Contact Us... Don't mind if I do.

Once again, to exercise my rights as a consumer, I am filling out a "Contact Us" form. This time, it's a sub-shop. I will remove the name to protect the franchise owners out there who do a better job than this particular one. As always, I will let you know if I hear back from them.

Dear Customer Care,

My wife and I both spent a significant portion of our lives in New Jersey. Your restaurant has always been a treat for us.

For a few years, we exclusively visited your franchise in the Village Commons Shopping Center. We have had nothing but positive experiences there. It's still the best cheesesteak I can find here in South Florida.

Unfortunately, whomever purchased your franchise in the "Shops of Boynton" is besmirching your good name and doing your brand and its customers a great disservice.

Last night, we stopped at this particular location to order a Philly Cheesesteak and a Chicken Philly. We were on the way to an appointment, so we had to eat in the restaurant.

The first disappointment is that they were out of white bread. All they had was wheat bread. That kind of defeats the purpose for me when ordering a cheesesteak. I generally associate wheat bread with foods not quite as delicious as cheesesteaks.

There were four people working in the store at the time. One was making the sandwiches, taking orders, ringing people up, and taking care of some obvious pressing personal business on her cell phone.

Another employee seemed to have one purpose: to take the completed sandwich and wrap it in paper. I can't really criticize her performance, because she was able to properly wrap each sandwich in paper, but it did seem a bit inefficient to me to have such a laser-focused specialist working on this one task while other customers waited for their various sandwiches on wheat bread.

The other two employees were just shuffling around in the back the whole time. One had a broom. The floors were pretty clean, but I guess I would have traded some floor debris for some fresh-baked white bread on the premises.

As the woman made the sandwiches, she chatted on her cell phone the whole time. At one point, the sandwich-wrapper showed her versatility by actually holding the phone to her coworker's ear for her while she prepared our dinner. At other times, her plastic-gloved hand was buried in her hair, holding the phone with the same hand that would soon touch the same food that would go into our mouths.

Once we had our sandwiches, after a very long wait, I asked for ketchup to enhance the cheesesteak and mask the taste of the wheat bread.

They were out of ketchup.

I heard the customer behind me ask for soup, right about the same time I realized I was going to eat a ketchup-less cheesesteak on wheat bread. You guessed it... they were out of soup.

Maybe one of the three remaining employees could have run to the store at some point during this night. Considering it was Monday and there were only 2 or 3 other customers in the store, I can't imagine when this huge rush occured that depleted all of these necessary supplies.

I've eaten more cheesesteaks in my life than I'd care to admit. Sadly, this was the single worst experience I've had, and that includes Steak-Ums.

As I mentioned before, this has always been a treat for us, but I'm sorry to say that we won't be subjecting ourselves to this "treat" again.

Sincerely,
The Undaground

Back from the Ranch

Mrs. Undaground and I visited our good friends on the west coast of Florida this weekend.

They have just purchased a beautiful 6-acre ranch. It seems that when you buy a ranch, you need to name it. I've suggested "Hidden Valley", because I think it has a nice ring to it. I'm not sure they like it, though.

It seems they were also given a housewarming gift: a pot belly pig. The piglet is about 8-weeks old and is very cute. I'm not 100% sure the cuteness will last. I believe that every species is cute at 8-weeks old.

First and foremost, a pot belly pig seems to be a great conversation piece. We were able to sit and stare at the pig for awhile, just like people sit and stare at a new baby. Watching a piglet eat a piece of watermelon is more fun than I ever imagined.

I did feel a little self-conscious eating in front of him. We had a pork loin on Friday night and bacon on Saturday morning. He didn't seem to mind, but I was careful not to offer him any, because that would be really mean.

Now that they have a ranch, I'm hoping they can acquire all of the characters from Winnie-the-Pooh. We'll bring the little boy if they'd just get a bear, a donkey and a tiger. I'm not sure that they'll all get along, like in the books, but it would make for some great photos. I did take some photos of the pig, and I'll post one as soon as I load them into the computer.

Oil Change

I went to Jiffy Lube yesterday and asked for an oil change and a new air filter (it had been awhile). While they worked on my car, I knew that moment was coming where they would tell me my vehicle is falling apart and I need them to flush the engine, give me a transmission transfusion, and all the other mythical car repairs I don't really need. Once, they told me they have a unicorn that gargles power steering fluid. "See this liquid? It's pea green. It should be mint chocolate chip green with a hint of lime Gatorade. I don't want to push you, but if you don't buy the unicorn, you might find yourself in a fiery wreck. Don't say I didn't warn you."

As I mindlessly paged through Parents magazine in the waiting room, I was formulating my response to their sales pitch. Hmmm. Should I act like a crazy guy and scare the hell out of them, or should I pretend like I have Tourettes? Maybe I should just act like I'm a mechanic that's too lazy to do my own oil change. "No, that's OK, I'll flush my own transmission when I tweak the flux capacitor. I think I have a unicorn lying around in my own shop. I picked one up on eBay from a guy in Middle Earth."

The guy called me into the garage and said, "We changed the oil and you need a new air filter, but other than that, everything looks good."

Whoa.

I was all prepared to stick to my guns and say "no thanks" to all the extra crap. They didn't even ask me.

Is it weird that I'm a little disappointed? Or maybe I'm just a sucker for getting an air filter.

By the way, you don't need an oil change every 3000 miles. Read your owner's manual. I'm serious. Here's what Consumer Reports says about that:

Myth: Engine oil should be changed every 3,000 miles.

Reality: Although oil companies and quick-lube shops like to promote this idea, it's usually not necessary. Go by the recommended oil-change schedule in your vehicle's owner's manual. Most vehicles driven under normal conditions can go 7,500 miles or more between oil changes. Some models now come with a monitoring system that alerts the driver when the oil needs changing. Depending on driving conditions, these can extend change intervals to 10,000 or 15,000 miles.

35 Fun Facts about the Undaground

1. On days when my wife is off of work, I wake up at 6:38 (6:20 and two snooze buttons).

2. I have stood in the eye of two hurricanes. My home has been damaged by three.

3. It takes only one of me to change a lightbulb.

4. I graduated high school with a mullet.

5. I wore a Batman cape everyday for a year in the mid-70's.

6. I am 6' 4 1/2, but I round down to 6' 4. My wife is 5' 1 and 1/2 but rounds up to 5' 2.

7. I believe the two funniest people on the planet are Larry David and Ricky Gervais.

8. I don't speak to people on airplanes, not even my wife.

9. I despise group participation, but will make a fool of myself publicly if it's my idea.

10. I have sung "The Weight" by The Band at a wedding, two New Years Eve parties and an open-mic night.

11. I drink Jack Daniels at weddings, New Years Eve parties and open-mic nights.

12. I might be a speed reader. I need two books for a round-trip flight (or one really big book).

13. I have lived in 9 different states.

14. I have two Tivo lines in the living room and one in the bedroom.

15. On Tuesdays in January, I tivo American Idol, Scrubs, The Amazing Race, The Real World and David Letterman.

16. I have watched every season of the Real World, except for Philadelphia.

17. I grew up a half hour from Philadelphia.

18. When I was 5 years old, my phone number was 586-0608.

19. When I was in high school, my phone number was ANT-FARM.

20. I bought my first car for $450, then fell asleep at the wheel and totalled it 5 months later.

21. I will never fall asleep at the wheel again.

22. I drink Coors Light because I took a blindfolded taste test to determine my favorite domestic, light beer.

23. I could dunk a basketball fifty pounds ago.

24. I eat, write and brush my teeth with my left hand. For everything else I'm right-handed.

25. I have to have my toll money ready miles before I reach the toll.

26. When I see a bee, I run away like a little girl.

27. I can believe it's not butter.

28. I once let my cousin cut my hair and she went a little too short.

29. I took karate classes for a year after I saw Karate Kid and walked away from the sport after earning a purple belt.

30. Bryant Gumbel hit on my wife right in front of me.

31. I could definitely kick Bryant Gumbel's ass, but chose not to because I learned that karate is only for self-defense.

