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.

.

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.

Monday Weigh-In

Starting weight: 243.2 (July 2)
Current weight: 231.4 (July 30)
Total Weight Loss: 11.8 pounds
Weight Change this week: -3.4 pounds

Good week for weight loss. That's nice because I have some upcoming danger spots, like a business trip out of town and a bachelor party in Key West. I'm happy to report that my jowls are gone. I was developing some very impressive basset-hound type flaps on my face and I think they've completely disappeared. (I wasn't sure if it was my weight or aging, so this is a nice surprise).

In other news, still waiting on the birth of the Undaground nephew in New Jersey. I think yesterday was the actual due date, so he's late (which makes me believe he takes after his father).

The Undaling is obsessing over Elmo these days. Elmo's cool, and I can accept that. I'm so happy it wasn't Barney. We've done our best to shield him from that purple freak. He's still cruising furniture and I think he'll take his first steps sometime in the next month. No pressure, son. Honestly.

He's also experimenting a lot with language. He has his own words for cat, dog, monkey (Bob), and Moooooooo. Dada is still his favorite word, but Mama is his favorite person.

Live Blogging from Daddy Daycare

Just me and the boy today... at home.

Daycare lady is on vacation for 2 weeks, so I'm taking one day and Mrs. U is taking 9.
That sounds fair, right?

Oh, first things first. I weighed in at 235.0 today. I'm going to get on the scale again in a little while and see if I can't get a lower starting weight this week. I have to blame the low weight loss on a great dinner at a friends house Saturday night. It's hard to count points when the host plates the food for you.

Here we go:

7:14am: Mrs. Undaground sneaks out the door and leaves for the day.

7:30am: I heat up an Eggo for the boy's breakfast. Then, over the course of 30 minutes, he puts tiny pieces into his mouth and quickly demands more. If I gave him the whole thing, he would most certainly shove it all in his mouth at one time. Apparently, at this stage, putting food in the mouth is much more fun than chewing and swallowing.

7:52: Three loud baby farts and some grunting. This is officially the first time in the day that I panic. Please make this a slow-metabolism day, Undaling.

8:00am: OK. Changing table no good since baby is in phase where he fights diaper and clothing changes with everything he's got. I move to the living room floor. I am armed with a diaper, wipes, diaper rash cream, and a strong resolve. He is armed with underdeveloped fists of fury and a baby mean streak that would predict a future in cagefighting.

8:03am: Getting the diaper off is the easy part. What a treat! The grunting and gas was a false alarm. He's just wet. Nonetheless, he treats the changing like a warm-up sparring match and definitely gets the better of me. If that had been an actual emergency, our walls would be painted with baby poop. Note to self: I might have to change poopy diaper while he sleeps.

8:07am: Baby is happy and toddling around in walker. I blog. Now he's looking at me for direction. I must find something to entertain him until morning nap time (approx 930am). I shall fire up the tivo and try Elmo. (to be continued - time permitting_).

8:50am: Early nap. I attribute this to his hour-long opera aria this morning from 4am-5am. Just as I got him down, the lawn guys arrived and are now buzzing past his window with a weed-whacker. If he wakes up from that, it will surely upset the balance of the rest of the day and I'm in for it. Note to self: step one: invent a quieter weed-whacker, step two: tba, step three: profit. Despite my dread from the lawn guys, I must remark on the overwhelming feeling of freedom that occurs as I slowly close the door of the baby's bedroom. It's not unlike the feeling you get in college when you show up to class and the professor is nowhere to be seen. When that would happen, we'd go to a bar and enjoy fried food and beer. With my current momentary freedom, I will use the bathroom and eat a weight watchers 1 point carrot cake. My, how times have changed. (to be continued).

9:05am: If I go more than three hours between now and 430pm without updating, it means I'm in trouble. If this happens, somebody please call Supernanny, stat. Baby still napping. Weed whacker is gone. Phew.

After a "moment of personal reflection and positive thinking", I now weigh 234.8, and will accept that number as this week's starting weight. So, here's the official update:

Starting weight: 243.2 (July 2)
Current weight: 234.8 (July 23)
Total Weight Loss: 8.4 pounds
Weight Change this week: -1.4 pounds

(to be continued)

9:40am: Baby woke up at 9:30. 40-minute nap. Still no poopy diaper. I think I just changed a clean one. Nothing like throwing diaper money away. Oh well, maybe he had a "not-so fresh feeling". Somehow, I miraculously got him dressed and ready for the day, and now he's chugging a bottle. As soon as that's done, we're going to take a father and son trip to Walgreens to get some baby Ambesol for his aching gums. I'm not sure if his clothes match, but I still look at him being dressed as a win for me.
(to be continued)

10:56am: The eagle has landed. Wow! We got back from Walgreens with Orajel in hand (not ambesol, orajel). We started playing on the floor, then, I smelled it. I had a mini-panic attack and all the blood rushed from my face. After a few minutes of rocking back and forth and singing Swing Low, Sweet Chariot, I scooped up the soiled infant and pressed on. I decided to use the changing table and strapped him down (even though that doesn't stop him from rotating around like a rotisserie). I made every goofy sound I could and then started talking in a Swedish accent, telling him I'm the Swedish nanny, Sven. He was distracted and amused just long enough for me to get the job done without incident. Some higher power took over my hands as I was changing him, and, just for a moment, I was like a diaper-changing ninja (a Swedish diaper changing ninja). I thanked him profusely after the event and we have moved on.

