Back from Hell

Mrs. U and I are back from hell.

On Sunday, we met some friends for lunch at about 1pm. We shared an appetizer and each had a Mango Margarita.

About seven that night, it hit us both like a ton of bricks. It was the most violent stomach illness I can ever remember having. Monday, I called in sick to work for the first time in my 8 years of employment there.

I'm not 100% sure that it was caused by this particular restaurant, so I won't name them here. I realize my readership is small, but I wouldn't want to disturb the national economy by outing an innocent restaurant chain. (You never know when this blog could take off.) Needless to say, we won't be eating there ever again, because the memory of that night will forever be linked to that dining experience.

I did file a complaint for "suspected food-borne illness" with my state's licensing agency, because I don't want this to happen to anybody else, if I can do anything to prevent it.

Since lunch on Sunday, I have eaten a piece of toast, a half cup of soup, and one can of Slim-fast to try to get some nutrients in me. I've probably lost 3 or 4 pounds in the process.

Isn't there an easier way to kickstart a diet?

Shaping a Young Mind

Okay, I’m weird.

I’m well aware of my quirks. While they often make me uncomfortable in social situations, I believe it’s what makes me different. My wife finds my strange behavior endearing, though sometimes (I’m guessing) annoying. The truth is, breaking into spontaneous song, making strange faces and noises and other Tourettes-like behavior of mine began well before there was a baby in the house.

My growing fear is that my boy will be raised in an environment where everything his kooky father does is normal, and everybody else is strange.

Will he be disappointed when he finds out that not all people have the ability to sing a perfect rendition of the “Figaro” opera without actually knowing any of the words? (Everything I know about opera, I learned from Tom and Jerry).

Is his growing brain being shaped in a way where he thinks that all people make strange faces and noises like me? Sure, people make baby sounds and faces at him now, but that will all end by the time he reaches his tweener years. I’m not sure that I’ll ever stop doing it.

On the way to daycare each morning, I like to talk to him to let him know I’m in the car with him.

“Hey, baby. I see you back there checking yourself out in the mirror. Are you having a good hair day? Remember, your hair is your strength. All those bald babies out there envy you and your flowing mane.”

“Look, there’s an old lady taking out her trash in a housecoat. I don’t care how old you are, there’s always comedy in that. Respect your elders, boy. But when your elders reach housecoat age, point and laugh at them.”

“Son, I think you could drive a car better than the dimwit that just turned left in front of us. Maybe some day when you’re older, I can teach you road rage.”

Right now, this all sounds like gibberish to him. Soon, he will actually begin to comprehend what I’m saying, and I’ll have to seriously consider choosing my words more carefully. It might take a few years for him to develop a sense of irony and a healthy helping of cynicism. He may not be able to determine when I’m trying to be funny and when I’m being serious.

If I don’t tread carefully, I can foresee some pretty serious public embarrassment coming our way (and his mother doesn’t deserve that).

Butt Paste

My boy has a diaper rash.

It doesn't seem to bother him much. I wonder if he would complain about it if he could talk. I know I would.

Butt Paste is an actual brand name diaper rash cream. We'll see if it works. I'm proud of myself and my wife for not calling the pediatrician on this one.

I wish there were more products out there that were named for what they do. It would really clear up any confusion I feel at the store.

Kleenex should make a product and call it "Snot Rag". I'd buy it just to reward their ballsy marketing maneuver.

Q-tips should be called "ear sticks", even though it says on the package that you shouldn't put them in your ear. Seriously, has anybody ever used a Q-tip for anything else? I think once we used one to apply peroxide to a wound on our cat. The other 299 Q-tips in the package were shoved into our ears. I bet even the guy who wrote the Q-tip warning on the label uses Q-tips in his ears.

Monday Musings

1. Heroes returns tonight. Mrs. U and I are both big fans of this show, so we'll be glued to our seats at 9pm est. We won't literally be glued to our seats, this is just an expression. There was one time, in second grade, when I was somewhat pasted to my seat but since it was elementary grade Elmer's I was able to pull away by the time school let out. I hope that the "previously on Heroes" segment is longer than usual, because I don't remember much about what is going on. I do know that they saved the cheerleader. I took that to mean that they saved the world, but apparently there's still some superhero work to be done.

