Weak Resolve

Happy New Year all.

First, congratulations to all fellow Mountaineer fans. Big, big win in the Fiesta Bowl. Pat White is now officially (in my book, anyway), the greatest player in WVU's history with a year left to play. Enjoy him, people. It won't be this easy once he's gone.

Now, on to other business.

Once again, my New Year's resolutions from last year have proved to be a resounding failure.

1 - I didn't learn how to solve the Rubik's cube. Sometime in late January, I deemed this to be a stupid goal, and decided to scrap it. If somebody held a gun to my head, I could remove all the stickers and put them in their proper place, and nobody would know the difference.

2 - I didn't get a tattoo. More on that later.

3 - I did teach my son to walk. I thought this was an attainable goal, and I was right. In fact, he's already sauntering. Way to go, son. This begins the stage where I live vicariously through you. Now put a baseball in your left hand and let's see your fastball. (Daddy needs a new vacation home).

One for three. I am 33% percent successful. Good enough to be a hall-of-fame batter, but not quite impressive enough to crown myself with the distinction of having "strong resolve".

This year, I have but one resolution.

Get a tattoo.

That's right. I know I failed this resolution this past year. I may have even thrown it out there as a joke. But now, I'm serious. It seems Mrs. Undaground digs the bad boys. Every month in 2007, she seemed to bring up my tattoo resolution that was still hanging out there. Eventually I called her out on it. Apparently, a little ink on my pasty white, undefined upper arm will make her putty in my hands.

Be careful what you wish for, Mrs. U. One tattoo usually leads to more. Before you know it, I might have some art on my forehead, neck, or the bridge of my nose. Wonder how that will look when I'm 70.

My father was in town for New Years last week. Shortly after the clock struck midnight, and Dick Clark took his shot of Nyquil, Mrs. U reminded me that I never got a tattoo in 2007. I told her I was carrying over my resolution til 2008. My father was appalled.

"Not under my roof", he said.

"It's my roof." I replied.

"Think it out", he answered.

"I'm thirty-six." I said.

"Whatever."

Next up, earring. Woo-hoo! Teen rebellion in my mid-thirties is fun.

Happy Holidays from the Couch

Well, I'm laying flat on the couch with the computer on my lap.

Seems I somehow threw my back out getting out of the car while twisting the wrong way. I've thrown my back out countless times since the teenaged years (when I grew about a foot and a half in a year). This is the worst I've had in as long as I can remember.

The most annoying part is that, in missing work today, I'll have to go work another day before the year is over. Next weekend, or New Year's Eve, looks like I'll have to break up my two weeks off with a day at the office. I'm also a little peeved that I probably will have to stay away from the new Wii for a few days, lest I aggravate the injury playing virtual tennis. Ugh.

Ice, heat, ice, heat, painkiller, ice, heat, ice, heat, painkiller.

The Undaground blog is still alive and well. I just don't know how often I'll post during my time off. If I'm not on before Christmas, have a happy holiday and best wishes to you and yours for a great '08.

Seacrest, out.

And the Oscar Goes To...

Mrs. Undaground!

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For best performance by a lead actress in a Drama or Comedy.

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Saturday, the Undaground Mom was in town for our first annual "Fake Christmas". By 10am, we were sitting in front of the tree, drinking Mimosas and opening presents. John Denver and the Muppets were serenading us, and we were even being nice to the dog. The fake Christmas was so effective, that I've fooled myself into thinking Christmas is over more than a few times since Saturday.

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Last week, I made a big show out of releasing Mrs. U from her Wii hunt. After writing the post, I felt very good about myself; like I had done something selfless. I thought, someday, some marriage counselor-slash author would dedicate a chapter in his/her book to this chivalrous gesture that some dude published on the internet. Don't worry about little old me, honey. Christmas is about giving -- and I'm a giver.

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Turns out, I was being played... like a big, bloated fiddle with blinders on.

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Mrs. Undaground has had a Wii for a few weeks. Her acting performance rivals anything Meryl Streep has ever done, and that includes "Dingo stole my baby".

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Not only did she surprise me by springing the gift on me early, she wrapped the present for my son, which was another sneaky but very smart maneuver. I didn't see it coming, even up to the final moments as the Undaling tore away the paper to reveal the highly-coveted treasure. He's not a huge advocate of sharing yet, so I had to wrestle it away from him, but I'm much bigger and stronger so he hardly slowed me down.

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I'm not an easy person to surprise. It's documented. As a child, I made a game out of correctly predicting each gift before I opened it. As an adult, I realize this was a very annoying and insensitive thing to do to the gift-giver. But if we're being honest here, I still do it, because I can't help myself and I have an overwhelming natural urge to sometimes be an asshole (but in a good way, right?)

