Ask the Undaground

Dear Undaground,

I just tried the inside out Junior Mints. I like them better than the original version. Reese’s peanut butter cups are also available inside out but I like the original better in this case. Do you think the candy companies are out of ideas for recipes and have to resort to turning their current products inside out?

Curious in Candyland

Dear Curious,

Yes, you are exactly right. Take a look at the following list of ingredients:

Chocolate, peanut butter, peanuts, nougat, caramel, puffed rice, raisins, almonds, malted milk, cookie wafers, toffee, taffy, coconut, mint, sprinkles.

Every candy bar or candy bar product available will consist of a few things off of that list.

When you think of chocolate and mint. You think of Junior Mints or York peppermint patties. Junior Mints own the bite-sized market, while York has a monopoly when it comes to disc-shaped minty choco-treats.

These pioneers of candy (Reese's, Hershey, M&M, Twix, Butterfinger, Snickers, Milky Way, Goobers, Whoppers, Snow Caps, 3 Musketeers, Baby Ruth, Almond Joy, Mounds, Junior Mints, York, Crunch, Raisinettes, Kit Kat and a few select others) have invented and marketed every possible candy bar treat.

A few others tried and failed over the years. Remember Grizzly Bites? Chocolate Covered Salmon Treats. Didn't work, because salmon is not a desirable candy ingredient.

So keep your eye out for more new twists on old products when it comes to candy.

Sincerely,

The Undaground

Have a question for the Undaground? Send your email to theundaground@gmail.com or leave your comments here.

In Memoriam...

To a great West Virginia University graduate. We'll miss you, Don Knotts.

Undaground's Book Club

I've decided I need to recommend a book every once in awhile and call it a book club. Ever since Oprah botched the James Frey selection, there's been a void in the book-reading world. People are wandering aimlessly, clutching inferior reading material, now that they can't trust the guidance that's out there. Some have been so rocked by this, that they've sat down on an airplane with no reading material, content to roll the dice and get their entertainment from Skymall catalog and an air sickness bag. The other day I saw a woman at the park reading an instruction manual for a steam cleaner. Clearly, she needs Undaground's Book Club.

Before I get into this selection, I need to clear a few things up. In light of the James Frey controversy, I need to address a few issues about this "blog" and its content. There are some items written here that are slightly exaggerated. It's safe to say that all of the information is "based on fact", yet everything is not necessarily factual. Each blog entry is definitely "cooked in fact", but some fact content is lost in the writing.

For example, I never kicked a cop's ass for calling me "junior". The truth is, I got a parking ticket near a junior college.

I didn't actually invent the Slip and Slide. I used to like to play with it when I was a child, but I can't take credit for its creation. Once in college, we used trash bags and beer to make a slip and slide. That's probably where that came from.

I never "ate the entire Denny's menu" in one sitting. I had watched a show on competitive eating and I daydreamed about this, but it didn't happen. Once, I had a Super Bird AND half of a Moons Over My Hammy, but never the whole menu.

Finally, I was never married to a Rockette. I just completely made that up.

That being said, I now present to you the first ever Undaground's Book Club selection:

Marley and Me.

I read this book in two sittings. I highly recommend it to anyone who has a dog or ever had a dog. This book should equally appeal to men and women. Some, but not much, of the content is probably too strong for young children. You can go HERE to read the first chapter for free.

Trust me on this one, you'll be laughing and crying before you get through the preface. I recently recommended this book to my friend, Bono from U2, and he loved it.

Loose Dirt from the Undaground

Lesson Learned:
Most of the information you learn on this blog is useless in your everyday life. I have no problem admitting that. But, here's something you need to know, if you don't already. If someone at your workplace is ever collecting money for a lottery drawing, you must participate. You don't have a choice. Honestly, you will never, ever win. You may as well be flushing two dollars down the toilet. The only way your workplace lotto pool will ever catch lightning in a bottle and purchase the winning ticket is if you choose not to participate. Think of it as insurance; a few bucks here and there saving you from would be the worst day of your life; the day everybody you work with becomes rich and quits their jobs. Enjoy the story of the Nebraskan meat-packers who won the Powerball jackpot, but always remember the dummies they left behind who said they didn't have change for a $20.

More On My Obese Hands:
My expanded wedding band has been returned to my finger. There's a tiny bit of room to grow, so the hand exercises have been halted. Thanks to all who didn't judge me and my balloon-animal fingers.

In related news, I was told last weekend that I have incredibly soft hands. For those of you who want soft hands, the only advice I have for you is to stop all manual labor now. Also, two words: sandpaper origami.

Two Blogs That Are Worth Reading:
If you're looking for some quality comedy, try "The Sneeze". Take the time to read some of the "Steve, don't eat it" segments and also the best of the sneeze on the right side of his page. Very funny stuff.

As much as I complain about restaurant service, it's only fair to point out the good stuff. Check out http://www.waiterrant.net/ for restaurant-inspired stories about life.

Clearly, both of these blogs are wildly popular, with thousands of readers, so it's safe to say they don't need my help. My mentioning them is the equivalent of a condo association newsletter telling people to read the New York Times and the Washington Post.