2. So Peyton Manning, the number one dork in all of professional sports, is now going to be in the Super Bowl. Ugh. At least I know I'll probably be able to see more of his side-splittingly funny, hilarious, laugh-inducing, witty commercials between now and the big game. That was sarcasm. He and Jared from Subway apparently do business with the same ad agency. I'm pretty sure the Colts will beat the Bears, but I will be rooting against them based solely on those stupid commercials.

3. I attended a 3-year-old's birthday party Sunday. I haven't been to one of these in about 33 years, so I had a good time. There was a full-sized bounce-house there. Honestly, when I arrrived at the party, I had every intention of bouncing in the house. First, I watched my friend attempt to bounce, and quickly changed my mind. After thirty seconds, he was red-faced, out of breath, and sweating. He's in slightly better shape than me, so I figured it might get ugly if I entered the bounce house. In fact, looking at the thing, I'm not sure I could have climbed into it without expending great effort and looking like a sea mammal flopping around on the pool deck at a theme park. I hope that years from now I don't regret the decision to avoid the bounce house. Something tells me I'll get another chance in three years.

Peace Frog

During my half-hour of "daddy-time" each morning before daycare, I've been entertaining my son with song.

He likes songs with "la, la, la's" and "do-bee-do's". The joy in his eyes is precious while I'm butchering the notes, and it's a look on his face that I'll never forget.

This morning, I sang a song I've always liked by the Doors called "Peace Frog". I've never paid any attention to the lyrics whatsoever; I think it's the baseline of the song that hooked me. Not knowing most of the words, my song went pretty much like this:

(Baseline) Do da-loo do, do do doobi doobi do, Do da-loo do, do do doobi doobi do

Blee Blah on the streets, it's up to my ankles

Do da-loo do, do do doobi doobi do, Do da-loo do, do do doobi doobi do

Blee Blah on the streets, it's up to my knees

Do da-loo do, do do doobi doobi do, Do da-loo do, do do doobi doobi do

(Bridge) Blee-dee blah, blee-dee, blah-diddy blah, blee blee blee-dee blah

(Pause) Then baseline again. (he loves this part)

Repeat until he spits up.

Since I have a thirst for knowledge, I decided to look up the lyrics this morning on my trusty internet-thingy machine so I may give him a more accurate rendition during tomorrow's daddy-time.

Oh my God.

Needlees to say, I'm appalled at how bad a father I've been. Turns out the song is about abortion, and there are few pieces of music out there with more graphic lyrics. I won't even print them here, but here's a link if you're interested:

Peace Frog lyrics

In the history of music, has there ever been a more inappropriate song to sing to a baby? I don't think so. Damned baseline! Why do you have to be so catchy? I won't be surprised if the department of children and families knocks on my door later.

"Good evening sir, we heard some pretty terrible things about your morning song-choices. Mind if we come in and take a look around."

The glass-half-empty guy in me is picturing a day years from now when my son looks at me and says: "Daddy, what is that song you used to sing to me when I was a baby? It's stuck in my head. Something about up to my ankles. Strong baseline. Was there any significance to it? You used to sing it so beautifully. It made me so happy."

What will I say then?

I guess tomorrow, I'll have to go back to something a little more about sunshine and babies and a little less about darkness and such. I hope I haven't scarred him for life. From here on out, all lyrics will be screened in advance before the actual performance portion of "daddy-time".

I'm wondering if "Lola" by the Kinks is appropriate for a 3-month old. I think he may love it, but I don't like what the glass-half-empty guy has to say about that.

Anybody have any songs I should definitely stay away from? Your comments are welcome. Peace out, peace frogs.

Odds and Ends

Good morning.

1. I watched the Golden Globes last night. It's pretty easy to predict the winner in each category. Normally, if there are 5 nominees and I'm familiar with 4 of them, the 5th will win. Too bad the Office got shut out. Since they didn't win the Globe, I will present them with the first ever Undaground Award for outstanding performance in a musical or comedy. I'm not sure that there will be an acceptance speech, since there isn't an actual statue, though next year I hope to have a nice tinfoil creation for the winner.

2. Speaking of television, another season of "24" has begun. I watched the first season and half of another season, then I abandoned the show and vowed to never go back. About 8 episodes into the last season I watched, I read a newspaper article that the writers were still trying to figure out "where to take the storyline". That drove me up a wall! How can you begin to tell a story, and not know where the story is going? Ridiculous! I felt like a 4-year-old with the 24 writers as my daddy, reading me a bedtime story and making it up while they go along. "Then, the evil mastermind took over the controls and destroyed Air Force one. Then, a fairy princess kissed Jack Bauer, and he became a real boy." I know "24" is a popular show, but I've got too much TV in my life to spend time watching something that they make up as they go along. Listen up, "Lost", you're next!