32. When we win the lottery, I'll buy a restaurant/bar, hire a good manager and hang out there.

33. I always say "When we win the lottery...", but we never play the lottery.

34. Our wedding song was "Into the Mystic" by Van Morrison.

35. I love parmesan cheese and I love artichokes. A few weeks ago I ordered Parmesan Artichoke soup at a restaurant. I don't have the vocabulary to tell you how good Parmesan Artichoke soup is.

Any questions?

Kibbles and Bits

Pregnancy Update
Mrs. Undaground is 23 weeks pregnant today. No major milestones, according to the experts. The baby weighs about a pound and the bones of the inner ear are starting to develop. Soon, those bones will come in handy to hold iPod earbuds in place. We've actually seen the movement now in my wife's belly. Apparently, it's still a pretty roomy womb, so the baby is taking full advantage by beating the hell out of Mrs. U's bladder and other internal organs.

Goo Gone
Trying to remove decals from a car or mini-van? Try Goo Gone. It's available at Office Depot. We have our new (used) van, but we need to take the rest of the glue off from the decals. This stuff seems to work very well. Apparently, it's also handy when removing stickers from frames, CD covers, etc. I'm not sure if it works when you superglue your fingers together, so you may want to take caution when doing that.

Reality TV
I know I said I was done with Last Comic Standing, but I watched it again. There's just not that much on these days. Tuesday's show wasn't bad. I guess I'm rooting for the guy who looks like Willy Wonka. He seems to be the funniest. If you're not watching Hell's Kitchen on Mondays, "Move Your Ass" and give it a try. Soon, Rock Star will be back on TV. Last year, they found a singer for INXS; this year it's some supergroup called Supernova.

Basketball
The Miami Heat won the NBA Championship last night. For the first time since the late 70's, I went an entire season without watching an NBA game in its entirety. Someone once told me that married men sacrifice interest in one sport for each child born. Professional basketball is first. (I'm not letting go of college basketball, though.)

Better than OK

Funny things Mrs. Undaground asked me last night:

"I'm going to make a casserole. Is that OK?"

"I left you the last brownie. Do you want it?"

Clearly, the obvious answer to both questions is a question:

"Does a bear sh*t in the woods?"

Stranger in a strange land

I really had no problem getting along fine in Texas. Oddly enough, the only time I felt like I was out of my element was... in Starbucks. Hundreds of miles away my own coffee-maker, I found myself stuck in a foreign land without the Starbucks-American dictionary. I occassionally go to Starbucks now, but never for my morning coffee. Usually, it's a mid-afternoon thing or an airport thing and I just order a frappucino or some other treat. On the few occassions where I've actually gotten coffee there, I've been able to work through it with the clerk and just figure it out using a series of hand gestures and some basic hieroglyphics. In this case, though, the line was very long and moving very quickly. There was no time for me to ask questions. I felt surrounded by folks who knew how to order. If I wanted a tutorial, the weekday morning in the center of a business district in downtown Fort Worth was not the place to learn. I'd have to get it right. Thursday morning, I was a stranger in a strange land.

OK. The line's moving now. I just want a large coffee with cream and sugar. I don't see that on the list. I don't know how to order it. Do they even put the cream and sugar in the coffee here? They must, right? Why is this so intimidating? The line's moving fast. Why am I the only one who's confused by this? Did all these people take a class or something? Did they find some Starbucks Yoda to explain it all to them? Is there a manual? They should put a sign on the wall with instructions how to order.

At Dunkin Donuts, I just have to say "Large coffee, cream and sugar." What happens if I just say that here? Do I get escorted out? Will I be pelted with flavored coffee beans? Maybe someone will correct me. I'm not gonna say it. It's not right. I wouldn't order a Big Mac at Burger King. I need to conform.

Let's see. Tall has to mean small. It's the cheapest. Does tall mean small in some other language? Why not pequeno, or something with "ita" on the end of the word. Grande. That means big in Spanish. Wait, this is Italian. That must mean medium in Italian. I should look that up. That doesn't seem right. Venti. That's a size? Venti. OK. I want venti. Is it enough if I just say venti with cream and sugar?

Should I ask the lady in front of me? She looks like she knows what she wants. She doesn't look like this whole process is worrying her. Maybe she pays $5 every day for coffee.

What are all these flavors? Pumpkin? Summer Harvest? I just want coffee. What's this? Caffe Mocha? I know mocha means chocolate. I can do chocolate. I won't need to figure out how to order sugar. OK. Caffe Mocha it is.

Now what? It's almost my turn. Ooops. The lady in front of me ordered. I didn't make that out. What did she say? I heard "skim". I didn't hear a size. I was zoning. I should have paid attention. Now what do I say? This feels like the soup nazi. Is it "caffe mocha venti" or "venti caffe mocha"? Do I need to say anything else? I need to look this stuff up on the internet. OK. Here we go.

"Yes, I'd like a caffe mocha... venti, please."

"One venti caffe moca. Anything else?"

"A slice of tall poundcake lemon".

Tall poundcake lemon? What the hell is that? I'm gonna get kicked out of here. I wonder if there's a Dunkin Donuts around here. I should have just made coffee in my hotel room.

They know. They know I don't know what I'm doing. Now I know they know I don't know what I'm doing. I wonder if they know I know they know I don't know what I'm doing.

I guess I go stand over here now. What's this? Whipped cream? I can't walk down the street at 8 in the morning with dessert. I just wanted a large coffee with cream and sugar. Somehow now, I've got a piece of cake and a chocolate milkshake.

Anybody know how to order a large coffee with cream and sugar? I know the venti part. How do I say the rest?

More Travel

I'm leaving town again; this time on a business trip to Fort Worth. There will be no Undaground on Thursday or Friday, but please feel free to look around the archives for anything that you may have missed over the last six months.

Someday, I'll have a laptop so I can access the Undaground from my remote locations. Live blogging from Gayapalooza would have been divine.

I wanted my mother to guest-blog after her successful contribution to my birthday post. Unfortunately, she is out of town as well. For all of her fans out there, I think there will be a few days in July when the Undaground Mom will make an appearance.

As for the pregnancy update, Mrs. U is 22 weeks pregnant today. I'm now feeling kicks on a regular basis. We've watched enough of the TLC "A Baby Story" show. Now, we've moved on to "Bringing Home Baby". It seems like a natural progression when it comes to television viewing.

I've watched the first few rounds of "Last Comic Standing". I think I'm done with that show, based on their 12 finalists. I don't know if you've seen this or not. The first few weeks are auditions, followed by a big comedy show where they weed out all the funny people and pick the ones who aren't funny to live in the house.

I went through a drive-thru yesterday, in a moment of weakness, and ordered a value meal. My total was $5.26. In my wallet, I had a $10 and five $1's. I decided that I had enough $1 bills, so I gave the window jockey $11, hoping to get back a five-dollar-bill and some change to consolidate my chattel. Makes sense, right? Well you would have thought I gave the woman a buffalo nickel and some animal pelts. She looked at me with a big, goofy grin on her face. For a moment, I thought that strange smile was a new company initiative, then I realized something was wrong. The look she was giving me was the same look I have on my face when I'm watching a puppy with a blanket on his head. She thought I was an idiot.

"Sir, you gave me WAY too much money, ha, ha."

"Actually, I was hoping I could get a five dollar bill back since I don't have change."

"Oh, OK. Whatever you say."

Listen, drive-thru tellers of world, just input the amount you are given into the cash register and it will do the math for you. Don't try to overthink this. It's simple, really. $11 minus $5.26 equals $5.74.

I'm glad I didn't give her a penny to get quarters back, or her head might have exploded.

Cheers, I'm off to fly the friendly skies (hopefully in an exit row.)

Good Morning

Movie Idea
I have an idea for a movie. It's about a couple that gets stalked by hurricanes and other tropical disturbances. First, a bachelorette party is cut short because of a curfew after a hurricane named Frances. Then, a wedding just barely happens because of another one called Jeanne. Next, the couple's new house is damaged by some bitch named Wilma. Finally (I hope), the couple's oceanfront hotel weekend getaway is washed out by some dude named Tropical Storm Alberto.

Everywhere we go, we are chased by these things. Boy, did I feel stupid Saturday morning as we drove right into the nasty weather. We had a good time this weekend, but we were somewhat limited by the weather.