Programming Alert:
To the anonymous commenter who recommended "The Dog Whisperer" to me, thank you. It is an excellent show and since Mrs. Undaground and I began watching, we have assumed the role of pack leaders in our home. It's going well, but now Wrigley thinks Mrs. Undaground is a bitch (dog humor, folks). You can find "The Dog Whisperer" Fridays at 8pm on the National Geographic Channel. It also runs several times a week in reruns.

Survivor Haiku:

For those of you who taped the show and don't want to see the results, don't scroll down. So I don't ruin it for you, I'll take up some space with a photo of a dogsled racer eating cheesecake.

Goodbye Ruth Marie

sounds like an Elton John song.

Should've been Sally.

...

Terry should now win

with a hidden advantage

that is tough to beat.

...

We here at this blog

support the pale space traveler

and also Cirie.

Can you Haiku? Post your Survivor Haiku here under "Comments". Definition of haiku here.

Thirty Minute Meals - Myth or Reality?

I've mentioned this here before, but I don't like cookbooks without photos. I'm a college-educated man with an active imagination. I should be able to visualize the finished dish based on the cookbook's description and my knowledge of the ingredients, but I can't. For some reason, when presented with a words-only recipe, I turn into Koko the gorilla, unable to effectively communicate beyond some simple sign-language and a series of low grunts. To me, a recipe without pictures is like a blind date. A description is nice, but going without a photo is a serious risk. Either way, you might end up with something unattractive at the dinner table.

My wife is a pretty big fan of Rachel Ray. She Tivo's her television show and owns two of her cookbooks. These cookbooks are of no use to me (see above), but Mrs. Undaground has now attempted a few of the recipes and, in my slightly-overweight opinion, they have been excellent.

Rachel Ray does a fantastic job of branding herself. Her hook is the "30-minute meal". If you've ever seen her show on Food Network, you know that the woman can get a lot done in 30 minutes. It's a great premise, but there's a darkside. The whole "30-minute meal" thing begins as a reasonable goal for anyone attempting one of her recipes, but when the amateur cook fails to finish in 30 minutes, it's kind of a letdown for the cook. At the very least, it's a humorous footnote as we sit down to enjoy our "48-minute meal", or sometimes, our "57-minute meal". The thirty-minute meal has always just been a piece of folklore in our house like "8-minute abs" or "3-day diet" or "earn up to $250,000 a year reading your own email".

For me, it's not important. The food is quite tasty, and I never really expected anything from a photo-free cookbook anyway. As far as I'm concerned, every meal that comes from that book is a bonus. For my wife, a "30-minute meal" cooked in an hour is a downer. I won't try to explain or understand this since I'm the guy who ruined Thanksgiving because my football team lost.

Let me get sappy for a moment to give you some background information. Whenever my wife is cooking us dinner, I take the following steps, in order:

1. Pause live TV
2. Walk into the kitchen and kiss her neck
3. Eat dinner and compliment her on the meal
4. Do the dishes (or at least take the lead on the dish-doing)

I'm like Old Faithful on this one. I always come through with the kitchen-kiss on the neck. I've done this every time she's cooked dinner since the first time, back when we were dating (we now refer to that evening as the "Vinegar Veal Incident", but that's a blog post for another day).

The other night, I heard the chopping of vegetables followed by the unique sizzle of stir fry. As the first waft of garlic traveled into the living room and floated gently under my nose, I paused live TV and sauntered in to the kitchen to kiss her on the neck. This time, it was different. There was no smiling, or arching of the back, or purring. She just stood there, eyes focused on the wok like it was her job.

"What's wrong?", I asked.

"Nothing's wrong. I'm in a hurry."

My eyes darted to the wok. Mmmm. Stir-fried chicken. Then, I looked at the counter and saw an open book with no pictures. "Oh, I see. Rachel Ray. How much time do you have?"

"I have four minutes", she said, in a voice that meant get out my way you large, roadside orange barrel. "I've gotta finish the sauce. Go sit down."

It was like the moment in "A Few Good Men", when Tom Cruise told Colonel Jessup to sit back down so he could try to work a confession out of him. There was no turning back now.

I looked at the clock. It was 7:26. This was huge. She was going for it!

I sat back down in my chair and left the TV on pause. It was 7:27 now. "How's it going in there?"

No answer from the kitchen. Is she mad at me? Should I have chopped some vegetables or something? Maybe she's busy. OK, I'll stop distracting her.

I can't fully describe the sounds coming from the kitchen over the next two minutes. It sounded like their was a team of cooking ninjas helping her. I heard chopping from one side of the kitchen, following my more sizzling, a sneeze (pepper?), more sizzling, swordplay, dishes clanging, sizzling again, and then, "It's read-yyyy."

7:29.

Congratulations, Mrs. Undaground. A 29-minute meal. I have it on good authority that the same dish takes Rachel Ray 30 minutes.

Goldfinger

I have removed my wedding ring. My fingers are nude.