FYI: If Mrs. Undaground asks, the poopy diaper experience went horribly. I pulled a hamstring and shouted every swear in the book. The baby's possibly scarred for life. I accidently kicked the dog, and I broke the knob on the dresser. I am no good at poopy diapers. I repeat... NO GOOD at poopy diapers. Carry on.

Now, as I prepare to publish this update, I think he's pooping again. (to be continued).

1:18pm: Lunch time was a success. Turkey and vegetables for the boy (in jarred form). He doesn't like to be fed from a spoon ever since he can feed himself with his hands, so this was another major victory. I had to fool him into every bite by doing the airplane sound and then making an explosion noise with my mouth each time a spoonful landed in his gullet. I don't have some twisted fascination with plane crashes; I just do what I need to do to get the boy to eat. Besides, I don't believe the little spoon-shaped planes carrying turkey and veggies were actually crashing. They were just making hard landings in his mouth.

The grunting earlier was a false alarm and he wasn't pooping. I think he is now, though, but I hope I'm wrong again and he'll save the second one for when Mom comes home. The boy sure does grunt a lot. Wonder where he gets that. (to be continued).

2:17pm: This will more than likely be my last update. The boy has been asleep for his afternoon nap for about 20 minutes. That gives me anywhere between 20 more minutes to an hour before he's up. Bottle is locked and loaded and ready to go in the fridge. I've eaten. All is well.

There were a few casualties today that I'd be remiss if I didn't mention. I am wearing my third t-shirt of the day because of various fluids and substances that I somehow like to wear. Also, it looks as if a tornado hit Babies R Us and then hovered over our living room for a little while. Other than that, I'm proud to say the child is fed, clean and well-rested and nothing happened today that will have him bitching about it in therapy when he's twenty.

Seacrest, out.

Monday Weigh-IN

Starting weight: 243.2 (July 2)
Current weight: 236.2 (July 16)
Total Weight Loss: 7 pounds
Weight Change this week: -2.8 pounds

Not bad. My spare tire is now one fit for a family sedan, rather than an oversized SUV.

Sorry the blog updates have been few and far between. The dog days of summer have been busy.

Happy Birthday to Third-Born. The big three-oh... and, about to become a Dad any day now. "Feliz Cumpleanos Hermano", which, of course, means "Happy Birthday Herman."

Good Monday Morning

Accountability
Starting Weight: 243.2
Current Weight: 239.0
Weight Loss in Past Week: 4.2 pounds

Not bad for a week that included two barbeques and a trip out of town. Plus, no real exercise to speak of besides carrying the boy around in his car seat and bending down repeatedly to pick up items he's thrown on the floor.

Tooths
Speaking of the Undaling, his top two front teeth are coming in now. I think I can feel the bottom ones as well. He seems to be doing very well with the teething. We really haven't noticed any difference in his mood. He is fascinated by these teeth, and constantly feels them with his tongue. His favorite word is now "Aaa". Sounds like the "a" in "cat" or "hat". To him, "Aaa" seems to mean all sorts of things, including:

"Hey, look at me."
"Hey, look at that."
"Hey, give me another piece of food."
"Good morning."
"Good night."
"This is a good television program."
"I seem to have soiled my diaper."

And much, much more.

Viva Kobayashi!

Did you watch the Nathan's 4th of July hot dog eating contest yesterday? If not, I feel for you. It was one of the finest dramatic moments in sports that I've ever witnessed. This will be a match that I'll tell my grandkids about. For my grandkids, it will probably be the first sign that Grandpa's losing it, but that's besides the point.

Joey Chestnut defeated Kobayashi, by eating 66 hot dogs and buns in just 12 minutes. (that's one hot dog every 10.9 seconds.) For a moment, it looked like it was going to be a photo finish, until Kobayashi had what they call a "reversal" in the last 10 seconds of competition. That's a fancy sports term for puking. After watching it, I almost had a reversal of my own, but was able to keep it together.

The Undaground blog would like to honor this great champion, Kobayashi. He won the contest the previous 6 years. He is the Lance Armstrong/Tiger Woods/Babe Ruth of competitive eating, and he went out like a true champion, besting his own career record by more than 9 hot dogs. On this day, Joey Chestnut was just better.

Just for kicks, I added up the Weight Watchers points for 66 Nathan's hot dogs and buns. In 12 minutes, Joey Chestnut ate 726 points worth of food. Under my current plan, that's the equivalent of what I'm allowed to eat in 19 days. It would take Mrs. Undaground 36 days to eat that much. Incredible.

In a related note, I ate 8 Tostitos Baked scoops with salsa last night in under 5 minutes. Weight Watchers points: one.

I fully expect Kobayashi to train even harder this year, and return next year to try to reclaim his mustard yellow belt. I'm not sure anybody will ever hit 66 again, but fans of the sport once thought 40 hot dogs was impossible.

D-day

243.2.

That's my starting weight.