3. American Idol begins this week. The auditions are always fun. Yes, the people who know they're bad are very annoying, and I hope they minimize them in the show. I assume many are like me, and watch for those people who think they're the next American Idol, until the judges slap the delusion out of them. There's a lesson to be learned here: If you have a family member who thinks they're good at something, but you know they're not, tell them before they embarrass themselves on national television. Or, better yet, don't tell them so I have something to watch on Tuesday nights.

4. I'm going to go on record and say that meatball is the most underrated pizza topping there is. Try it.

5. Finally, if your eating habits require you to have a snack at some point during the day, may I suggest the "Nature Valley, Sweet & Salty Nut Granola Bar (Almond flavored)". It is quite simply the greatest freaking granola bar ever made (with all due respect to the original Kudos bar).

TGITDAT

Thank God it's the day after Thursday.

• Big weekend of pro-football. Year in and year out, the divisional playoff weekend (this one) is the best of the year. If you're reading this on your laptop from a casino in Vegas, here are your straight up winners: Eagles over the Saints, Bears over the Seahawks, Ravens over the Colts, and Chargers over the Patriots.
• We're no longer a Tivo family. We're now a Directv HD plus DVR family. I have decided to keep referring to it as Tivo, for the same reasons that later today I will wipe my nose with a Kleenex while I Xerox some copies.
• Just in time for the weekend, the Undaling has adjusted to the daycare schedule. This is a good thing, but I'm not sure we'll feel the same way when he's up and ready to go at 6am Saturday morning.
• Speaking of the boy, his favorite toy in the whole world is a stuffed dog that wears a Santa hat and barks along to Jingle Bells. Since all of the other Christmas paraphenalia has been removed from plain view, I'm not sure when to take this away from him and replace it with another seasonal toy (anybody know where to find a singing Groundhog?) I guess that I should take the Christmas lights down from outside before I even consider removing the Yuletide pup. I hope he's not confused when he figures out that Christmastime is not a year-round thing. Since our lights were up until April last year, I'm not sure that I've even figured that out yet.

Hooked on a Feelin'

Now that Mrs. U is back to work, we're hoping to take advantage the opportunity to set a routine for the Undaling.

With a definitive drop-off and pick-up time at daycare, it should make things easier. After a few days, maybe the baby will know what to expect and when.

One thing that he's going to hopefully look forward to is the time between 7am and 730am. This has become "Daddy time" on a daily basis. Mrs. U gets him ready for daycare while I get ready for work. She leaves the house at 7am, and I basically have one half-hour to entertain the child.

Just me and him.

So far, so good.

I've found that I spend most of this half-hour making strange faces and noises. Most make him smile big and wide. Some make him break into his baby laugh, that is still in development. He is currently a big fan of the raspberry fart noise. This proves my theory that boys begin finding farts funny in the first three months of life. There's a fine line between comedy and horror, because some faces or noises make him stick out his bottom lip and wind up to cry. In these instances, I need to quickly summon some of my best material to turn him back around and get a smile.

This morning, I sang "Hooked on a Feelin" three times to him. I've read somewhere that baby's like repitition, and that seemed to be the case. Honestly, I don't really like that song. Personally, I could do without it. Somehow, I just started singing it. For the record, he really seems to appreciate the "uga-chucka, uga-uga, uga-chucka, uga-uga", so I may be able to drop the rest and just stick with that, but we'll see tomorrow.

As for today, he rewarded my pitch-perfect singing with a giant dolyp of spit-up down my shirt as I was getting ready to strap him in the carseat. Everybody's a critic.

Ummm, Congratulations?

Another major national championship game, another Gators victory. I would like to take this opportunity to congratulate my wife on her alma mater's latest shiny trophy.

I'm not going to lie. I am dealing with one of the seven deadly sins this morning. No, not gluttony (but I did go a little nuts on the chips and dip last night). I'm experiencing a slight case of envy.