No, Mrs. Undaground and I are not having marital problems. We are a happy couple with a union based on compromise, love, and a mutual affection for goat cheese, among other things.

I'm not going to lie. I've gained 10 pounds since my wedding; not too bad considering it's been a year-and-a-half and I haven't done much to stop it. For some unexplainable reason, I've gained about 7 of those pounds in my fingers.

It's been a gradual thing. There were times just after the wedding, where I thought my ring might slip off. I had to be extremely careful when working with soap, butter, hand cream, motor oil, pickle juice, tomato sauce, ranch dressing and other natural and unnatural lubricants. I see myself in the mirror every day, so it was difficult for me to see the changes, until one day I overheard some teenagers at the mall giggling behind my back. After taking a full personal inventory later that day, I concluded that they were laughing at my fat fingers.

What was once a simple, traditional, elegant symbol of my marriage had morphed into something different. My finger and wedding band now looked less like the closeup photo taken on our wedding day and more like Kirstie Alley crammed into a pair of biker shorts.

Mrs. Undaground has agreed to bring the ring in to our jeweler and have him stretch it a half-size. She needs to go anyway to have her ring polished. That's a good thing, because every time I walk in there, I feel pressure to buy a watch or something. Neither of us need a watch, but he's a nice guy and I feel like we have to buy something every once and awhile so we can continue to refer to him as "our jeweler".

In the interim, I really have to be vigilant. People talk. For the next few days, strangers will look at me and think: "Look at the single guy. He'll never find a wife with those chubby digits. How can he even button his shirt with those hot dogs on his hand? What a loser. Hope he doesn't disassemble explosive devices or perform interpretive dance. How distracting."

I guess I could take the concert pianist route and wear gloves. Do they even make plus-size gloves? Maybe I'll check the big and tall store, or pick up a couple of catcher's mitts at the Sports Authority.

Sheriff John Brown Always Hated Me

Saturday night was my brother JP's 30th birthday, so we gathered at his apartment to throw a surprise party. His girlfriend, Schmoopie, and my other brother Matt planned the party, and I'm happy to say that he was surprised. The whole "surprise" factor was more difficult than originally calculated, because JP didn't want to leave his apartment that day. Somehow, Schmoopie convinced him to go see a movie that he didn't want to see, and we were waiting for him with noisemakers and balloons when he returned.

The highlight of the evening, for most of us, was probably the live music going on in the living room. There was a guy playing the steel drum, standing in front of an impressive speaker and a musical setup that cranked out a seemingly endless karaoke track of reggae favorites. I'm not sure where they found him, but I think he may have come from "the islands".

Matt stocked a nice bar complete with limes, plenty of ice, and, most importantly, Jack Daniels. For those who know me, they know that Jack Daniels plus a microphone equals audience participation.

Shortly after JP's grand entrance, he noticed our live music. Clearly, he was impressed with the guy's steel drum skills. At this point, we, the partygoers, had heard "I Shot the Sheriff" more than a few times, but we all took a moment to enjoy watching JP soak in the music.

"I Shot the Sheriff", said the 30-year-old, obviously proud of his name-that-tune ability. And for a brief moment, we were taken back to a simpler time, as if we were all hearing it for the first time.

The guy decided to take a break to rest his wrists, because there's a bunch of tricky drumwork involved with this reggae classic. My brother Matt, aware of the Jack Daniels/microphone equation, warned the steel drummer that he would soon be part of a duet.

He smiled and seemed very excited. "Yes, yes, I love it when people join me on stage", he said.

OK, I'll play along. I can use my imagination enough to visualize the corner of the living room as a stage. "So, Bob Marley, huh?", I said. "Do you know Stir it Up, or Redemption Song?"

"How about Three Little Birds?", Matt asked.

"Yes, yes. I know it all", said the guy from the islands.

A few minutes later, he was back on stage, banging away on the steel drums to the extended dance-remix of "I Shot the Sheriff". OK, I'm thinking, I know the words to this one. The guy's a good steel drummer, but his singing leaves a bit to be desired, so I'll go up there and try to be funny for a few minutes. I joined him for a duet of his greatest hit. We both admitted to shooting the sheriff this time, but neither of us would take any public credit for shooting the deputy. Like a couple of outlaws on the run, we proudly detailed our crimes as the room began to fill up with fans of my musical work. Unfortunately, the CD ended abruptly right in the middle of one of my more emotional lyrics. No problem, Island Guy cued it up again and the song restarted. We were a strong musical tandem. As a duet, our performance would probably rate somewhere between "Hall and Oates" and "Captain and Tenille".

Now, the seal was broken, and others at the party felt comfortable enough to join the steel drummer in the corner of the living room. My brother Matt went up there and sang a song called "I Shot the Sheriff". My friend Dave joined the island guy on stage as well, and he sang a little ditty about shooting a sheriff. Another guy, who's name I didn't catch, got up and sang the Bob Marley classic "I Shot the Sheriff".

As the evening went on, the good cheer continued to flow. The voices got a little louder; our dialogue a little more slurred. Everybody was having a great time. The island guy was taking another break. I watched him as he poured himself another drink, and then started high-fiving all of his musical partners. He turned to me with his hand extended in the air, awaiting a high-five.