It's easily the most I've ever weighed in my life. It's about fifteen pounds more than my weight on my wedding day. It's a few pounds more than the height of my "pregnancy weight", when I went on a crash diet and lost 15 pounds (only to gain it back while celebrating the joy of fatherhood).

My wife is doing Weight Watchers for a month. She wants to lose 8 or 9 pounds to get back to pre-pregnancy Mrs. Undaground. I've decided to join her. I had two choices: go on a diet, or gain another 100 pounds to qualify for gastric bypass surgery. Even though gaining 100 pounds would be fun, it would probably have a negative effect on other aspects of my life (like my range as a softball shortstop and having to buy a new "fat guy" wardrobe.)

The Biggest Loser resumes on NBC in the fall. Last year I watched as a 400 pound guy lost weight week after week. When there were about 4 episodes left, he passed me, then continued to lose weight until he weighed 75 pounds less than me. I don't want to go through that viewing experience again.

So, every Monday morning, I will step on the scale and report my weight here, for accountability.

Stay tuned.

Goal weight? I don't really have one, but in a perfect world I'd hover around 200-205. I'd be able to buy pants at Old Navy again if I lost 20, so that's my immediate goal. Until then, I might have to visit Big and Tall man store.

They say it's a lifestyle change. I'm fine during the weekdays. It's the weekends and the evenings where I need to change. No more TGIFridays fried macaroni and cheese, unless I'm willing to use up an entire day's worth of "points" on them. As long as my wife is making whole wheat tortillas wrapped around rabbit food for dinner, I should lose some weight.

When I arrived at work this morning, you guessed it, there were donuts. I looked right at a little glazed bastard, took a deep breath, and told him, "go f*** yourself". That's willpower, baby. If I don't get called upstairs to human resources later, I'll consider it a small victory.

If you'd like to jump onboard the Undaground weight loss challenge, post your weight in the comments section and join us. Go ahead, I dare you (I'm talking to you, third-born).

A Word of Caution

I learned something last week, and I'd like to pass the nugget of wisdom along to you.

When a heavy thunderstorm is bearing down on your home, unplug your DSL or cable modem from the wall if you're in a position to do so.

My wife called me at work last Tuesday to tell me that the power was out and the dog had run away. By the time I got home, the lights were back on and the dog had returned muddy and soaked. Later, we found out that those were only minor and temporary annoyances. The bigger, longer-lasting problem was that our modem, wireless router and computer were all fried. Normally, I'm a big fan of anything fried, but not this time. Whatever happened came through the phone line and destroyed everything in its path. (I'll be sure to stay away from the phone during a storm from now on as well.)

I've since replaced the modem, thanks to the good folks at AT&T and UPS. We have internet service again, but only on our laptop (and not wireless). I guess next I'll have to buy a new router, then begin to assess the damage on our desktop computer. What a pain in the ass.

I would also implore those who have large amounts of personal items like photos, videos and music on their computer, to back it all up on an external hard drive or on CD. I would hate to lose all those years of memories because of a stupid electrical storm. Thankfully, no matter how damaged our computer is, we have an unharmed, external hard drive that houses all of our photos and my collection of 80's power ballads. (Phew, don't know where I'd be without "Sister Christian" by Night Ranger.)

There. That's the end of the useful information. Now back to the mindless drivel that will do nothing to enhance your life.

I Knew It!

To the first-born, go the smarts.

I have to thank my younger brother (a third-born) for sending me the article linked above. I'm guessing, based on the subject matter, that he wants me to call him back and read it to him. I am impressed that he figured out how to send an email, considering his birth order.

This explains so much.

I neglected to mention that, last Friday night, I extended my lifetime unbeaten streak at Trivial Pursuit. There is nothing fun about playing Trivial Pursuit anymore. It's too much pressure. As an undefeated folk-hero of the game, I have nothing to gain and everything to lose each time I roll the dice "for the wedge". Based on the article linked here, I guess I increase my chances of winning by playing a sibling. I've "retired" from competition three or four times in the past, but have come out of retirement each time to answer a well-worded challenge.

Thanks, Mom, for having me first.

Heard any good jokes lately?

I haven't.

Recently, I wrote about the personal angst involved in having "Happy Birthday" sung to me. Sunday evening, I was reminded that there are much worse things that could happen.

After the baby went to bed, Mrs. U stepped outside for a moment and ran into the neighbors across the street. They're nice people who I enjoy having a beer with from time to time. I hadn't stopped by in awhile, what with the whole fatherhood thing going on. My wife walked back in and told me the neighbors wanted me to come over for a beer. It sounded like a nice way to end Father's Day, so I pulled my sneakers on, grabbed a beer, and sauntered across the street.

Their home was in the final stages of a "race day" (big Nascar fans, the neighbors). Immediately, I found a new friend in the form of a drunk brother-in-law, simply because I was wearing a Steelers hat (I knew I should have gone with the Flyers hat -- Nascar fans rarely trickle over into hockey). I surmised that the drunk guy had already annoyed everybody else at the get-together, and I was the fresh meat walking across the street.

As I looked for a place to recycle my Coors Light bottle and freshen up with one of the neighbor's Bud Lights, I found myself cornered on their front patio with the drunk brother-in-law.