As I continue to track high school sophomores who may eventually help the West Virginia Mountaineers in the 2011 season. As I learn more about the likes and dislikes and family history of our third-string weakside tight end on the practice squad, it pains me more than a little to have to live vicariously through my wife's sporting good fortune. This feeling is somewhat enhanced when she looks up at the television at random moments and says "Oh, we scored again? Cool! Go Gators!" Then she grabs my infant son's arms and forms them into an animal pantomime move that is supposed to be an alligator opening and shutting his jaws. All the while, the Undaling smiles happily, knowing that he was born into a collegiate tradition of winning.

Of course, this whole scene takes place just 10 months after we sat at a sports bar and watched the same university's team win the basketball national championship. Yes, as I pored over reading material about my team's vaunted 1-3-1 zone defense and used the word "Pittsnogle" as a verb, Mrs. Undaground looked up from her fried bar food and said "Oh, another three pointer. Awesome! Go Gators!"

Forgive me if I'm a tiny bit bitter. I am happy for my wife. I can't come up with a suitable analogy for her to describe my feelings. I guess the closest scenario I can invent is one where I'm sitting in Oprah's studio audience while my wife waits for me in the parking lot.

I envision a day where I can look up at a Mountaineer game and say "Oh, we scored again. Another national championship. Cool. Go Mountaineers!" Then, I can teach my son how to properly and safely burn a couch.

Strong Resolve

I've looked over last year's New Year's resolutions. They can be found here. Turns out, I did a pretty crappy job of following through on all of these.

For the record, I didn't exercise in 2006 much more than in 2005. I did get the stationary bike, and it has remained "stationary", except for a three-week period in September when I used it five or six times. I'm going to carry that resolution over to 07. I think just having a small child around requires me to do enough lifting and other physical activities that I'll burn more calories. Plus, maybe we'll use the bike sometime.

I didn't find a suitable pet name for Mrs. U. I think I've been calling her "babe" alot, instead of "baby", since there's another baby in the house. I'm still shopping for a good secondary pet name until the kids are past toddler age.

I believe I accomplished the embarassing #4 on last year's list. At some point, I'm sure it happened. Mrs. Undaground can't seem to remember any specific incident, but I can recall a few.

Since there doesn't seem to be a whole lot of personal accountability when it comes to following through on my New Year's resolutions, I've decided to aim a little higher this year, armed with the knowledge that nothing bad will happen if I don't reach these goals. So, here are my New Year's resolutions for 2007.

1. Learn how to solve the Rubik's cube. I saw the Will Smith movie, The Pursuit of Happyness, over the holiday. He got a pretty good job by doing this. A guy at work has a Rubik's cube, and I've been able to solve it using the internet. Now, I have 11 months to memorize how I did it, so I can impress the boss at some future job interview.

2. Get a tattoo. That's right. I'm getting ink. I'm planning on putting one on the upper arm, so nobody will really see it unless I'm shirtless (not a very common occurence in public, except for that one unfortunate incident at Sizzler steakhouse).

3. Teach my child how to walk. I figured I'd throw a gimme in there so next year I can check at least one of these things off the list. If all goes well, I will also show him how to turn that walk into a saunter.

What are your resolutions? I'd like to hear them.

Happy New Year!

The Undaground holiday hiatus is over. Looking back, I think I could have done a better job of communicating my absence. Next year, I'll take a cue from "Lost" and "Heroes" and try to leave a thrilling cliffhanger at the end of the fall season.

Oh well, spilt milk.

Here are a few updates from the holidays:

• The Undaling is now 3 months old. He's wearing 3-6 months clothes now and is very excited that he's moved up in size. I've tried to explain to him that someday, he'll dread moving up in size, but that's a long way off.
• We've confirmed that he absolutely hates being in the car. While most lucky parents out there can strap a kid in the carseat and drive around the neighborhood to get him to sleep, we're the opposite. If there's ever a day when we need to put him in a horrible mood, then we can try the driving around the neighborhood thing. I'm not sure when we'd want to put him in a bad mood. Normally, that technique is limited to parents of defensive tackles or cage fighters (the Undaling is neither, but he does throw a mean left jab).
• Mrs. U goes back to work Monday. This week we have been doing the daycare dry-run. Today will be his second day staying at daycare for a few hours while he and Mrs. U adjusts. So far, so good. There are few times in life when the term "dry-run" can be used while talking about an infant. Little of what he does results in anything dry.
• Mrs. U and I are the proud owners of a new television. The only thing better than watching Notre Dame lose another bowl game is watching Notre Dame lose a bowl game in high definition.

Happy New Year to all.