"Nice work", I said as I slapped his hand, careful not to injure his drumming fingers. "Hey, do you know "No Woman No Cry" or "Exodus", I asked.

"I do. I do. Come up and sing and I'll play something special", he promised.

As he returned from break, I ambled over to the corner of the living room with him. He smiled as he handed me the microphone and fired up the music machine. It was a smile that said: "Here, my friend. This microphone belongs in your hand. Now, let's make some music." I felt a quick rush of adrenaline and turned to face my audience. The music began, and, one note in, I knew it was a song I was familiar with.

"All around, in my hometown, they're trying to track me down. They say they want to bring me in guilty, for the killing of a deputy. For the life, of a deputy."

Ahhh, Good times.

Art Appreciation

"Ouch. What was that for?", Mrs. Undaground asked.

"That's my signal to you", I answered. "Everytime I see a suspect booth, I'm going to have to pinch the back of your arm."

"A suspect booth?"

"Yes. A lot of this is real art, but some of it you and I could do with a free weekend."

"OK. But don't pinch me so hard. I get it."

I have always had a great appreciation for art. I admit that there is some stuff where I just don't see the genious. I would have a difficult time telling the difference between some of the impressionists' paintings of despair and a nicely composed fingerpainting.

Each year, Mrs. Undaground and I attend Artigras; a local festival where you can buy all kinds of art, or just walk around pinching each other. There are some very talented people there, and it's always a good time. There are some artists, though, that probably missed their calling as insurance salesmen. Don't get me wrong, I encourage everybody to express themselves creatively however they see fit. It's just when it's sitting there with a big $700 price tag on it where it crosses the line from doodle to delusion.

Apparently if you're a professional photographer now, it's the law that you have to travel to Europe and wake up on a foggy morning and take a few pictures. Then, you're supposed to walk the town and take a picture of every doorway you see. Fruit stands are recommended as well. Again, these pictures look nice, but for the price, couldn't we just start saving for our own trip to Europe to take photos of door frames and corner cafes?

As we drove home, we discussed the artists again.

"I had to pinch you a lot today. How's your arm?"

"It's OK. A little ice and some rest and I'll be fine."

"Was there any time when I pinched you, when you thought I was wrong. I mean, was there any gratuitous pinching on my part?"

"Well, I'm not really sure that you could weld metal", she said.

"Isn't that just a case of having the right equipment. Isn't it similar to playing a harmonica. It's a fairly easy instrument to play; people just don't realize it because they don't own any. I think if we got some welding equipment, we could produce art better than that guy. As a matter of fact, put me down for some welding equipment for Christmas. Maybe we can get a booth here next year."

If it comes down to it, I can slap a frame on my "family self portrait" doodles and sell those. Here's a free one for all you loyal readers:

Survivor Haiku

For those of you who taped the show and don't want to see the results, don't scroll down. So I don't ruin it for you, I'll take up some space with a photo of a chimp smoking a cigarette.

Mister Myagi
is once again left alone
to practice crane kick

.

Winning formula
beat the hell out of your foes
and rip your top off

.

Once the votes are read
the decision is final
Guys alliance formed

Can you Haiku? Post your Survivor Haiku here under "Comments". Definition of haiku here.

Get To Know: February 16

February 16 is a rich day for historical events; some significant, some, not so much.

600 AD: Pope Gregory the Great decrees saying "God bless You" is the correct response to a sneeze
Previously, the standard response to a sneeze was "What the hell was that?"

1659 1st known check (£400) (on display at Westminster Abbey)
Written in the supermarket checkout line by a 90-year-old woman while my English ancestor stood behind her and seethed.

1677 Earl of Shaftesbury arrested/confined in London Tower
He's a complicated man, and no one understands him but his woman, Earl of Shaft.

1838 Kentucky passes law permitting women to attend school under conditions.
February 17, 1838. First case of cooties reported in Kentucky.

1840 American Charles Wilkes discovers Shackleton Ice Shelf, Antarctica
Reportedly, there was a half-eaten Ben and Jerry's and some Bagel Bites on the shelf.

1852 Charles Taze Russell born. Founded Jehovah's Witnesses
His father went from house-to-house to share the good news, but nobody answered their door.

1878 Silver dollar became US legal tender
Pepsi machine at the saloon was jammed up all day.

1909 1st subway car with side doors goes into service (New York NY)
Roof riders relieved.

1927 US restores diplomatic relations with Turkey
Tensions continued with roast duck.

1937 DuPont Corp patents nylon, developed by employee Wallace H Carothers
Carothers swooshed out of the patent office proudly.

1948 Miranda, famous moon of Uranus, photographed for 1st time
Other moons of Uranus would be photographed several times in college.