Also, we didn't check the social calendar in Key West. Saturday was "Gayapalooza". We toyed with the idea of telling people that Mrs. Undaground was a surrogate for a gay couple, but decided against it. As I said to my wife while we were walking down the street, I prefer Gayapalooza over Spring Break. Gay people are much less drunk and obnoxious than college kids. I know, because I was one of those college kids about 10 years ago. As we strolled down Duval St., I was able to point out more than one location where I had vomited in a previous life.

Ugh
This Ben Roethlisberger motorcycle crash business is horrible. I'm glad he's OK, but, as a Steelers fan, I'm a little ticked off at him for riding without a helmet. Ben, put the bike away until you retire. Now, please get healthy for the start of the season.

Margaritaville

Since we've decided to skip any real vacations this summer, Mrs. Undaground and I are going to Key West tomorrow for a little weekend getaway.

For this reason, I will not be posting on Monday.

Here's an artist's rendering of what Mrs. Undaground and I will look like in Key West (if we were South Park characters, of course). It's important to note, that my wife is holding a Virgin Colada in this photo. But make no mistake, my beer is the real thing.

Would you like to create your own South Park character? Go here.

Pregnancy Update: Week 21

As of yesterday, Mrs. Undaground is 21 weeks pregnant. Our little boy is extremely active. He reacts to music and food. As soon as my wife begins eating something, he starts flipping around or kicking. This past week, after about 50 failed attempts, I felt the baby kicking.

As for Mom, her belly now looks a lot like mine. Apparently, I'm the equivalent of 21-weeks pregnant. I realized the other night that Mrs. Undaground, over the past few months, has been slowly turning into me. Here's the evidence:

Heartburn

Grunting more often

Enjoys grunting

Belly size

Outgrowing clothes

Cravings

Frequent desire to nap

Difficulty tying shoes

Occasional back pain

Gets emotional watching reality tv

Gassy

Truth be told, the missus and I have never been closer. We understand each other better now. I fully empathize with everything that's happening to her. I imagine we're approaching the point in the pregnancy where our physical symptoms will begin to differ somewhat. Although I'm trying my best to keep up, I expect her belly growth to outpace mine over the next few months. That's probably a good thing. Also, I don't have any personal plans to start lactating.

While I'm on the subject of breasts, let me tell you about our next door neighbor. On more than one occasion, I've somehow been a party to this conversation:

Neighbor Lady: If I could give you one piece of advice, I'd tell ya to rough up those nipples or you aint gonna be able to do it.

Mrs. Undaground: (laughs) OK. You actually told me that last time we talked.

Neighbor Lady: I'm serious. Rough 'em up or you aint gonna be able to feed that kid. (Looks at me) Play with 'em or do whatchu gotta do. Get 'em good 'n rough.

Me: (nervous... OK, make a joke) Maybe I could get those clamps out of the closet.

Neighbor Lady: Whatever you gotta do, do it. Pinch 'em, scrape 'em, flick 'em, bite 'em. burn 'em, squish 'em. Now's the time. Rough 'em up!

Me: (to Mrs. Undaground) I guess you won't read this in any of your books.

Mrs. Undaground: Definitely not.

Neighbor Lady: That's right. Take it from someone who knows. Don't listen to them books. I smoked and drank for all three kids. They thought the second one was gonna be a mon-go-loid. But she turned out fine, didn't it? Rough 'em up real good!

Me: Okay. I guess we're going to keep walking now. I think I hear the phone ringing in our house. If not, then I definitely left the oven on. The dog's got to eat. There's a load in the dryer. We've got to go. Bye now.

Mrs. Undaground: Yes, thanks for the advice. We'll see you later, unless we can find an alternate dog-walking route.

Neighbor Lady: Don't forget, Rough 'em up! Hey, if you ever need a babysitter...

Shilo, When I Was Young

So, Brangelina named their child Shiloh. I'm not sure if they chose the name because, in Hebrew, it means "place of peace". Maybe they chose it because their Civil War buffs, or they may be big Neil Diamond fans. I really have mixed feelings about this name choice.

First of all, I'm very disappointed in Brangelina for not considering the teasing opportunities this name brings. As expectant parents, Mrs. Undaground and I have considered hundreds of names. One of our big goals is to limit the amount of ridicule the child may have to endure in his formative years. Hector? Sounds too much like rectum. Richard? They'll call him Dick. Trey? Well, my own grandmother has already suggested that naming the boy Trey would inevitably lead to kids calling him Shelf or Dish. So what was Brangelina thinking? Can't they see that a child named "Shiloh Pitt" will quickly become "Pile O' Shit" in the eyes of classmates? Kids get teased at private schools just as they do at public schools, even if they do stay in Namibia.

On the positive side, I've been working very hard to find some new swear words. It won't be long before my fetus can hear sounds from the outside world. With this in mind, I'm trying to find some substitutes for my go-to profanities. So far, I have Homer Simpson's "Doh!", Jerry Seinfeld's "Newman!", and now, "Shiloh Pitt!" Please feel free to suggest any others.

Humiliation

I've said this before, and I'll say it again: I love cargo pants. Give me pockets, lots of pockets. I carry a lot of chattel around, and, dammit, I need pockets. But cargo pants can be a cruel mistress.

Monday morning, I pulled my cargo pants on like any other day. As I tugged on both sides of the front of the pants, to allow the necessary clearance in order to fasten them, I marvelled at the strong little button hanging on for dear life. Just as I was appreciating the strength of the thread that served as a button-lifeline, it gave up and popped off. There's nothing quite as depressing as the unmistakeable sound of a stressed-out button bouncing away on a hardwood floor.

I lowered myself gently to ground-level and looked under the dresser. I could see it, but it was too far out of reach. Humiliated, I removed the button-less cargo pants and threw them in the corner. They are dead to me.

Wearing a pair of wrinkle-free khakis, I poured my coffee and looked over at Mrs. Undaground, who was enjoying some morning toast.

"The button fell off of my cargo pants. They're dead."

"Did you find the button?"

"It's cowering in fear under the dresser. I can't reach it."

"I can fix it."

"How? Liposuction? Do they make maternity clothes for men? I don't want to move up to the next size. It's a big, round number. I'd rather wear sweatpants at all times. I could be the sweatpants guy."

"I'll sew it back on."

"Very well, thanks."

Damned birthday cheesecake. Why do you taste so good? Is there a vegetable that tastes like cheesecake? Why not? Why is the United States Senate so concerned with a gay marriage amendment when they could be funding research to make vegetables taste like cheesecake. If I wasn't so apathetic, I'd be really pissed right now.

The Undaground Movie Review - The Break Up

Mrs. Undaground and I have been going to a few more movies recently, knowing that our time as a young, unattached, free-to-go-anywhere-whenever-we want couple is quickly coming to an end. We've been scoping out family-friendly places over the past few months. We used to just sneer at babies in restaurants, now we coo.

The Break-Up is an OK movie. Unless you're like us, and trying to soak up every last bit of childless activity, you should probably wait for the video on this one. There were a few laughs. Since Swingers, I have always found humor in Vince Vaughn's verbal acrobatics. Jon Favreau, as usual, is very funny.

The funniest part of the film experience didn't have anything to do with the movie at all. There was a scene with very loud music that ended abruptly. Sometime toward the end of that scene, the guy a few seats down from us made the decision that it was OK to fart. By the time his brain communicated with his body, and he did the deed, the scene had gone quiet. About 1/2 second after the music ended and the theater was silent, that's when it happened. Mrs. Undaground and I suffered through a case of the giggles for a few moments, until someone in the movie made a joke and we were able to laugh loudly and freely (even though the joke wasn't very funny). After the movie, we were trying to figure out whether he was on a first date or not. Of course, I am showing some gender bias here by assuming it was the guy who farted. For all we know, it could have been his date.

There was a point toward the end of the movie, when Mrs. Undaground cried. Sometimes, this response will speak to the emotional content of a film and how well it connected with the audience. I'm not sure if this is the case. To put it in perspective, she also cried during a muffler commercial this weekend, so take it with a grain of salt.