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Suddenly, the huge "Gift Scorecard" I hung in the carport shows a very lopsided score. I've got one week to mount my comeback. Truth be told, despite the annual showering of gifts from me on her birthday, she's still leading based on our very first Christmas together.

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Back in 2001, she got me a video camera. I got her a half-day at the spa. If I could fire up the Delorean and travel back in time, I would go back and get her the full-day at the spa. After all, she didn't get me half a video camera.

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Anybody want to go bowling? Undaground Lanes are now open in my living room. (Shoe rental $4.00 with a double blast of disinfectant spray). Viva la Wii!

Tis the Season for Nog!

In lieu of any original thoughts today, I offer you a blast from the past. It is the time of year, when mixing dairy with booze is encouraged.

Back in the earliest days of the Undaground, I posted a recipe for eggnog. The recipe is definitely from the "keep it simple, stupid" handbook. Once you make these drinks part of your morning-in-front-of-the-tree routine, you'll wonder how you ever got along without them.

The Castro

Cheers!

Maybe I put my foot in my mouth

Ever since my throwaway joke about lepers in my "Plastic Jesus" post, I've been inundated by angry members of the leprosy community.

Back off, guys. No pun intended.

• Three lepers gave me the finger (I've since packed them in ice and hid them in the freezer behind the bagel bites.)
• Several other lepers are up in arms. Imagine that, most are down an arm or two.
• One leper, who I also believe is a member of a bike gang, threatened to "break his foot off in my ass". I believe him.
• To be fair, a leper with a sense of humor gave me a hand, but was unable to complete the standing ovation.

Lepers of the world, lend an ear. Here comes my heartfelt apology:

I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to any of you who might be reading this blog. I'm sorry I got under your skin. I was just making a joke. I have excema, so I somewhat understand your struggle. I've seen Ben Hur three times! Who else can say that, other than Charlton Heston's Mom? It's four hours long!

Lepers, I feel you -- and after feeling you I emptied a bottle of Purel over my head. There will no more leprosy jabs in this forum.

Now, about the Amish...

Baaaaa, Humbug

Way back in September, Mrs. Undaground and I saw a huge pile of shiny new Wii's at Costco. Apparently, we should have jumped on one, considering the national fervor that has since developed. Unfortunately, our time machine is on the fritz, so we can't go back and get one (anybody know of a good Delorean mechanic?).

I'd like to officially release my wife from her Wii hunt. Yesterday, I spotted a piece of paper in our bedroom with hand-written locations and phone numbers for every Walmart/Target/Toy R Us within a 40-mile radius. I suspect that my Christmas list is stressing her out.

Babe, we can get a Wii in January. Call off the search. It's craziness.

Every year, I like to sit back and laugh at all the sheep while they hunt for the media-annointed "hot gift" item of the year. I never knew I'd be one of those sheep. Frankly, it's a little embarrassing, and wool makes my neck itch.

Remember the hysteria about the Tickle-Me-Elmo a few years back? They're all over the place now. The Wii will be back on Costco's shelves, soon. By March, we'll be bowling in our living room.

Mrs. U, I'm a very lucky man. All I need, I have.

Your love, and our beautiful son, is more than one man could hope for (and a fun, interactive gaming system). Christmas is not a competition to out-gift each other (it is). There's not a giant scorecard somewhere keeping track of annual gift efforts (I've hung one in the carport). Happiness is never out-of-stock (try eBay).

Seriously, it's a wild-goose chase. End it now. Don't waste another moment of your time chasing some mythical device that will serve as your husband's fountain of youth. To make this easier, I have a few replacement ideas for my Christmas list that will suffice:

• Hannah Montana concert tickets
• A spider monkey
• Dinner with Oprah
• Wrinkle-free khakis
• A unicorn

Plastic Jesus

My boy still thinks Santa Claus is just a scary freak who makes him cry. The first effort to do the Santa's lap thing went about as well as expected. He's not big on strangers right now, but I know it won't be long before he looks at Santa Claus the same way I look at Mick Jagger. Santa Claus will soon be the world's greatest rockstar in the eyes of the Undaling.

My wife and I have discussed this, and we'll be sure to always educate him on what Christmas means, and why it's important. Once he's comfortable enough being left in a nursery policed by nice old ladies in their Sunday best, we'll take him to church. He'll attend Sunday school in his formative years, even though I'm still scarred by my own Sunday school teacher's inability to explain dinosaurs.