1958 Ice-T born. rap singer/actor (New Jack City, Tank Girl, Crazy Six)
It's a motherf*cking boy!

1959 Fidel Castro named himself Cuba's premier after overthrowing Batista
Smoke em if you got em.

1962 US Open Tennis Jimmy Bostwick defeats brother Pete to win
Mrs. Bostwick admits she loves Jimmy more than Pete.

1965 Pegasus 1 launched to detect micro-meteors
Mini-Bruce Willis and Mini-Ben Affleck put on standby.

1968 Country's 1st 911 phone system went into service in Haleyville AL
First call came in 3 days later from some teenagers asking for Al Coholic.

1972 1st NBA to score 30,000 points (Wilt Chamberlain in 940 games)
A few years later, Wilt would set another scoring mark.

1982 Lee Majors & Farrah Fawcett Majors divorce
Farrah asked for half: $3 million and one bionic eye.

1991 US female Figure Skating championship won by Tonya Harding
Whatever happened to her? She just kinda faded away after that.

Peanut Allergy Phobia

I try not to worry too much, but there are some things that just stick in my mind and won't go away. Why are there expiration dates on bottled water? What will all these women who get boob jobs look like when they're 85-years-old? If I put my favorite shirt in the dryer, will it still cover my belly?

A few days ago, Mrs. Undaground and I were talking, and we both got to worrying about peanut allergies. Neither of us currently suffer from this horrible affliction; we're more concerned with our future children. I've done a little research and I can't find much information on what actually causes the peanut allergy. There are some extreme cases, like the girl in Canada who died from kissing her boyfriend. In most scenarios, you just have to rid your house of nuts and nut-related products. So, here we were, enjoying each others' company in Red Lobster on Sunday, and we began eulogizing a few important peanut products that we now enjoy as a married couple. Personally, these are the 5 biggest things I would miss:

5. Payday: Payday is the most underrated candy bar out there. I agree that it's not for everybody; only people with intelligent taste buds. It's more than just a bunch of peanuts held together by caramel; it's the perfect fusion of sweet and salty, like a multi-cultural party in my mouth.

4. Reese's Peanut Butter Cups: I can live without the Reese's pieces. If Payday is underrated, Reese's pieces are overrated. I contend that if Eliot had dropped a trail of peanut M&M's throughout the yard instead of Reese's pieces, E.T. would have warmed up to the family a lot quicker, and he may not have been in such a hurry to go home. On the other hand, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups remain the Rolls Royce of candy bars. When we were kids, houses that gave out Reese's on Halloween were at the top of the neighborhood's A-list (the lady who gave out nickels and the creepy old guy with the apples pulled up the rear.) In our continuing quest to be cool, we now live in a Reese's house, and our house has never been egged.

3. Dry-roasted peanuts: What's a football game without these laying around? If we had a peanut-allergy in the house, what could ever replace dry-roasted peanuts? Raisins? Shoot me.

2. Peanut Butter: Peanut butter in general is a terrific substance. Part of the reason we selected it as a color to paint our living room is the good feeling that comes over us when we see peanut butter. Take anything that's considered "boring", like a dry piece of toast or a naked Ritz cracker, and peanut butter will instantly turn the situation around. Let's not forget peanut butter's role in baking. Without it, Betty Crocker would probably have spent her life as a sweaty line-cook instead of the household diva she became.

1. Pad Thai: I don't think I can give this up. The other things on this list are trivial in comparison. Once every week to ten days, Mrs. Undaground and I get the intense Thai food craving. It starts with a tickle in the back of the throat and usually leads to cold sweats, hot flashes, luke warm flickers, and hallucinations (I've seen roller-skating farm animals on more than one occasion). There is no way to alleviate the mind-numbing addiction other than eating the Pad-Thai. Arguably, the most important ingredient in Pad Thai is crushed peanuts (some would argue that they put actual crack in it to hook people). We now have relatives who visit from out-of-town and get the Pad-Thai craving. It's not uncommon for out-of-towners to show up unannounced at our door with a bag of Thai food and a crazed look in their eyes like they just saw Bessie the Cow shuffling to the Sugar Hill Gang at the rink. Since we moved, they don't deliver anymore. That's usually enough motivation to enter detox and give it up, but we wouldn't think of it. In the event of a peanut allergy, we might have to hire a babysitter or send the kid to boarding school. Is that selfish?

What Does It All Mean?

Happy Valentine's Day. Ever wonder what it all means? I did. Here is a link to the History Channel's information on Valentine's Day. Below are some excerpts that I found interesting.

"One legend contends that Valentine was a priest who served during the third century in Rome. When Emperor Claudius II decided that single men made better soldiers than those with wives and families, he outlawed marriage for young men -- his crop of potential soldiers. Valentine, realizing the injustice of the decree, defied Claudius and continued to perform marriages for young lovers in secret. When Valentine's actions were discovered, Claudius ordered that he be put to death."

Not too bad to get a whole day named after you for breaking the law. I wonder how Caesar would feel about this. He was a much more influential figure in history and all he got was a salad.

"According to one legend, Valentine actually sent the first 'valentine' greeting himself. While in prison, it is believed that Valentine fell in love with a young girl -- who may have been his jailor's daughter -- who visited him during his confinement. Before his death, it is alleged that he wrote her a letter, which he signed 'From your Valentine,' an expression that is still in use today."