Guys, if you plan to take your wife/girlfriend to see this movie, it's a good idea to help with the dishes beforehand. If you plan to see this movie, do something around the house that will resonate for at least a few hours. You don't want to be compared unfavorably to Vince Vaughn's character. Any relationship on the brink could suffer if you view this movie together.

Undaground movie review for "The Break-Up" 3.5 out of 5 taquitos

Stuff

Contact Us Update
The taquito people responded within a few hours. They have offered to pay for our next taquito purchase. I'm a little disappointed that they haven't agreed to go back to the drawing board on the beef flavor. Instead, they seem to think it was a bad batch or something.
We are very sorry that occurred. We will be happy to send you a refund for your next purchase. We will need the UPC (barcode), Julian Code (stamped with black ink starts with 05 or 06 followed by #'s & letters) and the EST or P # (usually near the Julian Code). This information will help us find out when and where the product was made. Thank you and have a great day.

Swimming Soccer Ballet Oboe Karatay-a
We have purchased a minivan from my employer for ten dollars. Sounds like a great deal, but we do have to pay for a new transmission for it, which is somewhat pricey. Mrs. Undaground's Acura Integra is not the most carseat friendly vehicle. Now, we'll make sure our kid arrives in style to swimming, soccer, ballet, oboe and karate. I'm not really sure I want my boy going to ballet, though. Not that there's anything wrong with it.

Weekend Movie
Mrs. U and I are going to see "The Break-Up" Saturday. The movie stars Vaughniston, Vinnifer, Anistaughn, or Jennivince. I haven't heard the official Hollywood couple nickname for these two yet, but I'm guessing it will be one of the four I used. If Tomkat, Brangelina and Bennifer have a nickname, Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Aniston deserve one too (depending on how this movie does).

"Contact Us"... OK.

One of the beautiful wonders of the internet is that you can offer feedback on goods and services much more easily than in the past. By simply clicking the "Contact Us" button, you can fill in the appropriate fields in the "webform" and your message is sent. No need to send in a UPC code. No need to get and envelope and stamp. No need to walk to the mailbox. It's so simple that I've decided to use it more often. Here is my first effort, sent yesterday via the world wide web:

To whom it may concern,

I am a rabid fan of your chicken taquitos. We often purchase them at Costco in packs of 30, and I can't believe that a frozen food tastes that good. In fact, it's better than good; it may be the one of the finest frozen foods I've ever had.

This past weekend, my wife picked up a 30-pack of your taquitos at Costco because we were entertaining a group of people and thought we'd impress them with our favorite frozen Mexican treat.

Unfortunately, my wife didn't realize she had picked up the beef taquitos instead of the chicken. I'm sorry to say that they were horrible. My wife thought the same thing and we threw the rest of them in the garbage. I find it hard to believe that the same company makes both products.

I see that both the chicken and the beef taquitos have won the "ChefsBest" award for taste. This only makes half-sense to me. The chicken, in my opinion, is award-winning. The beef was surprisingly awful.

Thanks for taking the time to read my comments. I will continue to purchase chicken taquitos made by your company, but wanted to make you aware, with all due respect, that the magical taste you've achieved with the chicken is, sadly, absent in the beef.

I'll let you know if I hear back from them.

Happy Birthday to Me

Yes, it's finally here. I'm 35-years-old.

Tonight, Mrs. Undaground will make Mom's Chicken Curry. If I've learned anything in 35 years, it's that anything involving baked mayonnaise is delicious.

Apparently, I share a birthday with Clint Eastwood, Brooke Shields, Walt Whitman and the former King of Portugal. I wonder what Clint Eastwood gets for his birthday dinner, probably some sort of beef jerky and a can of beans cooked over a campfire. I like mine better.

Today also marks the halfway point of the pregnancy. We're 20 weeks. For my birthday, I've asked for the honor of naming our first child. When I mentioned that to Mrs. Undaground, she said "But I already got you a present."

Compliments of my mother, here is her story about the day I was born:

Your birthday fell on a Monday. There was a Memorial Day celebration planned behind the barbershop on the Elmwood Park circle. All the relatives had a wonderful day celebrating your arrival. I couldn’t make it.

There was a nest of robins that I had been watching all spring – first there was the building of the nest – above the eaves of the porch. Then there were 3 little blue eggs – then little birds chirping whenever the robin mom left them to go find food. On Sunday morning, the day before your arrival, I witnessed those little birds leaving the nest and took it as a sign that you may make your exit (or entrance whatever way you look at it) real soon.

Sure enough, Sunday night around 9pm, the action started. My mother said to stay home as long as possible because once I got to the hospital, they would make me lay down and it’s better to be home, move around, etc. I was too scared to stay home – I wanted to be in the hands of the pros. We got to the hospital and as the orderly wheeled me upstairs – my mother looked at me with tears in her eyes. I said, "Are these tears of joy?" She said "no, I’m crying because I know what you’re going to go through". It made me a little apprehensive. These were the days before Lamaze and/or epidurals. It was all quite primitive but oddly interesting.

I could have been a better observer of the experience if I hadn’t been so involved in it. Instincts take over, you start controlling your breathing without being taught. One also learns how to curse like a drunken sailor even though these words have never before peppered one’s vocabulary. Oh, how I suffered for you. I was so relieved when it got to "push time". (You know the feeling. You get it yourself every year on Memorial Day evening due to the brats, pasta salad and beer.)

Suddenly - the crown – my baby has black hair! Then came your back and shoulders – my baby has black back hair! Look at my baby’s little black hairy legs! Some things ran through my head – species concerns, etc. But mostly what ran through my head and heart was an amazing, overwhelming feeling of love. Never had I felt such intense and immediate intimacy with any living creature. So, here was this helpless, beautiful little baby that I vowed to love and protect forever. By the way, I am so sorry about the haircutting ear incident.

You were born at 7:26 am – your grandmother found a penny on the floor of the waiting room at that exact minute – I still have it. Your birthday was filled with symbolism. It was also one of the happiest days of my life. Welcome to earth little boy and happy birthday.

Thanks, Mom. And I still have the carcasses of those little robins. They didn't make it past age four.

Dre-e-e-e-eam, dream, dream, dream, dre-e-e-e-eam.

Any dream doctors out there? Analyze this, please:

The other night, after a holiday cocktail consisting of bratwurst, pasta salad and Miller Lite, I eventually floated off to sleep. Normally, I don't remember my dreams, but this night was an exception.

I was preparing for a play of some sort. I couldn't really get a handle on what part I was playing, but it was some kind of medieval theme. With the performance approaching, I was growing increasingly anxious that we had never had a rehearsal. I looked at the script over and over again, but couldn't force myself to remember my lines. I kept thinking, "Why would we do a play without a rehearsal?" How would we know where to stand? How would we know when to say what? I decided to write my lines down and put them inside my hat so I could refer to them during the performance.

The strange thing about this is that I woke up twice and thought, OK, I know this is a dream. I don't really have to remember my lines. There is no performance. I went back to sleep and started dreaming the same thing, all the while knowing that I was dreaming. I was simply curious to see what the play was about. I think it was a lucid dream, since I was fully aware that I was dreaming. Unfortunately, the alarm sounded before I could watch my own performance. Good thing, because I don't think it would have been very good.

I should mention that, sandwiched in between those dreams, I had another one. This time, I was standing outside of a dugout, watching several baseball games going on at one time. It was some sort of community college baseball league. I remember thinking that I could play with those guys, and I wanted to get in the game.

Then, I saw that the pitcher on one of the teams was a little person. That was impressive to me, that a little person could pitch against college kids. I saw that the little guy was not standing on the mound, though. He was standing halfway between the mound and home plate. Because of this, the little person pitcher had a great advantage in the game. He was so close to the batter, that he was easily able to fire the pitches past him at an incredible speed. I don't think this is legal in baseball terms, but in dreams, anything goes.

OK, dream interpreters, fire away. What does it all mean?

R.I.P.

Actor Paul Gleason died. For me, he was one of the best movie villains of my generation, the principal from the Breakfast Club.

Thank you, Paul Gleason, for these memorable quotes:

"You're not fooling anyone Bender. The next screw that falls out will be you."

"Don't mess with the bull, young man. You'll get the horns."