"F'in this, f'in that, possums, pickup trucks, Freebird, Earnhardt."

I'm not sure exactly what he said, but that is what I heard. Nice to hear all the profanity as his wife and one-year-old son traveled back and forth, loading up the car for the inebriated ride home.

"Hey, I got a joke for ya."

Oh, God.

I hate this. This is much worse than the Happy Birthday thing. Not only do I have to listen, I have to give him some sort of validation in the form of fake, forced laughter.

He began to tell some joke about a foul-mouthed parrot. I didn't bother trying to listen, I just stared at my feet, then his feet, then shot a quick glance up to his bloodshot eyes. There's nothing going on in that brain, I thought. The Nascar race had ended just two hours earlier, but the little cars racing around in his head had crashed long ago, and no amount of Crown Royal was going to save him. I started planning my response. I'd have to give him something, but not enough to encourage him to tell another joke. I knew it would be impossible for me to genuinely laugh, unless he suddenly climbed and then fell off a ladder, or a bird shit on his head.

"Blah, Blah, parrot, fat lady, mother-f'er." He nodded his head and smiled like he just got a great deal on Yosemite Sam mudflaps. That must have been the punchline.

Here was my big moment (or his big moment). I ended up forcing out a half-moan, that started with an "H".

"Haaaa......."

Apparently, that was good enough for him. Unfortunately, it was too good.

"I love that damn joke. Hey, did you hear the one about the..."

Just then, his wife called him. She was impatiently waiting by their truck. It was time to go.

Thank you, thank you, drunk man's wife. You've obviously made horrible decisions in the past, but I applaud this one.

"I'll have to tell you that one next time," he said.

I felt like the governor just spared me from the execution. "Way to keep a guy in suspense", I said. Why am I so nice to people?

"Drive safely." I meant that.

I would appreciate it if people would ask me for permission before telling a joke. It's just too uncomfortable, especially when the person telling it could only be funny if they fell down.

I envision a world where the drunk brother-in-law would say, "Do you mind if I tell you a joke?"

"I'd rather you not."

Wouldn't that be easier?

Howdy

Bada Bing
Three days later, and still people are talking about the Sopranos finale. I've read a bunch of theories and opinions, and have enjoyed hearing everyone's take on it. Personally, I liked the ending and found it very satisfying. The best theory I heard and the one that I choose to believe is that the audience got whacked. That's why the screen went to black and the music was silenced. If you choose to believe Tony was shot, you are correct. If you choose to believe he went to prison, you are correct. If you choose life goes on, you are also correct. Many are angry that David Chase, the writer, didn't make this decision himself. I like it better that way. He obviously had a lot of fun with the end and ratcheted up the tension to a very extreme level. Mrs. U and I were on the edge of our seats until the very last frame, and that's the most I can ask for from a television show, especially since we are both usually falling asleep on the couch by 930 each night.

Baby Talk
We have lowered the crib to the bottom rung, so that the boy doesn't get any ideas about escaping. He's pulling up on small objects now, and we expect that he'll be cruising around the coffee table once he figures out that he can. He went to the pediatrician yesterday and is 17.5 pounds and 27 3/4 inches (or almost 2 foot four). Still no sign of teeth. I wish they'd come soon so he can enjoy a few more solid foods. Plus, it's always nice to have the option to flash a toothy grin.

I've edited a new video of the boy crawling and put in on my private youtube account for friends and family. If you'd like an invite and a link, please email me at theundaground@gmail.com and I'll send it to you.

Paris Hilton
Who cares, really?

Chubby Puppy

OK, that's not actually my dog, but my dog is officially overweight now, according to the vet. It seems that I'm not the only one in the household who gained sympathy weight during Mrs. U's pregnancy. The Undaground dog, Wrigley, has gained 10 pounds in the past year.

Whoa.

The vet suggested baby carrots instead of biscuits. Last night, I threw her a baby carrot and she happily caught it in her mouth and began to chew.

"Wow!", I was thinking. "If I knew she liked them, we could have been giving her veggies all along."

Then, she proceeded to open her jaws and sadly let the carrot hit the floor, where it remained until I picked it up a few minutes later. I told her there were starving kids in Africa who would appreciate a baby carrot, but this didn't seem to have any effect on her as she stared impatiently at the dog cookie jar that houses her milkbones.

Goodbye Kibbles and Bits, Hello Science Diet. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to walk her, either. That's something that kind of went away when the baby arrived.

I've always kind of hoped that the dog would put on some weight. I thought maybe a few extra pounds would make her less hyper and annoying. Nope. Now she's just fat, hyper and annoying. But we love her anyway. That's why were going to start feeding her stuff she hates.

Birthday Post-Mortem

Is anybody else really uncomfortable when a group of people gather around them to sing Happy Birthday? It might just be me. What am I supposed to be doing when people are singing to me? Where should I look? Do I look at the cake, or do I focus on somebody's mouth and enjoy the music? What should I do with my hands? Should I keep them by my sides, or should I wave them around like a conductor? For the record, I kept my arms at my sides, and watched my wife's mouth. She rarely sings in front of me, so I figured I'd look for evidence as to why. When the song ended, I quickly vogued for a not-so-candid photo, then blew out the candles immediately.