Good thing his name was catchy and sounded nice. I'd hate to have to go to Hallmark and buy a Caligula Card.

"In ancient Rome, February was the official beginning of spring and was considered a time for purification. Houses were ritually cleansed by sweeping them out and then sprinkling salt and a type of wheat called spelt throughout their interiors."

Today, we call this substance "Carpet Fresh"

"The priests would then sacrifice a goat, for fertility, and a dog, for purification."

Naked supermodels would line the streets with signs that said "I'd rather go naked then wear fur, or sacrifice goats and dogs".

"Later in the day, according to legend, all the young women in the city would place their names in a big urn. The city's bachelors would then each choose a name out of the urn and become paired for the year with his chosen woman. These matches often ended in marriage."

Back in grade school, we used to have to square dance in gym class. This was the same way we picked our partners, but our matches would end in do-si-doing. That process never ended well for me.

"The Roman 'lottery' system for romantic pairing was deemed un-Christian and outlawed."

I guess the school district never got the memo on this.

"The oldest known valentine still in existence today was a poem written by Charles, Duke of Orleans to his wife while he was imprisoned in the Tower of London following his capture at the Battle of Agincourt."

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I've got a new boyfriend named Bubba,
What's going on with you?

"Several years later, it is believed that King Henry V hired a writer named John Lydgate to compose a valentine note to Catherine of Valois."

Dear Catherine,
Do you like Henry? Check this box for yes or this box for no.
Your friend, John

"By the end of the century, printed cards began to replace written letters due to improvements in printing technology. Ready-made cards were an easy way for people to express their emotions in a time when direct expression of one's feelings was discouraged."

Now, there's even a section in the Hallmark store called "Sympathy - Sorry You Stepped in Dog Poo- To Sister, From Both"

Weekend in Review

• Mrs. Undaground and I have "Olympic Fever". Last night, Spicoli won the gold medal in snowboarding. Mr. Hand was wrong about him. I'm not sold on the medals this year. They look too much like golden donuts.
• I'm sorry to report that I lost my poker tournament. I played OK, but the cards never really came and I eventually went down in a blaze of glory (finished about 20th out of 56). I did bring home a complimentary bag of bagels, so I guess it was worth it.
• I went hunting with my friend Dick on Saturday. We didn't get any quail, but Dick bagged a lawyer. Looks like he'll be OK. That's good news, because it would have been difficult getting him mounted for above the fireplace. Just a word of fashion advice for any of you living near Washington D.C.: orange vests are the next big thing. Get one, and wear it with pride.

5 Years Ago Today

Five years ago today, Mrs. Undaground and I went on our first date. We had known each other for a year; we met at a Super Bowl Party the year before through a mutual friend. After a few months of her batting her eyelashes at me, I decided to stop playing hard-to-get and asked her to join me for the cinematic classic that is Saving Silverman.

Mrs. Undaground had just read "Mars and Venus on a Date" to prepare for our courtship. In it, the book apparently directs the reader to remain positive at all times. After we walked out of the movie, she did just that. "That was a pretty good movie", she said. Oddly enough, I had not read the same book, so I responded, "Who are you kidding, that movie sucked." That exchange became the solid foundation for our relationship today.

That night I learned that she liked sour-patch kids, but only the red ones; she liked angry woman music, yet she was not a lesbian; and for some strange cosmic reason, she liked me and was at least slightly amused by my general dislike for other people.

Now, five years later, as we walk through life hand in hand (little, porcelain doll hand in large, wookie hand), she is the yin to my yang, the Edith to my Archie, the attractive cat to my French skunk. Happy Dating Anniversary Mrs. Undaground. We'll always have "Saving Silverman".

Happy Friday

• Wisdom Teeth Update: Thursday, March 23 is the day they're coming out. That morning, I will submit a post chock-full-of fears and anxieties. The next morning, I will write a post while under the influence of powerful pain-killers. It could be The Undaground equivalent of the Beatles' "Sgt. Pepper's" album, or it may just be a Survivor haiku.

• Tomorrow morning, I'm playing poker against a bunch of old men. I have a friend whose mother lives in a 55-plus community and they're having a poker tournament. I played in this two years ago, and they were all very nice, probably because I took a beating and was knocked out of the tournament early. I'm not sure they'll be so friendly this time because I'm prepared to win. I'm a much better poker player now and didn't really know what I was doing two years ago. I also may try to get into their heads by talking a little trash. "Hey, bluehair, need help reading your cards?" Either way, I expect to be running out of the place with my prize in hand, being chased by 50 or 60 old people on slow-moving motorized vehicles. It should be fine comedy. Wish me luck.

• Survivor Haiku. If you have taped the show and haven't watched it yet, don't scroll down. So I don't ruin it for you, I'll take up some space with a photo of TV's Montel Williams:

Smoky guy wants out

Instead, they boot another

who wanted to stay.

.

.

A million dollars

Or a pack of cigarettes

You make the call, Bub.

Can you Haiku? Post your Survivor Haiku here under "Comments". Definition of haiku here.

