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.