"Did you make a wish?", my wife asked.

"Yes. I wished that you wouldn't sing to me next year."

In hindsight, I think this might have hurt her feelings, so I'd like to clarify. Honey, it's not you, it's me.

I found nothing wrong with your singing. I think you should sing more. You have a lovely voice. You're more of a "performer" than a "singer", but you allright dawg. You worked it out. That was hot! You're a member of the dawg-pound tonight! Woof, woof, woof. I heard some pitchiness on the other side of the room, but you stayed on key and brought it home at the end with the glory note. You're a star. You almost made me cry. Round one goes to Mrs. Undaground.

As stated above, I just have some personal issues to work out that are associated with being sung to.

Truth be told, that wasn't my actual wish. I wished for a piece of cake. Since my wish was quickly granted, I feel that I can talk about it now.

Undaground, out.

It was a very good year.

Yes, once again, I'm celebrating a birthday. Overnight, I went from being in my mid-thirties to my late thirties. My brother just called and asked if I was aging gracefully. I think a more appropriate adverb is "clumsily" or "painfully", but I'll take it. Thirty-five was good to me. I was blessed with a son who will be 8 months tomorrow. I hope 36 is half as gratifying as 35.

This is what Frank Sinatra crooned about being 35:

When I was thirty-five

It was a very good year

It was a very good year for blue-blooded girls

Of independent means

We'd ride in limousines

Their chauffeurs would drive

When I was thirty-five

If you replace "blue-blooded girls of independent means" with "blue onesies with spit-up on the sleeve", and then replace "limousines" with "mini-vans", Frank and I are on the same wavelength.

Here's a link to last year's birthday post, which features my mother's account of my birth (she was there). FYI: Mom's chicken curry is also on the menu tonight. Any dish with with mayo as the main ingredient will always be special to me.

Last year's birthday post

This has to be it, right?

Many times in the past few months, we've theorized that our son is teething. So far, we've been wrong every time. His gums are as bare as the day he was born. Along the way, many people who've been through this child-rearing process have said to us, ominously "you'll know when he's teething... you'll know -- bwahahahahaha."

Late last week, the pediatrician said for the first time that he is, indeed, teething.

Now, there's more evidence that supports that.

The boy has developed a very loud scream, which I can only describe as blood-curdling. It's my brand new, least favorite sound in the world (overtaking the sound of metal flatware scraping against a terra cotta dinner plate).

Unfortunately for us, his puffy-eyed parents, he seems to enjoy the sound of his own terror and has gotten in the habit of doing it just for the sake of good theater. Each morning we wake up and approach his mouth, hoping to see a few new white caps popping up. None so far. It's sometimes difficult to get to his mouth while he's practicing his new horror scream (not unlike turning off a smoke alarm when it's been activated, or trying to move a lawn sprinkler without clamping the hose first).

Baby Orajel seems to be working. I hope he's actually teething, because I'd hate to think we're numbing his mouth for no other reason. Although I've experimented with this myself, for the sake of science, and have found that it's harder to scream when I have no feeling in my bottom lip. I'll keep you posted.

In other baby news, his first word is officially "up". He said it late last week, one day before he said "da-da" and meant it. Mama is still number one on his favorite people list, but "Dada" is much easier to pronounce.

Wondermutt

I just saw an interesting story on the Today show about how to tell what kind of breed your mutt is. Here's an article about it.

I followed the link and it turns out, the test is $71. Expenses are tight, so I'm not sure this is the wisest investment, but it would be good to know what kind of dog we have. The vet identifies Wrigley as a "hound". We've always thought she was corgi mixed with something else (maybe yellow lab). Is it worth $71 for an answer to the dog's question "Where did I come from?"

Drive-thru on the Horizon

As a man who is both equipped with Tivo and very handy with a remote, I rarely see commercials anymore. However, last night, something caught my eye that made me hit the reverse button very quickly and watch. As good as the Heroes finale was, this 30-second advertisement was the highlight of the evening for me.

It seems that KFC has a new product. From what I can gather, here's how it's done.

Take a small bucket
Layer of mashed potatoes (KFC mashed potatoes are quite good)
Layer of corn
Layer of fried, boneless chicken
Layer of country gravy
Layer of shredded cheese
Served with a buttermilk biscuit (and a diet coke, of course)

I know I've said this before, and I'll probably say it again, but sometimes I think that Colonel Sanders can read my mind.

Good Morning

Doolittle too late
Kind of a shocker on American Idol last night. Even though there is no evidence that she has a neck, I believe Melinda Doolittle was the best singer in the competition. But, as we know, that's not what it's about. I'm not a big fan of pop music, but I'm pretty sure Jordin Sparks has the potential to be one of those big pop stars. I would be shocked if Blake won. He's a good showman, but is clearly the worst singer to ever make it to the finals. If not for beat-boxing, he would have been voted out a month and a half ago.

Baby Latest
Our son is now 7 1/2 months old. He is babbling a lot and instead of "Mama", he says "A-ma". Instead of "Dada", he says "A-da". So you can probably guess that his first word is officially "Abba" (a Swedish Disco band). I'm not sure yet where he leans politically, but he's very close to saying "Obama".

