Chubby Puppy

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

Whoa.

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

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

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

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

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

Birthday Post-Mortem

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Undaground, out.

It was a very good year.

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

This is what Frank Sinatra crooned about being 35:

When I was thirty-five

It was a very good year

It was a very good year for blue-blooded girls

Of independent means

We'd ride in limousines

Their chauffeurs would drive

When I was thirty-five

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

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

Last year's birthday post

This has to be it, right?

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

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

Now, there's more evidence that supports that.

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

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

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

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

Wondermutt

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

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

Drive-thru on the Horizon

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

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

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

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

Good Morning

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

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

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

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

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

Lunch Lady

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Insane Little Piggies

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For example:

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

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

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

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

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

Guest Column from THE UNDAGROUND MOM

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

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

Take it away, Undaground Mom:

It’s the little things in life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weekend in Review

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

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

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

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

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

Very interesting.

Foiled Again

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

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

Live and learn.

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

Baby Talk

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

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

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

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

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

Father of the Year

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

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

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

The Landlord

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

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

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

The Undaground Update

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

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

Stay tuned!

Touche!

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

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

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

"No. Did you say that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"BUSTED!"

Busted? Geez. What to do now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nope. One."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Touche.

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

Head Shrink

Yesterday, as my family and I drove back home from our Easter weekend roadtrip, I noticed all the cars in my line shifting to go around somebody. As I approached the car that was slowing the flow of traffic, I noticed they had their hazard lights on. What’s the hazard, here? Were they hauling some sort of load? Were they driving on a flat tire? The speed limit is 70 in these parts, and this car was going no faster than 45.

Naturally, as I passed them on the left, I looked over to see what the “hazard” was.

Aha!

It was suddenly very clear to me.

Sitting in the driver’s seat of this slow-moving vehicle was a woman with a tiny, little head. She seemed to be average sized everywhere else, but her head was unnaturally small. I actually slowed my own car down a little bit just to try to study as much of the scene as I could.

“Honey, do you see this?” My wife looked up from her job of entertaining the baby in the backseat.

“Yep. She’s driving pretty slow.”

“I mean her head. Do you see her head?” Before I could get the question out, we had passed the pea-headed woman and her hazardous car. Dammit.

“I missed it,” my wife answered.

“Let me tell you why her hazards were on… She has a tiny head!”

“So does that mean she’s a danger to other drivers?” A good question from my wife.

“I don’t know. I would assume that a smaller head means a smaller brain. Do you think she put the hazard lights on by mistake? Maybe she has poor peripheral vision. You'd think it would be the other way around.”

My wife was done with our conversation, and was back to cooing at the baby. So I was left to consider this situation as I kept my hands at ten and two and found a nice spot in the center lane to settle in for awhile and think.

What's with the head? I also noticed that the tiny-headed woman with the hazard lights on was wearing huge, hoop earrings. What’s the point of that? Is that the same kind of thing as a bald man growing a thick beard? I wished I could have five minutes with this woman to ask her some more questions.

“Why are your hazard lights on?”

“Why were you driving so slow?”

“Can I teach you how to use cruise control? I can write down instructions if it’s too much information for you to store in that head.”

“Do you have to shop for hats in the children’s section?”

“Are those earrings really huge, or do they just look bigger dangling from your tiny ears?”

“Does every pillow feel like a super-sized enormous pillow to you? Is that awesome.”

“When you put on a t-shirt, do you ever accidentally slip your head through the armhole?”

If you have a tiny head, and I’ve offended you, I apologize. But while you’re here, maybe you could answer some of these questions.

Yes!

The Sanjaya train is a'rollin. Are you onboard? It's not too late.

I've just been informed this morning via electronic mail, that the Undaground Mom is officially part of the Sanjaya bandwagon. Mrs. Undaground is still resistant, but the baby and I are working on her.

Odds and Ends

Gators Again
Another day, another major national championship for my wife's gators. Congratulations Gators. Alligators are green, and so is envy.

In other college basketball news, it seems our coach (WVU's) is headed to Michigan. Thanks Coach Beilien for some very exciting years. Let's hope this is an opportunity for WVU to get the right guy in to take it to the next level (ahem.... Bob Huggins).

Opening Day
I took the day off Monday for opening day; a tradition I plan to continue every year with my son. I told Mrs. U about this yesterday and she's a little worried that I'll be pulling him out of school every year to watch a baseball game. My point is.... what will he remember when he's old and gray and looking back on his life? Will he remember a math test, or will he remember watching the Cubs lose with his Dad?

He's just 6 months old (as of Sunday), and already we have so much in common. After the Cubs loss, we both showed our displeasure by spitting up on our jerseys.

TV Tonight
If you're the voting kind, remember to vote for Sanjaya tonight on American Idol. Last Tuesday, as I left work, I reminded my coworkers "Vote for Sanjaya!". I'm convinced there is not one single phrase I could have shouted that would have offended more people at one time. Wow. People are very emotional about this and really want him gone.