"What if your home... what if your family... what if your dope was on fire?"

"The next time I have to come in here I'm crackin' skulls."

Sacrifice

Good morning and Happy Memorial Day to all.

Let it be known that I am working today in my continuing effort to extend the length of my "paternity leave". I'd rather be changing a poopy diaper in October, than chilling out at some barbeque in May. Plus, we barbequed last night. I'd like to give a shout-out to acid reflux.

Dysfunctional Chewing

OK. I've been chewing food now for well over 34 years. How is it possible that I bit my cheek while trying to enjoy a hot turkey sandwich. True, I was excited about the meal. I may have been moving more quickly with the fork than usual, but not to the point of recklessness. And even though I may have been guilty of "shoveling", I chewed the food at my normal pace.

Do I really need to concentrate when I'm chewing? I thought chewing was something instinctual, like blinking or swallowing. I don't have to concentrate on blinking, unless I'm in captivity and sending covert morse code signals to my rescuers. I don't have to concentrate on swallowing, unless it's a Centrum because they're big and they smell (Advil, however, is freaking delicious.)

I guess there's never a good time to bite your cheek, but I'd much rather it happen on a Monday or Tuesday. Now, I'll have to deal with this mouth injury all weekend. Oh well, TGIF anyway. Be aware of your chewing this weekend. Don't make the same mistake I did.

Potpourri

Idol Finale
So, Taylor won. Good for him. I hope the "first single" they wrote for him isn't indicative of what kind of music he'll do. It sounded like it was intended for Michael Bolton. They need to write stuff more suitable for Joe Cocker. Here is some free Taylor Hicks music where you can find some things he wrote himself.

Long, Cold Summer
The Cubs are officially done. Stick a fork in them. We took a family field trip to "Dolphins Stadium" on Tuesday night to see it for ourselves. I came back with a positive, visual ID. Whatever final gasp of air left in this team was just sucked out when they were beaten 3 straight by the Marlins, a team made-up almost entirely of rookies. Baseball season is over for me. I guess I'll just concentrate on nesting.

Pregnancy Update
As of Wednesday, Mrs. U is 19 weeks. Our due date was moved up one day to October 18, probably because of my son's massive brain. The boy is kicking a lot. He responds to music and sugary foods, just like his dad.

Nursery Theme Decision

Mrs. Undaground and I have discussed it, and we've decided on a nursery theme for Baby Wattsizname.

This was not an easy decision. There was definitely some back-and-forth involved with the whole process. Here's how the conversation went:



I am Dad.
I am Dad.
Dad-I-am.

I do not like those nursery walls,
I do not like those themes at all.

Would you like them Mighty Mouse?
Would you like them Mickey Mouse?

I do not like the Classic Pooh.
I do not like Hot-Air Balloons.
I do not like the Jungle Scene.
I do not like the Lion King.
I do not like the Peter Pan.
I do not like them, Dad-I-am.

Could we paint some baseball jocks?
Could we paint some boats and docks?

Not baseball jocks.
Not boats and docks.
Not Mighty Mouse.
Not Mickey Mouse.
I would not paint them Classic Pooh.
I would not paint Hot-Air Ballooons.
I would not paint them Peter Pan.
I do not like them, Dad-I-am.

Would you? Could you?
Trucks and Cars?
Paint them! Paint them!
Here they are.

I would not,
could not,
Trucks and Cars.

You may like them. You will see.
You may like some bumble bees!

I would not, could not bumble bees.
Not Trucks and Cars! You let me be.

A train! A train!
A train! A train!
Could you, would you,
paint a train?

Not paint a train! Not bumble bees!
Not trucks and cars! Dad! Let me be!

Could you, would you, paint a zoo?
Would you, could you, paint it blue?

I could not, would not, paint a zoo.
I will not, will not, paint it blue.

I do not like that Dr. Seuss!
I do not like him. He's no use.

You do not like him.
So you say.
Try him! Try him!
And you may.
Try him and you may, I say.

Say!

I do so like that brilliant plan!
Thank you! Thank you, Dad-I-am!

First Images

Here are the first images of our boy. After the whole birth thing, I hope to take some better pictures than these. Honestly, I didn't take these. It was somebody else. The lighting was poor at best and, from a photography standpoint, the pictures left a little to be desired. Have you ever heard of composition, lady?

We have not yet decided on a name. I don't think it's something we're going to reveal until the birth, so we can keep one thing secret. Just for kicks, though, I'm going to try out some names while describing the photos below. We'll see if anything sticks. Oh well, here they are (You can click on the photos for larger images):



This is a nice profile of our little Nathan Jessup Undaground. Notice the hand up near his eyes. While it looks like he may be playing an early form of peek-a-boo, he's really saluting us as if he were in the military. I was watching a Few Good Men a few weekends ago, so I'm thinking that's where he got it from.

This is another profile of our son, Genus Edition Undaground. This is the first photo where you can start to get a feel for the size of his enormous brain. I'm very pleased about this. For years, I have traveled the globe, trying to find somebody to beat me at Trivial Pursuit, to no avail. Now, I have created a son who will someday be the one to end my streak.

This is what I see when I close my eyes at night and try to picture an alien. No offense to our son, L. Ron Undaground.

Mitch Gaylord Undaground is very active and agile. Here, he has completely flipped in the womb to give us a shot of his other side.

This picture really brings up the whole nature vs. nurture debate. I thought I was going to have to teach my son how to eat a sandwich while lying on the couch. Judging by the photo, Chip Undaground has already figured it out. Atta boy, son.

Undaground Announcement

I'm pleased to announce

The ultrasound results are in.

I'm proud to say,

There was no doubt about it.

Just as I had hoped,

It's a boy

Nurse: It's a boy Mrs. Walker it's a boy. It's a boy Mrs. Walker it's a boy.

Chorus: A son! A son! A son!

Ultrasound pictures coming Tuesday.

Five Thoughts for Friday

1. Ear Worm
Is it just me, or is this little ditty stuck in anyone else's head?:

Swimming, soccer, ballet, oboe, and last but not least: KAR-A-TAY-A...
Swimming, soccer, ballet, oboe, and one more time: KAR-A-TAY-A.

Makes me want to eat some doughnuts.

2. Boy or Girl?
Today's the day, hopefully. Come on kid, show Mommy and Daddy and the ultrasound technician your "special place". From this day forward, until your 18th birthday, you should always keep that private, unless it's bath time. But today, we need you to cooperate so we know what color to paint your room and we can stop calling you "it".

3. American Idol
I wouldn't say I'm officially a member of the "Soul Patrol". I haven't paid any membership dues or joined any mailing lists, but I am pulling for Taylor Hicks. Let's hear it for premature gray!!! I'm slowly morphing into more of a salt-and-pepper guy, myself.

4. Tivo Alert
Going Tribal is back for its second season. Tuesdays 10pm on the Discovery Channel. Do yourself a favor and watch it. Keep an eye out for reruns. It is quite possibly the finest show on television.

5. Number 5
I should have named this post "Four Thoughts for Friday". I would have still achieved the level of alliteration I was going for, and I could have avoided this drivel about not having an appropriate thought for the 5th thing on this list.

Pregnancy Update: Week 18

Mrs. Undaground is 18 weeks pregnant today. In two weeks, she'll be halfway there.

The baby's been moving a lot and she feels it at some point every day. I'm waiting for that moment where I can feel it, but not really looking forward to the times when complete strangers ask to feel my wife's belly. I've heard that those things happen. I hope they ask before they do it. If so, I can jump in and respond with a question of my own:

Example:
Q: "Can I feel your belly?"
A: "Can I use your bathroom?"

Here's some more information on week 18 from this website.

Our little one is nearly half a pound now and very human looking.

This is comforting. First of all, we're now speaking in terms of pounds and not ounces. Also, we are hoping for a human.

Meconium, the baby's first bowel movement, is accumulating within the bowel.

Because of this, I've been reading the newspaper to Mrs. Undaground's belly each day. I'm sticking with the sports section, just in case it's a boy. If it's a girl, she'll deny ever having a bowel movement.

If your baby is a boy, his prostate gland is beginning to develop.

Atta boy!