Other TV thoughts
The Sopranos is winding down. This season started a little slow, but has been entertaining throughout. Now, it's really heating up and I expect the final 3 shows to be epic. If you've never watched the show, you have 7 seasons of DVD's to fill your time in the future.

Survivor is over. Like most people, we were rooting for Yau-man. Too bad he got screwed. I assume there will be another All-Stars season in the near future and Yau-man will be the first one chosen.

Heroes has one more episode. This show is tremendous and just keeps getting better. If you haven't watched this season (the first season), wait for July or August and buy it on DVD so you're ready for season two. The show is so fast-paced and satisfying, that it ruined Lost for us for awhile, although Lost has significantly picked it up over the past few weeks leading up to their own finale.

Lunch Lady

I switched it up a bit for lunch this week. Inspired by my wife's endorsement, I've been microwaving Panini sandwiches on a "revolutionary grilling tray".

The sandwiches are low in calories and delicious, and I'm not left feeling hungry all afternoon, for a change. Unfortunately, after I eat one, I have the overwhelming urge to go shopping for shoes and then watch Grey's Anatomy.

Yes, the brand name on these microwaveable miracles is "Lean Cuisine". It's a brand that is historically marketed to women. I'm not sure what to do about this. I once ate a "Luna" bar that my wife had bought, only to look down at the wrapper and read "nutrition for women". What? Was a simple granola bar going to raise my estrogen levels to dangerous heights?

Bottom line is, I like the paninis. However, I'm not sure I want to deal with the self-consciousness involved with microwaving it in front of others at work. They make it impossible to be discreet, since the cardboard box itself acts as the cooking platform. I've considered making a quick-switch and sliding a "Hungry Man" box under the grilling tray, but I'm not sure I want to go through all that.

The other day, I made stupid small talk with the woman using the microwave in front of me. It was brought on by my gender confusion. She happened to be cooking up a lean cuisine of her own.

"So, let me get this straight, you put the whole box in the microwave?" (clearly I knew this already, as I can read the box)

"Yes. Southwestern Chicken. They're good," she answered. (I'm sure she was doing a double take at this point to confirm she was, indeed, talking to a man).

"I figured I'd try it because my wife raves about them." (If you consider 'they're pretty good' to be a rave review)

I can't do this every day. I despise small talk. I could buy a microwave for my office to avoid the public scrutiny, but I'm not sure that's a wise investment.

Does anybody have any contacts in the Lean Cuisine marketing department? Maybe they can make a commercial aimed at men and run it during football games or something. I don't want to be the one to blur the gender line. I don't think I'd want my son to have a Barbie Dreamhouse, so I'm not sure how he'll feel about his father eating like a woman.

Insane Little Piggies

This little piggy went to market,
This little piggy stayed home.
This little piggy had roast beef,
This little piggy had none.
This little piggy went wee, wee, wee, wee, wee,
All the way home.

This is a rhyme I’ve known all of my life. I don’t remember when I first heard it, but I'm pretty sure I was barefoot at the time.

Now, my wife is sharing the same rhyme with our son.

As a youth, I accepted the words as truth, and never really broke them down for analysis. As a father, I think it’s wise to take a close look at the things my son hears.

This little piggy went to market,
This little piggy stayed home.

A piggy went to a market. That could certainly happen. I was just at a market yesterday, and I saw countless brands and cuts of bacon and other pork products. The rhyme is presented in a way where it sounds like the first little piggy (or the big toe) got the better deal, while the second piggy, who stayed home, got the short end of the stick. Based on my experience, I would think that a pig would be happy to stay home if the alternative was going to the market.

This little piggy had roast beef,
This little piggy had none.

Here’s where this composition gets weird in a hurry. What kind of pig eats roast beef?

I perused the internet, and here’s what I found (courtesy of the Alberta Pork Congress):

“For the first 3 to 4 weeks of life, piglets get milk from the sow. Then they are weaned, and for the rest of their life, pigs mostly eat cereal grains, such as corn, barley and soybean meal."

There is no mention of beef here. It goes on to say this:

"Wild pigs eat fungi, roots, tubers, bulbs, fruit, snails, earthworms, reptiles, eggs, young birds, small rodents and carrion."

That last bit supports the rhyme's premise that pigs can be carnivores. However, I don't think the pigs featured in the rhyme are wild. Wild pigs would be even less likely to shop in a market. Also, it is mentioned twice in the poem that these pigs have a home.

I could understand the "roast beef" part a little better if it was used out of necessity to rhyme with something like "toast thief" or "coastal reef". Not so. In this rhyme, "roast beef" comes out of nowhere. Any phrase could have been inserted, while still maintaining the beat and the flow of the nursery rhyme.

For example:

This little piggy went to market,
This little piggy stayed home.
This little piggy had chips and salsa,
This little piggy had none.
This little piggy went wee, wee, wee, wee, wee,
All the way home.

I've convinced myself that I need to speak to Mrs. Undaground about this. In our family, the third line of this famous rhyme will be different. I don't want our boy growing up thinking that on the food chain, pigs eat cows. That's ludicrous.

This little piggy went wee, wee, wee, wee, wee,
All the way home.