From the Editor

Here's some general news about the Undaground:

Thanks
First of all, thanks to all my loyal and occasional readers. One day, late last month, 98 people visited the Undaground. When I close my eyes at night and drift off to sleep, I see a day when 100 people will read this blog. A guy can dream, right?

Have an idea?
Would you like to see a certain topic covered on The Undaground? Email me at theundaground@gmail.com. I can't promise that everything will make it to the blog, but I'm always open to any suggestions, ideas, jokes, articles, links, etc. that you send me.

New Segment: Ask the Undaground
I don't profess to know more than anybody else. I'm a good researcher, I watch a lot of television, and I've never, ever lost a game of Trivial Pursuit (I've picked my opponents carefully, though, and at least two of the games are still under protest). Most importantly, I now find myself constantly searching for material for this daily effort commonly referred to in street-lingo as a "blog".

With that in mind, please send your questions for "Dear Undaground" to "theundaground@gmail.com". Your identity will remain anonymous, but it's appreciated if you sign the email with a moniker like "Sleepless in Seattle" or "Comatose in Cleveland". I will tackle any sort of question you have: technology, relationships, problems at work, general knowledge, health and beauty, fashion, dream interpretation, etiquette and manners, sports, gambling, carbonated beverages, you name it. If you don't want to send an email, feel free to post any Dear Undaground questions in the comments section after each post.

Last Word on the Super Bowl

Too Many Teeth

So, I have a dentist's appointment today. No physical pain or discomfort this time, just a consultation. It turns out, I need to have my 3 remaining wisdom teeth out. I'm a little disappointed. I honestly thought these teeth may make it the whole way. They were hanging on for so long, I just assumed that, in my later years, I'd have a 3-tooth advantage over most of my contemporaries. Other than a pie-eating contest, I'm not sure how that could help, but it's nice to know when you have an edge.

I'm not going to lie. Losing my wisdom teeth will be a little emotional. They're like a part of me. I'll always remember that special moment when I realized I had developed them. I was attempting to eat a chunk of peanut brittle. It's so tasty, but I just couldn't crack through it with my original set of teeth. It was then that I shifted the treat back further into my mouth, where I decided to use these new teeth (the wisdom teeth) for the first time. Each bite was more rewarding than the previous bite. At that moment, I realized I was no longer a child whose back molars had to do all the work; I was a man with wisdom, and my wisdom teeth had my back molars' back.

Most of my friends have already had their wisdom teeth removed. I think I was a late bloomer, because I can still clearly recall the days when my friends would eat peanut brittle in front of me. I was left with easier-to-chew-through treats like cotton candy or wheat germ. There was probably I time when I considered "stuffing my mouth" to trick people into thinking I had wisdom teeth. Eventually, they grew in, and my parents brought me to the store to buy my first training-peanut brittle.

Now, I'm happy the wisdom teeth came in a little late, because I've been able to hold on to them for a long time. I'm sorry they won't be coming along with me for the rest of this journey we call life. If anything, I'm hoping the teeth left me with the proper wisdom to figure out how to eat peanut brittle without them. If so, the circle of life will all make sense to me again. All good things must come to an end, and, after my appointment today, I will know exactly when they're coming out.

Pet Peeves

Does anybody know a good dog whisperer? I speak a little dog language, but I'm really limited to simple commands. Anytime I try to communicate with our dog, Wrigley, I lose her after a few words. She then looks at me with her head cocked sideways, which is the same look I got when we were in Mexico and, in Spanish, I tried to ask the cleaning lady for more towels and another pillow. Turns out that the literal translation of my query was: "Can you bring me a jar of pickles and kick me in the neck?" Anyway, pardon the pun, but I do have some pet peeves that I would like communicated to my dog. Negative reinforcement hasn't worked with her. When I scold her, I think she enjoys the attention and probably thinks I'm loudly saying "You're a wonderful creature" or "Keep it up, you terrific animal". From my experience, I've found that most dogs understand tone; not Wrigley. She also leaves a little to be desired in her ability to detect sarcasm, but many humans have the same problem.

I used to think Wrigley was smart, but then I saw her walk into a sliding glass door, twice. I can understand doing it once. Hell, I've done it once; large glass surfaces can be tricky, but you would think even a dog would not let it happen a second time. On the intelligence scale, I place my dog somewhere between a guinea pig and a wall clock. There are dogs out there that can dial 9-1-1, or lead a blind man across the street, or find drugs in the airport. I'm not asking her to solve a Good Will Hunting math problem, I just want her to stop doing some things that annoy me.

Pet Peeve #1: Licking my arm
When I'm sitting in my chair, Wrigley has this annoying habit of sneaking up behind me like a dog ninja to lick me on the arm. She has done this at least once every night since we moved into our new house. I realize that sometimes my arm might taste like fried food, but I'm confident that most of the time it tastes like soap. Each time, I say "Wrigley, don't lick my arm. I don't enjoy it. I'm a man, and you're supposed to be man's best friend." I need this to be communicated to her in dog language so she stops.