If you notice your belly making jerky movements in sync, don't panic; your baby may have the hiccups!

I have an uncanny ability to get rid of peoples' hiccups, but I've never tried it on a fetus.

If you're having an ultrasound to verify fetal age or for other reasons, your careprovider will probably schedule it between now and 20 weeks. It's often possible to determine your baby's sex at this stage, and you'll be able to tell arms from legs and all sorts of delightful details!

This is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon (Friday). We can't wait. We are hoping that the baby cooperates and we can find out the gender. If so, you'll read it here on Monday. Of course, if you're part of the phone tree or you personally know our ultrasound technician, you could find out before then.

Remembering Tom and Jerry

When I was just a young lad, back before the days of answering machines and microwave ovens, I enjoyed coming home from school and watching a television program called "Tom and Jerry". Maybe you've heard of it. It was a show about a cat and a mouse. It was great fun to watch these two natural enemies navigate their way through their cartoon world.

Sometimes I related to Jerry. The poor, little rodent was just trying to make a better life for himself, but he had to constantly dodge an angry, hungry feline who was out for blood.

Most of the time, I identified with Tom. On the surface, Tom was a simple cat. He enjoyed blues music, female cats with long eyelashes, and fresh-baked pie. Unfortunately for him, his owner had a pest problem and apparently didn't have the money to hire a trapper.

Deep down, Tom was as complicated as you and me. He had complex feelings and often struggled with ethical decisions. In animated form, these decisions manifested themselves as a little angel standing on one shoulder and a little devil on the other.

Often, when I am trying to figure out how to respond appropriately to a situation, I think of Tom and try to recognize what my little angel is saying versus what my little devil is saying. It's good to take the time to weigh your response before you say something you regret.

I'm not sure what made me think of Tom and Jerry. I don't really like cats. I'm allergic to them and they have a tendency to vomit on your couch whenever they feel like it. I also think all mice should be fed to snakes.

As for "Tom and Jerry" the television show: eventually, the show morphed into a piece of crap. Jerry began wearing a bowtie, Tom lost his ability to frown or get angry, and the two of them were suddenly best pals. It might be one of the worst cases of jumping the shark ever in television history. Whoever made the decision to take the show in that direction was obviously listening to the little idiot standing on one of his shoulders.

Cha-Ching

Happy belated Mother's Day to all mothers and mothers-to-be out there. We "celebrated" by taking our first family trip to Babies R Us. It was very sobering.

First, since I'm a big fan of gadgetry, we checked out the baby monitors. I like the video monitor, but it does cost a little extra. It would be nice to have the video thing. What if the kid decided to smile or clap his/her hands for the first time with no humans present to witness it? A video monitor would make sure we didn't miss it. Cha-Ching.

We then walked through the maze of car seats. These are very nice. Turns out we'll be able to start out with an infant car seat with a base for each car, then switch to two of the bigger car seats that don't come with individual bases. Cha-ching, cha-ching, cha-ching.

We'll need a stroller for festivals and parks, and a smaller stroller to travel with; possibly a third stroller if I ever want to take up jogging. Cha-ching, cha-ching, cha-ching.

The high chairs are cool. Mrs. Undaground and I like the Eddie Bauer model. Why not live it up a little for that first mashed potato experience? If you're going to smear food all over a piece of furniture, why not go top-of-the-line? Cha-ching.

One of the things we're looking forward to is decorating and furnishing the nursery. If I were a little more metro-sexual, I may have chosen a career as an interior decorator. Crib, changing table, dresser. Cha-ching, cha-ching, cha-ching. What's that Mom-to-be? You like the wall unit with the hutch? All of those pregnancy books tell me I should agree with everything you say for a few more months so you don't get stressed out, so I say "Let's go for it." Cha-ching.

Mrs. Undaground informed me that crib mattresses are sold separately. Cha-ching.

We definitely need a glider-rocker. Oooh, this one is comfortable. I could live with this thing. Let's just check out the tag. Wow! $600? Ottoman sold separately for $250? Who buys a chair without an ottoman? Wait, here's one for $150 for the whole set. Let's sit on this one. Feels like concrete. Cha-ching, cha-ching.

Ouch. I might have to dust off my waiter shoes and pick up a few weekend shifts at a local eatery so our baby can be rocked in a suitable chair. It turns out, babies are expensive. I had no idea. I can't even bring myself to write about the research we've been doing on the cost of daycare. It's too depressing. On the bright side, Mrs. Undaground is now actively encouraging me in my quest to win the World Series of Poker.

Whatever happened to the old days? I'm not talking about the 70's'; I'm talking about the covered wagon days. All a baby needed then was a blanket and a boob, and all was well. I guess there was a greater risk of being carried off by a coyote, so video monitors could have been helpful, but that's about it.

No wonder I washed my parents' cars and mowed the lawn when I was a kid. I owed them. I've already got a to-do list for this unborn child that I'll present to him/her on their 11th or 12th birthday. I'm thinking that by the time the baby's a toddler, I can teach him/her how to perform simple tasks like retrieving the remote control or brushing the dog. Until then, we'll just have to deal with a freeloader for a couple of years.

Survivor Finale

Blah. Disappointing. Actually, the last several weeks were kind of lame to watch.

To all future Survivor contestants: Even though you think this show is about winning a million dollars, it's not. It's about making good TV.

If you've been chosen for Survivor, you probably want to give up your old career and be a reality television star. Look at Boston Rob or others who've made "Good TV" on Survivor. They're still finding their way onto television screens, stretching out their fifteen minutes of fame beyond their Survivor experience.

If you ever make it on the show, keep this in mind. Alliances are boring until somebody flips. Giving somebody your "word" is only entertaining if you then go back on your word and stab them in the back. I'm not talking about real life; I'm talking about a television show.

Winning a million dollars should be your second priority; making a good TV show should be your first. Nobody ever remembers the winners as much as they remember those who strived to make memorable reality tv moments.

I'll watch the next season, no doubt, but I won't be happy about it unless somebody entertains me.

Undaground Cinema

As you've probably already read, my sister-in-law was in town last weekend. One of the activities we shared was a viewing of "Almost Famous". She had not seen it, and it is one of my favorite movies. I was inspired to make a list of the Undaground's top 25 movies not named Godfather I or II (those are givens).

All of the movies listed below stand the test of time with me. If I stumble upon them on cable or pop the movie in the DVD player, I can stay interested no matter how many times I've seen it. Some of these are wildly popular. Some are cult favorites. You've probably seen most of them. If not, I encourage you to go get them. They are listed alphabetically.

Almost Famous
One of two Cameron Crowe movies on this list. This is a semi-autobiographical account of his own teenage years. He uses music in his movies as well as anyone. I love this movie.

American Movie
The only documentary on this list. This was made just before reality TV became a reality. Go rent it. Unintentional comedy is hilarious.

Ben Hur
The oldest movie on my list. The chariot scene is a miracle considering when this movie was made. If you haven't seen it, carve out a couple of Saturday mornings and watch it one hour at a time. It's quite long.

Best in Show
I like all of the improv movies made by the original Spinal Tap crew. This, however, is the best of the bunch.

The Blues Brothers
The only musical on this list. It's a shame that they even tried to make a sequel, which I promise I will never, ever, ever watch unless John Belushi comes back from the dead and watches it with me.

Big
Forget Forrest Gump, Saving Private Ryan, Philadelphia, Apollo 13 or any of Tom Hanks' other critically acclaimed movies. They are all great films, but this is his finest acting performance, hands down.

Bull Durham
I like baseball movies. I loved Field of Dreams, Bad News Bears, Eight Men Out, but Bull Durham stands above the rest as the best baseball movie ever made.

Caddyshack
I defy you to play a round of golf and not hear someone in your foursome quote this American Classic.

Garden State
This was made very recently, but I think it will still be on my list a decade from now.

Goodfellas
I almost left this off the list because Henry Hill is a rat. Every time I watch it, I dislike him more. I wish they would make a movie from somebody else's point of view. I guess it's a cautionary tale about choosing friends wisely.

The Graduate
This is another classic made before I was born. If you like "The Graduate", then rent "The Pallbearer" starring David Schwimmer.

