chanukah, spinning the dreydle, money that is really foil covered chocolate (gelt).
The holiday reminds you that you shouldn't take "light", or anything, like language, or the very first word ever spoken, for granted.

This morning I said "Da-Da." My parents freaked. Mom looked at me and pointed at daddy, lying, dazed, in his smelly orange t-shirt, and she said to me, "Is that daddy? Do you know who that person is?"

I waited a beat and said, "Da-Da." I pronounced each "Da" like a unique decleration.

My dad smiled, "Her first word is 'daddy'. I win! Say it again." I looked at both da-da and ma-ma. Poor ma-ma, she'd have to wait till probably March of 2007. I then plopped my head down and took a small nap. The pressure: speaking is tiring."

Deciding What I Love

This is my crazy dad. He loves Christmas, even though we're supposed to be Jewish. I'm getting a lot of mixed messages. It seems like our actual religion is the Big White Way--Broadway. Dad is constantly singing show tunes: Mr. Celaphane Man, You've Got to have Heart, and my favorite, Being Alive. People tell him, they're not lullabies but he doesn't seem interested in learning soothing lullabies.

Baby peeves: People keep telling me "what I love." I have shirts, such as "I love Mommy," "I love Daddy," "I love Hot Chocolate." Mostly, I love putting things in my mouth. Well, I was like that a year ago, when this picture was taken. In the present moment, I most pushing people out of my way in the playground. Is that wrong?

Emma takes charge of her blog

My father told me, "Honey, you have your own blog!" He was very excited. He didn't tell me that he planned to write all of it, that none of my feelings or opinions would be voiced. So today I am rectifying that situation. First off I am very happy to be on the Internet, communicating with people. I love people, of all ages, from one month to 600 years old (my grand pa in San Diego said he was almost 600).

I do trust my dad to say fun and interesting things but he can be grumpy. Sometimes when I'm playing with toys he turns on Sportscenter. Today mommy came out and said, "You're supposed to be spending quality time with your daughter." She then slammed the door and resumed watching Oprah on Tivo. I think my parents sometimes can be lazy, lack self-confidence and need guidance. They read self-help books, watch motivational shows and Sportscenter so maybe their attitudes will improve before I'm five.

T-shirt messages matter

The message on your child's shirt is so important. I've noticed that it's always daddy who puts on the "I love Daddy" shirt. Sometimes I doubt that anyone actually loves me, but seeing the message on my adorable daughter's shirt, convinces me. I am deeply loved.

As a joke I thought it might be funny to print negative messages on children's clothing. Titles such as, "I'm spoiled and my parents are incompetant and that combination is what is going to destroy the USA,""My parents dropped me,""Everything happens for a reason, I can't wait for my parents to die," would make people look twice. Well, I don't know if thoses shirts are funny. I'm a stand-up comic but other comics tell me my act is all character; which is a polite way of saying I have no jokes or useful material.

I love this picture because the shirts says one thing and the crying baby implies something else.

A Cute Smile

Emma wedged between two throw pillows is cute. What about it is cute, the estatic grin, the glowing cheaks, the geometric color lines sewn on the pillow. I had the picture printed on coffee mugs, and gave them as holiday gifts. Maybe I'm wrong, but even my closest relatives weren't thrilled to receive the mugs. They thanked me, but didn't hold the mugs as though they were a holy mug, which is how I hold my photo mug; with tenderness and care.

When Emma first came home she was both small and slippery, I was terrified of dropping her. Sometimes standing with her, my mind would start racing, "if you drop her, her head will be badly hurt and people will never forgive you! Hold on, don't lose focus, concentrate, but don't squeeze her. She's softer than Charmin, and you're responsible."
My mind was going from code yellow to code red to code "Sportscenter," so quickly, that I had trouble breathing. Now that Emma is 17 old monthes part of me feels as though she's a mature young woman, ready for her driving permit.

Emma goes to market

So many things for a baby are exciting, such as going to the Supermarket for the first time.
Her legs fit through the front of shopping. Coasting past the vast variety of breads, Emma must feel as though she's in the land of bread, followed by a sea of milks, yogurts and frozen pizzas.

Living in New York, it's exciting to be in New Jersey in a Pathmark, a vast super market with aisles wide enough for two full carts. Amongst the frozen pizzas I see the Tombstone brand. Imagine a brand called Tombstone. They're actually quite delicioius, but as I've aged and matured I've stopped purchasing, baking , and enjoying these thin pizzas named after marble slabs place over a caskets in a cemetary.

The New Face of Baby Gap

My wife made me promise not to exploit our daughter's cuteness.
"She will not be a child actor," she said.
I agreed but when Baby Gap sent me an e-mail announcing a contest for the cutest baby in America to be the new face of Baby Gap, I felt compelled to share baby Emma's cuteness.
Emma did not win. The judging was rigged. I'm going to let it go, leaving as a strange life lesson I'm trying to learn.

Cute Dad

It's not easy being a cute dad. Part of the problem is I used to always think of myself as the cutest thing on earth, not that everyone agreed with me, but they didn't take the effort to argue with me. But now, baby Emma, is considered by all to be super cute, cuter than me.

Truthfully, I'm proud of her cuteness, as if I passed it down to her, along with, hopefully, the ability to play serve and volley tennis.