Happy Holidays from the Couch

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

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

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

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

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

Seacrest, out.

And the Oscar Goes To...

Mrs. Undaground!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tis the Season for Nog!

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

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

The Castro

Cheers!

Maybe I put my foot in my mouth

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

Back off, guys. No pun intended.

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

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

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

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

Now, about the Amish...

Baaaaa, Humbug

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plastic Jesus

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

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

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

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

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

Issue #1:

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

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

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

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

Issue #2:

"Son, we don't eat Jesus"

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

Issue #3:

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

Nothing good can come from this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I don't care if it rains or freezes

as long as I've got my plastic Jesus

sitting on the dashboard of my car

it comes in colors pink and pleasant

it glows in the dark cause its iridescent

I'll take it with me whenever I go far

Blogerrific Relaunch

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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