Groundhog Day
Rarely does a story come along that hasn't been told before. This is one of those stories.

Groundhog Day
Rarely does a story come along that hasn't been told before. This is one of those stories.

Groundhog Day
Rarely does a story come along that hasn't been told before. This is one of those stories.

The Karate Kid
I don't care if this is thought of as more of an 80's punchline than a great movie. This movie had a profound effect on me as a youth. Ask my mother, who had to pay for Karate lessons, or the poor Asian man down the street, whose fence I painted without his permission.

Meet the Parents
Great comedy. Skip "Meet the Fockers", because it's the exact same movie.

Napoleon Dynamite
If you didn't get it or don't like it, watch it 10 or 12 more times and it will get better each time.

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
Jack Nicholson's best movie, if you ask me.

The Right Stuff
This is another extremely long movie, but worth your time. It's educational, too.

Rudy
Every time Rudy sacks the quarterback, a tear rolls down my cheek.

Say Anything
Another Cameron Crowe movie. John Cusack is an 80's icon. This is more of a dramady than a comedy. See Better off Dead if you want wacky Cusack comedy.
Shawshank Redemption
Unbelievable storytelling.

Sixth Sense
I knew that there was a surprise ending, and I didn't guess what it was. It all seems so obvious now.

Stand By Me
This is another one of those movies of my youth that I watched over and over again. Just like Shawshank Redemption, this was based on a Stephen King short story.

Swingers
Probably my favorite movie not named Godfather. It's the guy-equivalent of a chick-flick. If you haven't seen it, indulge yourself.

Top Gun
That's right. I said it. The bald guy who plays the screaming officer on the aircraft carrier is my favorite character actor of all time. "I gotta send two of you bozos to Miramar!!!"

The Usual Suspects
Another surprise ending. Cool movie from top to bottom.

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Do you love any of these movies? Hate them? What did I miss?

Pregnancy Update: Week 17

Mrs. Undaground is 17 weeks pregnant today. Next Friday, we hope to find out the gender. I've consulted a couple of baby websites for this vital information, that you can see below in green.

This is a period of rapid growth as the fat begins to form underneath the baby's skin.

If the child takes after his/her father, this fat will be undetectable until sometime after the 23rd birthday. It's all downhill from there, though you can generally lose some of that fat by consistently travelling uphill.

The reflexes are probably in place now as the baby sucks, swallows and blinks.

Our baby doesn't suck. Knock it off. Your website sucks. There, how do you like it?

Have you felt any fluttering in your uterus? You may be feeling your baby move any time now if you haven't already!

Yes!!! Mrs. Undaground called me yesterday at work to tell me she felt the baby move for the first time. She said that, at first, she thought it was just gas. I happen to know that my wife doesn't get gas. (There was that one incident about three years ago, but we agreed never to speak of it again.)

Anyway, for the record, the first movement was felt at 16 weeks, 6 days. To celebrate, I enjoyed a beer and Mrs. Undaground had some vodka. Not really.

Your baby is approximately 5 inches long and weighs in at about 140-145 grams (5 ounces). This means that the baby now weighs more than the placenta.

This also means our baby weighs about the same as a regulation baseball. The same baseball that will be placed in the left hand of my first-born son just minutes after his birth. The world needs more left handed pitchers. Daddy needs a new house in 20 years. Go, boy, and make millions with that golden arm.

If you were to get an abdominal x-ray, your baby's skeleton would be visible. His/her movements become stronger and more frequent now. Reflex movements are fully functional as baby will regularly suck and swallow and loud noises outside the uterus may actually cause the baby to startle.

Guess I should stop hiding behind doors and jumping out to scare Mrs. Undaground. I might scare the baby.

Common Courtesy

Even though I generally dislike people, I honestly try to do my part to make the world a better place.

Yesterday, as the traffic light I was sitting at turned green, I stopped and let some guy pull out into the lane in front of me. I often do this as a sort of traffic karma gesture. I figure if a guy from Jersey lets people in, others will feed off of that positive energy and do what they can to make my commute more enjoyable in return.

Normally, when I give someone a gift, I don't expect anything in return; I get enough joy out of giving. However, when I give someone a gift in traffic, I expect a hand wave. I admit that I don't really benefit all that greatly from a hand wave, but it's nice to know that someone appreciates me and my car for the gesture.

In this case, the guy pulled out and didn't even look my way. Once he was in front of me, I decided to take the bull by the horns, and I gave him an exaggerated "you're welcome" wave, hoping he would catch it in his rear-view mirror. Still nothing.

I'm sorry to announce to the drivers of South Florida, that this self-absorbed jerk has now ruined it for all of you. For the rest of the work week, I will not be letting anyone into traffic. Find another sucker.

(Update: In moment of weakness, on the way into work this morning, I relented and let an old man pull in to traffic in front of me. He extended his hand in a wave and kept it out his window the entire time he negotiated his turn. My faith in the human race has been temporarily restored.

Thanks old man. I'll probably see you in the grocery store, when you run your cart into the back of my legs in the checkout line.)

Mid-morning crisis

How did I get to this point? It's 1130am on a Saturday, I'm sitting in a crowded room, picking fragments of half-chewed cookie from my face and my shirt. I look down at the shirt, and on it is a familiar cartoon character from the 70's. The rest of the people at my table are belly-laughing. The sight of other people laughing is enough to make me laugh. Have I been transported back to my days as a toddler? Am I in a high chair, eating my first baked treat? I guess for me to understand why I'm in this predicament, I'll have to retrace my steps and start at the beginning.

One of the things I enjoy doing is going out to breakfast on Saturday mornings. It's something I've always looked forward to, and something I'd like to continue doing for many years to come; even into my golden years.

As I inch closer to my 35th birthday, I understand that it's a milestone of sorts. First of all, in three weeks, I'll be legally able to run for president. I don't plan on throwing my hat in the ring, but it's nice to know I'll have that option. At 35, I'll also become a father for the first time. Those are two huge positives. There are, however, some negative feelings for me considering I'll be closer to 40 than 30. I don't have the money to go out and buy a corvette, but I heard that helps. In the meantime, I can only go by the mantra that you're only as old as you feel, and try to live that way.

I felt nice and young this past Saturday. My wife's sister and a friend were visiting to attend some concerts at Sunfest. They have both just completed their first year at college and, all weekend long, I was reminded what it felt like to be a college student, when concerts and Saturday morning breakfasts in a strange town were the norm. As I pulled on my Speed Racer retro t-shirt and a baseball cap and looked forward to a western omelette and another concert late in the day, I felt like a college student again, if only for a short time.

Saturday breakfasts in South Florida can be tricky. Sometimes, we have to deal with long waits. Other times, the service is less than adequate. Every time, we have to dodge elderly folks as they wander aimlessly in and out of our personal space with no regard for anybody too young to remember the Depression.

We were seated relatively quickly, and it was immediately clear that our waitress was having a bad day. She seemed slightly annoyed that we weren't ready to order the first time she asked. She gave us that look; that look that says "It's breakfast dummies... It's the same menu everywhere for breakfast. Eggs, pancakes, french toast... Why would you even need to look at the menu." In another life, I was a waiter at a country club and often had to work breakfast. I understood, so I didn't let it bother me that our server was less than cordial.

Feeling young and a little saucy, I took advantage of Mrs. Undaground's new willingness to order more stuff, since we're eating for three. In addition to the omelette, we enjoyed some potato pancakes.

Mmmmm.

Monday seemed so far away. Thirty-five seemed even more distant. Life is good, and so are carbohydrates.

The waitress dropped off our check a few minutes after the food came. We had all we needed, or at least we thought we did. She must have felt a pang of guilt for giving us a slight attitude, so as we finished up our breakfast, she returned to the table with a small plate. "I brought you girls some cookies from the bakery."

Oh, that was nice. I hope there's a cookie in there for the man at the table.

Sure enough, she continued, "And there's even one in there for (pause) Dad."

Gulp.

For one-tenth of a second, I asked myself, "How did she know that we were expecting? That's so sweet. "Dad" has a nice ring to it."