This fifth and final pig, the pinky toe, is clearly suffering mental anguish from the whole ordeal. Two of his closest pals, family members, sty mates (whatever they are) have gone berserk. One is pushing a shopping cart and the other is eating red meat (clearly a no-no among domestic pigs).

Any suggestions on how to make this poem more suitable for my son? We will consider any and all rewrites.

Guest Column from THE UNDAGROUND MOM

The long-awaited return of the Undaground Mom is here! For those of you who check this site every day, sifting through the usual drivel and waiting for the occasional gold coin, here it is. As usual, her prose will be presented in her very own font and text color (verdana and blue #2).

"Blue #2", incidentally, is also what a Smurf makes after eating Indian food.

Take it away, Undaground Mom:

It’s the little things in life.

Happiness: Using the ladies room early at work. I am delighted when I enter a stall and find the toilet seat up. This would annoy me at home because it would indicate a lazy male is nearby. At work, the same discovery assures me the bathroom has been recently cleaned and I am the first user. There will be no contact with any surface, I will flush with my foot as usual, but the fact remains that Lysol was recently involved.

Skepticism: Entering the stall in the morning and finding the toilet seat up. What if the cleaning crew had neared the end of their shift and needed to take some shortcuts? What if they just scurried around the building and lifted all the seats and chuckled all the way home as they replayed the deception in their heads?

Unnatural fear: A dryer fire. I will not leave the dryer on when I leave the house. This may be normal not unnatural, but I’ve never asked anyone their thoughts on this subject. To those I know and love – please, please check your lint screens after every load and only run the dryer when you’re nearby.

Disappointment: I wonder why I look forward - with great anticipation - to checking the mailbox every day. I feel like a kid expecting a birthday card from grandma that has a loving note written in a shaky hand and $5 enclosed. Instead, I walk back to the house with a handful of bills, political pleas, some stupid envelope with a big green thumb on it and (on a good day) a Costco flyer. Who do I think is going to actually write and mail me a letter? I use email and I’m out of stamps so it’s not as if I’m waiting for a response to some letter I’ve sent. Still, I’ll go home again today hoping the mailman has been there already and eagerly grab whatever he leaves me.

Discovering new tastes: I have been eating Bing Cherry preserves for several years but it just isn’t the best mate for peanut butter. Bing stands on it’s own and is best enjoyed as the solo topping on toast or a bagel. Grape jelly seems childish to me. Strawberry preserves are a step up from grape but once in a while you bite into a little seed not quite small enough to go undetected. This interference is more prevalent in raspberry jam. I run the risk of teeth staining with blueberry. So, after an exhausting search – my new favorite pal of peanut butter – PINEAPPLE!

Living on the edge: When I’m 3 houses down from my driveway, I unbuckle my seatbelt.

Secrets: Secrets make you sick so here goes mine. Sometimes, around 2 in the morning I hear a lapping sound. I open my eyes just a little and see my cat drinking out of my water glass on my nightstand. I wake up parched between 4 and 4:30 and take a sip anyway. Now that it’s out I realize it’s not the secret that makes me sick, it’s the thought of the cat’s backwash.

Dreams: I started buying lottery tickets on Fridays. It’s been 3 weeks since I started. I am convinced I will win. I wouldn’t buy a ticket if I thought any differently. As soon as I come out of the Friendly Food Mart with the ticket, my brain gets busy with the litany of my charitable works and earthly desires. By the time the numbers are picked, I have decided once again that I will quit my job and not sell my house to replace it with a mansion. I won’t announce my windfall right away. I’ll invest wisely and not make any hasty decisions. I promise my Maker I will be humble and generous. I’m not sure why this hasn’t happened yet so I’m prepared with my end of the week request, “Five quick picks for the Mega-million please.”

How about you? What little thing in life is worth noting?

Weekend in Review

Baby Milestones
The Undaling is now doing what they call the "army crawl" or the "commando crawl" or the less-political term, the "inch worm". This is an exciting milestone and marks the end of the immobile period of his life. From this point forward, our baby-proofing will be put to the test. I'm told by more experienced parents that we will soon regret helping him learn how to do this, and long for the days when he would just lay there, as we work to perfect the art of redirection.

Couch Time
To mark the occassion of the baby on the move, I got in one last weekend of extreme couch sitting. The NFL draft was a perfect opportunity to get my off-season football fix, while spending a full day and a half chained to the living room like a "Black Snake Moan" character.

Tattoo
It remains one of my 2007 resolutions to get a tattoo. I'm still in the research phase. This weekend, I spoke to a kid with a fresh tattoo on his forearm.

"Do you think you'll regret that when you're 70?" I asked.

His mother replied: "It's temporary. He's three."

Very interesting.

Foiled Again

I consider myself an intelligent person with a lot of real world experience, but the other day I identified a gap in my early education that I can't quite explain.

As I pulled a baking dish of super-delicious macaroni and cheese out of the oven and fearlessly peeled back the foil, it struck me: I was in my late twenties before I learned that aluminum foil won't burn you when it comes out of the oven. Up until then, I handled foil as if it were hot metal, threatening to scorch my sensitive hands. I'm not sure of the exact moment when the lightbulb went on, but I know now.