The biblical education of our son has already begun, and, frankly, I'm a little uncomfortable with it. My son is the proud owner of a Little People Nativity set from Fisher Price. As you can see in the picture above, the set comes complete with multi-cultural wise men (who says they're all Italian?), various members of the livestock community, and yes, Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

I tried to express my concerns to Mrs. Undaground the other day and it was as if I had gotten 666 tattooed on my forehead, sacrificed one of our cats and changed my name to Darwin. Is it sacrilege for me to be concerned about a few things? I can't help it. It's just how my mind works. While she happily watched the boy begin to explore the plastic nativity scene after we removed it from the box, my brain began doing wind sprints trying to assess the situation.

It is my belief that my questions and concerns are valid, and a result of an inner voice in me trying to preserve the sanctity of these religious figures, not the other way around.

Issue #1:

I'm the guy who usually gathers a few road toys for the boy when we head out on weekends.

"Honey, did you grab some toys?", I could see my wife saying.

"Yep. I got his horse, Elmo, the farm book, and the blessed virgin."

Am I the only one who has a problem with this? He's really into naming things right now, and having things named for him. I fear his first v-word will be virgin, and I won't be ready for that conversation for a few years.

Issue #2:

"Son, we don't eat Jesus"

At 14-months. The boy still tends to put things in his mouth. It's his way of exploring, according to some big white pediatrics book we have. After several months of indoctrination into the ways of the toddler, I'm fine with this. I get a little uneasy, though, when I watch the little plastic baby Jesus used as a teething ring, even though the manger (no crib for his bed) has a nice round shape that I'm sure is soothing to the gums.

Issue #3:

When we put our own nativity scene away in January, should we put his away, too?

Nothing good can come from this.

The holy donkey is already commiserating with the iguana and the flamingo from the Little People animal alphabet set. Do we wait til he falls asleep, pack the toys up, and put them in the attic? What will that do to his newly developed sense of object permanence? It could mess him up for life. He'll have an imaginary friend named Sal by his second birthday if we start stealing toys from him in the middle of the night.

On the other hand, do we just let him play with the nativity set year-round? Isn't the original objective for him to understand the true meaning of Christmas and appreciate why this time of year is special? Next year, when we sing Silent Night in December, he's going to be like "I know, I know, you told me all about it in August. Go sing it to Sal."

I'm aware of a Little People Noah's Ark. My nephew has one. This is much easier for me to understand, except I'd have to stray from the Bible's script for that one.

"Quick, son, put the animals in that boat and move to the highest point of the living room. An angry God is about to put a hurtin' on the rest of your toys!"

Are there others? If so, I hope they don't make a Fisher Price Little People leper. Nothing against leprosy, but I'm worried about choking hazards.

The whole thing reminds me of a song made famous by "Cool Hand Luke", most recently covered in concert by Jack Johnson:

I don't care if it rains or freezes

as long as I've got my plastic Jesus

sitting on the dashboard of my car

it comes in colors pink and pleasant

it glows in the dark cause its iridescent

I'll take it with me whenever I go far

Blogerrific Relaunch

How do you like the new look? The Undaground has a new snazzy template, and I've added a vase of tulips to ratchet up the good chi.

Someday, these two months of emptiness will live in my blog archives as "The Dark Ages of the Undaground". Maybe some Indiana Jones wannabe will unearth the lost books, if they actually exist. (Hint for archeologists: go to the TGIFridays in Sao Paulo, Brazil, walk 44.6 miles due west, then ten steps north. Dig.)

I'd like to address some widespread rumors on where I've been.

• It is not true that I've been in a Sudanese prison for naming a teddy bear Muhammed.
• It is not true that I've been in a foreign country filming next season's Survivor.
• It is not true that I'm running for president in 08 and wanted to limit my digital footprint. (my campaign was only able to raise 22 dollars, and I spent it on cheesecake).

The truth is, work was pretty crazy for a few months and, now, the situation has somewhat stabilized. I figured I needed to fully dedicate myself to the craziness and turn my back on the blog for a little bit, considering my source of income.

The boy is now fourteen months old, and is walking in such a way that would make any drunken sailor proud. His current obsession is the king of the jungle, so I'm trying to find a wholesaler who sells lion cubs. Am I spoiling him? At the very least, a pet lion would eventually serve as an effective teaching tool about first aid.

My recent intense grief over the Mountaineers loss to Pitt has subsided, and I've finally accepted last Saturday's gut-wrenching result. I shall never speak of it again on this blog (until I forget that I made that pledge, but not before).

The Christmas lights are up on the house, and, as usual, I'm reminded of the true meaning of Christmas every year when I thank God that I didn't fall off a ladder or get electrocuted.