Then, in the time it took for my jaw to hit the paper menu in front of me, I realized the horror of what had just happened. The girls were giddy with laughter. Mrs. Undaground was trying to figure out whether she was "Mom" or another one of my daughters in this woman's twisted Bizarro-world fantasy.

I wanted to call the waitress back to pursue a line of questioning about her statement. What about my Speed Racer shirt? How old do you think I am? How old do you think she is, or her, or her? Why did you pause before you said "Dad"? Was it so you could look at me and confirm it? Did your parents have you when they were 13? Did you escape from a facility recently? Are you on any medication? What is an appropriate tip for someone who has just insulted you?

She didn't return to the table. I sat there for a moment, stunned. I watched the waitress as she stopped by a newly-seated table. What would she say to them? Hey ugly and uglier, can I take your order. She was no prize, herself. I'm not one to judge, but I was injured. People in glass houses shouldn't walk around naked (or throw stones, for that matter).

I lashed out like any young, impulsive person would. As my wife's sister bit into her cookie from across the table, I looked at all three of my dining companions and said "I can't believe I just got mistaken for middle-aged by someone who looks like they're from Middle Earth."

This struck my sister-in-law funny, and the cookie quickly became a comedy prop. She did a spit-take, that propelled cookie fragment across the table like shrapnel. I'm hit! I caught a piece of soggy shortcake in the forehead, one in the throat, and two more on my shoulder.

So there I was: humiliated, wearing a cartoon shirt, and topped with cookie crumbs like some kind of dumbass-sundae.

"You're only as old as you feel."

The day had barely started, and I had gone from feeling like a 34-year-old, to feeling like a college kid, to feeling like a 55-year-old father of three, to feeling like an overgrown toddler. I guess that's the thing about being in your mid-30's: Sometimes, you're not sure how to feel. Am I old? Am I young? Depends on who you ask.

For the record: That night, I partied like a rock star. Hey, if Mick Jagger can do it...

Pregnancy Update: 16 weeks (belated)

To anybody who's following along with the pregnancy updates, I must apologize that I didn't give an update late last week. No worries, here it is:

Thursday, our baby reached 16 weeks. The fetus is now emptying his/her bladder once every 40-45 minutes. I can relate, because whenever I'm out and drinking beer, I follow that same timeline (once I break the seal, of course).

The size is now about 4 inches long, weighing 3 ounces. That's the same weight as the adult pygmy marmoset, the world's smallest monkey. However, the pygmy marmoset still has a significant height advantage over our little fetus. Most of that is probably due to the monkey's long tail.

Although it would be a nice conversation piece, I'm hoping our child is born without a tail. I have no idea where we'd find an appropriate carseat.

People Watching

Wednesday night, as Kool and the Gang jammed their way through "Jungle Boogie", Mrs. Undaground asked me, "Do you see the guy playing air guitar."

"Of course, I've been fixated on him since the beginning of the song. You know, I like it when people think they're safe from public ridicule and they just let themselves go like that. When I see someone acting so carefree in public, I like to watch them and silently judge them the entire time. It makes me feel good."

Surprisingly, my wife, who's a much better person than me, agreed. "I do too. It's just people watching."

About 15 minutes later, I was grooving along to the band, and singing lyrics into Mrs. Undaground's ear.

"Try my best to do what's right.... Take it for a ride, everything's nice. Ooooooh Joanna."

I have no idea how I knew the words to these songs. They must have been burned into some remote area of my brain back in the day when I was a stupid kid who listened to a top 40 station. My feet were rhythmically shuffling back and forth, and my knees were bending along to the music. My hands may have been doing something expressive as well; I can't remember. Technically, I think I was doing what ancient civilations used to call "dancing".

It was at that moment when I realized that there might be some cynical jerk lurking in the area, watching me, and telling his wife to look at the Kool and the Gang groupie singing along. Whoever it was, I hope I made him feel good about himself.

Say No to Crack

My wife is just four months pregnant, and I can already see that I'm becoming more conservative and more protective of family values. I'm cursing up a storm these days, because I read that a fetus can hear sounds from the outside world at six months. To me, that means I have two months more to let the expletives fly before I invent some new words to use for emphasis or to express frustration. I've also begun taking a look at the world around me with a more critical eye. Even at this early state of parenthood, I've started to prepare myself mentally for when my child begins asking lots of questions about birds and bees and ass cracks.

In the late 70's and early 80's, our country was overrun by an epidemic frequently referred to as plumbers' crack. At the time, is was mostly portly gentlemen who happened to be handy with a wrench. The fashion industry has now come full-circle, and it seems that low rider jeans and pants are what the females are wearing. Apparently, belts are not required.

I see gratuitous butt crack almost every day. Whether it be at work, bars or restaurants, pixelated butt crack on MTV, or just about any other public place, it's everywhere. I'm not one to judge other people, but it's safe to say that very few of these exhibitionists are supermodels. Most have similar body types to the original plumbers in the 70's. Now that I'm bringing a child into this world, I feel like I need to let the world know that their butt crack is showing before I have to prematurely explain to my son or daughter that it's not OK to show strangers your ass.

But how do you let someone know? Next time I see someone's ass, should I just walk up and say, "Excuse me. I'm not quite sure how to tell you this, but your butt is showing?" I might get punched, or they might think I'm coming on to them.

I understand the need to keep up with today's fashion. I tried growing my hair like Ashton Kutcher, so I'm just as guilty as the next guy.

Here's a tip. Next time you sit down somewhere or bend down to grab something, put your hand on your lower back where your belt loop is. If you feel your butt crack, it's probably visible. Maybe try the buddy system. When you and a friend are out in public, do them a favor and check their crack, then they can check yours in return... for the kids.

Odds and Ends

American Idol
I made a prediction after they picked the 24 finalists that the final two boys would be Taylor and Chris and the final two girls would be Katherine and Paris. Unfortunately, I didn't put it on this blog; I just said it to my wife. Taylor is my favorite, but I don't know why I even bother because I'll never own a CD from any of them anyway. The problem is that the songs they sing on the show are a lot better than the crap that will be written for their album.

A Baby Story
Have you seen this show? It's on TLC and Mrs. Undaground has started to Tivo it each day. It's safe to say that, based on this show, she's going with the epidoral. We've seen three or four women on there who said "I'm going natural. No drugs whatsoever." Then, they show them screaming during labor. Next, they cut to commercial (usually for pull-up diapers or something). When they return from commercial, they show the expectant Mom lying in bed with a smile on her face. "I just caved in and got the epidoral. It's good. It's real good."

I promise to be as supportive a husband as I can be. But, make no mistake, I'm elated that men don't get pregnant. If that were the case, I'd grow old with a house full of cats.

Hockey
The season is over for the Philadelphia Flyers. They were beaten 7-1 last night. I've improved my own ability to deal with the hockey playoffs. Instead of suffering through the debacle, I flipped over to something else when it was 2-0, checked back when it was 3-0, then abandoned it and checked the internet in the morning. This marks the umpteenth time in my life that the Flyers have been preseason Stanley Cup favorites and have failed to win it. I can't complain after WVU and the Steelers years, but it's painful nonetheless.

Tonight
Do you know the answer to this question:

How you gonna do it if you really don't wanna dance?

(Answer: By standin on the wall)

Mrs. U and I are going to see Kool and the Gang tonight as part of West Palm Beach's Sunfest.

Get your back up off the wall.

Fetal Heart Rate

Mrs. Undaground got to hear the heartbeat again on Friday. 150 bpm. The child is obviously taking after me because that's about where my heart rate is after a few minutes on the exercise bike.

Internet research shows that the whole fetal heart rate as a gender predictor thing is just an old wives tale. One site does say that a faster heart rate means there's a 5% greater chance that it's a girl. 150 bpm is about 10 bpm above the average, so there you have it. Vegas odds are set at 55/45 that it's a girl.

In 3 weeks, we'll both attend the ultrasound and know for sure, assuming the baby cooperates and gives us a look.

I've been telling everybody that I have no preference whatsoever. I'm not saying this to be politically correct. I mean it. I can find so many great things about having a boy and having a girl. I'll take either. Mrs. Undaground, on the other hand, has a preference. I won't say what it is, because I don't want our son to read this some day and get mad at his Mom because she wanted a girl.