Live and learn.

I'll make sure my son is aware of this important information before he starts high school, so he doesn't repeat his father's mistakes and needlessly put wear and tear on an oven mitt.

Baby Talk

I have Sirius satellite radio, and listen to Howard Stern daily on my drive to work. I normally don't put his show on until I've dropped the Undaling off at daycare. Usually, I'll go with sports radio or music until then, or just turn the radio off and make funny noises at him (if he's in the mood).

So I'm not sure why it appears his first word is going to be "Bababooey".

He said "booey" this morning, and he's been saying "ba". He just hasn't put it all together yet.

Anyway, I'd like my wife to know that I'm not polluting the little one's mind in the morning with adult-oriented radio. He must have picked this up at daycare.

While I'm on the subject, it appears the Undaling will be going mobile very soon. He's been rocking back and forth on his hands and knees now for 4 or 5 days and it's only a matter of time before he takes off and begins to explore the electrical wiring behind our entertainment center.

Father of the Year

Holy crap! If you haven't heard Alec Baldwin's tirade directed at his 11-year-old daughter, click here.

I've lost my internet connection at home for some reason, so I'm looking forward to a lovely time on the phone with technical support on Saturday. Hopefully, I'll be able to post from the laptop sometime in the near future.

Because of this issue, I was unable to "live blog" while watching Sanjaya's exit on Wednesday night. It was a fun ride. Sanjaya: Always Remember, Never Forget. Fearless prediction time: I think Melinda Doolittle is the best singer on the show, but Jordin Sparks will win. I guarantee the producers of the show would prefer this, since she is more marketable and will probably sell more CD's.

The Landlord

Here's a link to Will Ferrel's video, "The Landlord", starring his 2-year-old daughter: The Landlord. Here is a People magazine story with background on the video.

We purchased the new laptop mainly for video editing. Mrs. U might be pretty upset if I did something like this, but I won't rule it out.

In other news, I fear this may be the end for Sanjaya. I hope I'm wrong and he continues his improbable run toward reality show history. The longer he lasts, the more entertaining the show. Keep your fingers crossed.

The Undaground Update

Woohoo! The Undaground has expanded. We've purchased a hi-tech, futuristic device called a "laptop". This will make it possible to update the Undaground blog from a hi-tech, futuristic area of our dwelling known as the "living room". The first words and images sent from our living room base to this humble blog are expected to be seen sometime this week.

This is another step in the right direction in our effort to make our living room more of a stand-alone, multi-purpose area. Along with the laptop, we've recently added a comfortable quilt to the room. Next up on the official living room fortification plan is a hibachi grill and a porta-john.

Stay tuned!

Touche!

Mrs. U and I were getting ready to watch Survivor on Tivo last night, and I started to delete last week's episode from the hard drive.

"Sorry, babe. I need to delete this. I guess you weren't able to watch it all, but you'll catch up in the 'previously on Survivor' highlights."

My wife answered. "What are you talking about? Didn't you hear me say earlier that I had watched it?"

"No. Did you say that?"

"Yes. I said it, and then I made some comments about the girl who was voted off. You even answered me and everything. I thought we were having a conversation."

Uh oh. I don't remember that. "Honey, are you sure? Did you have that conversation with somebody else?"

"No. It was you. It was about an hour ago. Are you serious? You don't remember?"

Fumbling for a reason now. "Was I holding the baby?"

"No. I was holding the baby. You were holding the remote."

"Oh. Maybe I didn't hear you."

"That's impossible. You responded to me."

"Really?" Sometimes I'm a terrible husband.

"BUSTED!"

Busted? Geez. What to do now?

My wife continued. "Do I talk too much or something?"

"No, what?!? No. Ummm."

I need something to say here. This is not going well. I need to go on the offensive quickly. Come on brain! Give me something, anything. Wait, I got it!

I changed the subject. "What's my middle name?" I needed some quick ammunition, and when I opened my mouth, this came out. I was a pez dispenser and this question was a shiny piece of candy.

My wife was now off balance, but it was an easy question. "Phillip." Then she looked at me like, 'where are you going with this'.

I continued my offensive. "How many 'L's' are in 'Philip'?"

My wife paused. I had her. "Ummm. Two?"

"Nope. One."

"Oh, sorry. That's so weird, just one 'L'."

Time to go in for the kill. "I think it's weird that my name is misspelled on our son's birth certificate. Did you know that?"

"Really? No I didn't know." The conversation was still going on, and already my wife was looking sorry.

"Yes. I was looking through the baby book the other day. On the official document that proves the existence of our son, I am not listed as his father. Some dude who spells his middle name with two 'L's' is listed."

My wife was silent. I was starting to feel bad.

"Honey. I'm sorry about not hearing you earlier. I think it's my ears. Too many loud concerts as a youth."

"I think you heard me, you just weren't listening to me."

"Yes, but that's just a temporary issue. You may have altered history with the middle name on the birth certificate thing."

Touche.

The good news is that I got out of this one. The bad news is that I am now officially out of ammunition. I guess next time I'm in trouble I could remind her that she forgot to pick up my fruit snacks at the grocery store, but that's pretty weak.