I'll be back. (much sooner this time)

9/11

Yesterday was a somber reminder of the act of war against our country and the lives that were lost six years ago.

Last night, Mrs. U was able to enter a more happy occasion on the calendar that will give us another reason to remember the date: The Undaling took his first steps.

It will be a few weeks, most likely, before he is actually walking with confidence, but we both witnessed the magical moment and celebrated it. We were playing a game where I put my baseball cap on the coffee table and ask him to go get my hat. He would scoot along the table, retrieve the hat and bring it back to me. I'd then put it on my head and say "Thank you". He loves to hear us say "thank you". Hopefully, that bodes well for his future manners. Anyway, after repeating the game three or four times, he decided he didn't need the table to guide his steps as he lunged forward, hat in hand. The first time, Mrs. U didn't see it, so I hesitated to call it "first steps", fearing that she would be upset that she missed it or that she would think I was making it up. Luckily, he repeated the feat a few more times under closer scrutiny, and to the sound of cheers. Then, he did the same thing on the other side of the table to Mrs. Undaground. I was equally delighted, but a little concerned that my wife wouldn't give me my hat back.

Tomorrow, it's off to Chicago for us and the much-dreaded first airplane trip with the suddenly-mobile kid. As always, I'm expecting the worst, so the actual ordeal should be less traumatic than the nightmare I've created in my pessimistic head.

Stay classy, San Diego. Oh, and, go Mountaineers.

Back and Badder Than Ever

Not bad meaning good, bad meaning bad.

I'm back and I'll try to get back to my old ways of posting early and often.

I think I'm done posting my weight here, unless I hit some crazy milestone. I'm still losing about a pound a week and, in all, I'm down to 225 or 226 (depending on the scale's mood). My huge gut is gone, and now I just have a regular 36-year-old guy gut. I just survived a weekend out of town that included a huge, cheesy dinner and many indulgences and somehow still lost a pound. I guess I shouldn't make a habit out of it, but I'm happy to come out ahead because I was convinced all weekend that I would gain weight.

Mrs. U celebrated a birthday on Monday. I got her a new car stereo and some new pajamas (and a pedicure, and a babysitter for a dinner out). It was just going to be the stereo and the dinner out, but I had to scramble after I ruined the stereo surprise. You see, there was a 24-hour period a few weeks ago when we were going to get rid of our van. At one point in that 24-hours, I decided to tell her that I had been planning to get a stereo put in. I guess I wanted credit for the thoughtfulness. The next day, when we found out the van problem was only $44 to fix, we decided to keep it for another year and the only wreckage from the decision was my blown surprise. Me and my big mouth.

Announcement

The Undaground blog will return from summer blogging vacation on Tuesday, Sept 4.

Until then, please enjoy the rest of the internet, and, as always, cook your chicken thoroughly before eating.

Tuesday Tidbits

Weigh-In
Starting weight: 243.2 (July 2)
Current weight: 230.4 (July 30)
Total Weight Loss: 12.8 pounds
Weight Change this week: -1 pound

Just one pound this week. I wonder if that was a "plateau". I guess we'll see. All in all, I'm pretty happy that I survived the week, considering I was out of town for two days at a conference. I ordered room service in the hotel and there were some unexpected french fries on my plate. I have prided myself in strong willpower over the past month, but that was a little too much temptation. I ate half the fries. I stayed within my "points" for the week, but I may have slowed the weight loss a little with those delicious fries. This weekend, I'm off to Key West for a bachelor party so I'm anticipating another slow week. Blame it on the beer.

Age of Love
Did anybody watch this show? It ended last night. It was a very predictable ending, since the guy had to choose between and 48 year old and a 25 year old. (He is 30). Throughout the whole show, I've been telling Mrs. U that there was a much better way to do it. They pitted a bunch of 40-somethings against a bunch of 20-somethings. They should have made it a bunch of 40-somethings against a bunch of 19, 20 and 21 year olds. That would have made his decision much more difficult than it was.

Baby Talk
The baby is picking up a lot of language lately. He attempts many words and mimics our own words. Right now, he's really into learning and saying animal names.

Also, he had his first haircut on Sunday. He now looks more like a little boy than a baby. This is good, because I'm ready for him to be a little boy (since I'm not a big fan of babies).

Frank

Baby Frank

Welcome to the world, Frank.

Born at 2:53am. 7 lbs, 12 oz. His father says he has a big head (more evidence that he has Dad's genes). 19 inches long.

Mom and baby both doing great.

I will post a photo tomorrow morning, assuming they're able to get one to me.