Pet Peeve #2: The Rain
We always thought she hated the rain. Now that we have a dog-door, and she uses her own discretion in entering and leaving the house, we've found that she loves to play in the rain. I used to enjoy playing in the rain when I was a child. Now, it's not so fun anymore. Going by dog years, Wrigley and I are both in our mid-30's. It's time for her to grow up. Again, she needs to hear this from someone who speaks fluent dog.

Pet Peeve #3: Save the music!
I whistle when I call the dog. It's the same whistle every time. I need her to be able to distinguish between that whistle and me whistling along to music. I have been robbed of the joy of whistling along to many songs since I got the dog, because she believes that every whistle on earth is intended for her and comes barreling into the room as soon as I purse my lips. "Sittin on the Dock of the Bay" just aint the same when you can't whistle along. Every time I hear "Walk Like an Egyptian" and I can't whistle along, I'm doing myself and the Bangles a great disservice.

Pet Peeve #4: Jumping on People
For five years, she's been jumping on people. It's like crack to her. She's addicted and there needs to be an intervention.

Pet Peeve #5: Personal Hygiene
This is a touchy subject, because I know it will embarrass her. When I find a dog whisperer or a English-K9 dictionary, I need this information communicated word for word: Wrigley, it's great that you clean yourself. I'm proud of you for figuring this out on your own, without the help of any books or videotapes. I agree that you need to be clean all over your dog body. Don't stop cleaning yourself. However, could you find a better time to do it than in our bedroom, when we are trying to fall asleep? What is it that you do between the hours of 7am and 5pm every day when we're at work? I know you're busy, and you probably have many appointments to keep throughout the day. I realize that it's hard work shedding hair on the floor and that you can hardly find the time to bark at the pool guy, but maybe some proper planning could benefit us both. Have you considered making a checklist in the morning? If possible, how about cleaning your business during the daylight hours. It's loud and it's not something we need to hear. You don't see me clipping my toenails at the dinner table, do you? I think I've made my point.

Conclusion:
If you can successfully communicate with a dog, please don't hesitate to let us know. We'll have you over for a nice meal and a little sitdown meeting with Wrigley. She'll probably be surprised to hear all of this, but I think it's for the best. We'll even throw in dessert if you can talk to cats. We'd like our cats to know that we appreciate the effort, but bringing dead or injured creatures in the house is not something they need to do to prove their love to us. If they truly want to show us how they feel, maybe they could pull some weeds in the yard or clean the gutters.

Potpourri

No, this is not the kind of potpourri that sits in a decorative bucket on the bathroom sink; this is more the Alex Trbek potpourri.

• Mrs. Undaground saw Goodfellas over the weekend. Her comments were that it was interesting and very violent. I think she liked it. I actually stayed awake for the whole thing. That's kind of crazy, because every time I rent a new movie, it takes 2 to 3 attempts to make it all the way through. Goodfellas was an education for Mrs. Undaground. She now knows that I could never be a "made" man because I'm 1/4 Norwegian (and I bruise easily).
• Another movie we saw over the weekend is "Grizzly Man". This just came out last year, but it's already on the Discovery Channel. I highly recommend this movie. It's a documentary about a guy who lived with the grizzly bears for years and years and then was finally eaten by one. Check Discovery Channel for a rerun, or go rent it. It's quality entertainment.
• To all the people out there talking about the bad referees at the Super Bowl: please give it a rest. Steelers fans are a large, loyal bunch and have waited 26 years for another championship. Let us enjoy it for at least a few days before all this stuff. The referees were bad, but they did not cause the Steelers to win or the Seahawks to lose. Next time I hear somebody talking about the refs in the Super Bowl, I will cover my ears and close my eyes and loudly scream "La, La, La, La, La, I can't hear you. La, La, La, La, La.". I'm warning everybody; this will be very juvenile and hard to watch, so don't test me.
• Lance Armstrong and Sheryl Crow have decided to call off their engagement. Not sure of the reason, but I'm guessing it's because she realized riding a bike for a living is not all that exciting after the Tour de France is over, and he realized that he's more of a Kelly Clarkson guy than a Sheryl Crow guy (talking about age here, not necessarily musical style). Hey celebrity couples: Please get to know each other before you go on Oprah declaring that you're a perfect couple. It's fine if you want to live in your little fantasy land, but there are children involved here. That's all we need is some little world-class bicyclist offspring messed up in the head from his parents' and taking his revenge on the world. Do you realize the damage he could do with a mean streak, a ten-speed and biker shorts?
• Groundhog day came and went, and I didn't get stuck in it like Bill Murray. If I did though, I would hope it didn't fall on a day when we were painting. Also, I'd probably still start every day with Maxwell House, and I'd experiment with shaving my entire head.

Freddie Mercury said it best

I've paid my dues -

Time after time -

I've done my sentence

But committed no crime -

And bad mistakes

I've made a few

I've had my share of sand kicked in my face -

But I've come through

We are the champions - my friends

And we'll keep on fighting - till the end -

We are the champions -

We are the champions

No time for losers

'Cause we are the champions -

of the world -