Saturday was my brother's birthday. I didn't remember until late in the day. The last time he was at a family event was Christmas, 1989. Tyler was just over a year old. In a few months, Tyler will be 27.
Even though Jeff and I weren't biologically related, we had a special "adopted" relationship. Sure we went through a time when we hated each other. I called him an idiot (or something equally derisive) and he kicked in glass-paned door in our basement. I still have the scar acquired when we were cleaning out the broken glass from the frame. He broke his hand when he hit me on the hip bone in the swimming pool. Who would have guessed that those scars would be minor compared to the ones to come later.
We grew closer in high school and college. He gave me away at my wedding (Dad was officiating). After Kate arrived, Jeff took great pride in being an uncle. He was great with her and she loved him.
Then, in what seemed like a blink of an eye, things changed. He was practicing law in a small community north of KC and one day this girl showed up and moved in with him. Apparently they met in law school and had been dating, but we were none the wiser.
I'm not going to get into all the gory details (and there are some lulus, believe you me!), but eventually she gave him an ultimatum...it was either us or her.
I know there are many of my friends who've had estrangements in their family and I know firsthand how difficult and painful it can be. My mom and I used to spend hours and hours - seriously, ask Ron - dissecting the events that lead to the separation, trying to analyze what went wrong. We never figured it out and, over time, realized that we never would. We haven't talked about it in years.
Tyler has never known Jeff. Kate has fond childhood memories, but nothing past the age of six.
I've reached out to him numerous times, imploring him to come see my parents, especially in light of my dad's failing health. I've gotten no response.
He does keep in touch with my parents occasionally. Father's Day, Mother's Day, birthdays. It kills me to think that they might not get to see him again before they're gone.
But me? Nothing. Apparently he has "issues" with me. Now, I could understand if we'd had an ongoing relationship during which I could have given him plenty to find issue with. But, really? I don't know what I've done. And I'm done trying to figure it out.
I once sought the counsel of a pastor when I was having a particularly rough time dealing with this. I think it was shortly after I learned that Jeff had become a father (a niece I've never met). This wise man listened to me and said, "Janet, you can only clean up your side of the street. The other side is his responsibility."
Oh, the freedom those words brought. I knew I had done everything I could to mend the relationship. But Jeff hadn't/hasn't reciprocated. I think it's his loss. And mine, too. I miss my brother.
But...after all these years...so many important milestones come and gone without the benefit of familial celebration. So much life lived. I'm not sure how it would go. I'm not sure if I want it to "go."
If any of you reading this live in Jefferson City and see him and want to smack him upside the head, you have my blessing.
And tell him to go see his parents.
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
Tuesday, June 23, 2015
water under/over/all around the bridge
Well, I'm kind of hooked on that CNN series "The Seventies." I was also hooked on Vh1's "I Love the 70's" (and all the other decades they produced). I credit my shocking success at Trivia Crack to the watching of shows like this....lots of random stuff that really doesn't matter, but continues to clog up my brain to the point where I can't remember where I put my pj's.
Last night's episode on CNN covered the Watergate scandal. I was barely a teenager when the break-in occurred, and I'm sure it took some time for it to get onto my head-in-the-clouds-dreaming-of-Donny-Osmond radar, but I'll not forget the summer of the Watergate hearings.
I was soon to be a freshman in high school and I'd gotten my first real job. An 8-5/five day a week babysitting job. Today they'd call that being a nanny. Back then it was more like being a prison warden. I got the princely sum of $20 A WEEK. I thought I was rich. I opened a checking account in which to stash my hundreds and settled in for what turned into a very long three months.
I remember three things about that summer.
1. We had Chef Boyardee canned ravioli every damned day. It was the only thing in the house the kids would eat.
2. I tried to teach myself to play "Saturday in the Park" on the piano (my employer was our church choir director and may have also taught piano?)
3. The Watergate hearings were the only thing on TV.
Remember, we only had about five channels (ABC, CBS, NBC, PBS and some crazy station from St. Louis that showed Bowery Boys movies on Saturdays and Wrestling at the Chase).
It was torture. I just wanted to watch "Young and the Restless," "As the World Turns," and "Guiding Light." I wasn't really all that mesmerized by the hearings...but I watched and half listened. I became familiar with all the key players' names...Erlichman, Haldeman, Dean, Rayborn, Ellsberg, Mitchell.
Last night, I relived those moments. It was quite, well, scandalous. I had no idea that John Dean was in his early thirties when all this went down. And he's kind of the one who broke rank and started talking, even though it was clear that he was a huge part of the snaking obstruction of justice train.
It must have been quite the spectacle as first Agnew resigns, then Nixon's two top aides resign and then there was this crazy snowball of firings of the special prosecutor Cox and the resignations of the Attorney General and the Deputy Attorney General...when I Googled it make sure I got the stats right, it was referred to as the "Saturday Night Massacre."
Less than a year later, Nixon would resign. I felt myself getting emotional watching his political career tank, because for all his alleged paranoia and proven illicit political maneuverings, I think Nixon was a fairly decent president (don't tell my dad I said that...although he'd probably agree). At least in the area of foreign affairs.
As he climbed aboard the helicopter that would escort him out of Washington, DC for the last time, he flashed that infamous double "V" sign and smiled from ear to ear. He had to have been completely devastated. But there he was, smiling and waving from the window of the helicopter.
My last views on the 70's ( at least for this week)...there was a lot - and I mean A LOT - of bad hair and fashion. And a political scandal that would not be challenged in its fervor until a young girl in a blue dress started talking.
Last night's episode on CNN covered the Watergate scandal. I was barely a teenager when the break-in occurred, and I'm sure it took some time for it to get onto my head-in-the-clouds-dreaming-of-Donny-Osmond radar, but I'll not forget the summer of the Watergate hearings.
I was soon to be a freshman in high school and I'd gotten my first real job. An 8-5/five day a week babysitting job. Today they'd call that being a nanny. Back then it was more like being a prison warden. I got the princely sum of $20 A WEEK. I thought I was rich. I opened a checking account in which to stash my hundreds and settled in for what turned into a very long three months.
I remember three things about that summer.
1. We had Chef Boyardee canned ravioli every damned day. It was the only thing in the house the kids would eat.
2. I tried to teach myself to play "Saturday in the Park" on the piano (my employer was our church choir director and may have also taught piano?)
3. The Watergate hearings were the only thing on TV.
Remember, we only had about five channels (ABC, CBS, NBC, PBS and some crazy station from St. Louis that showed Bowery Boys movies on Saturdays and Wrestling at the Chase).
It was torture. I just wanted to watch "Young and the Restless," "As the World Turns," and "Guiding Light." I wasn't really all that mesmerized by the hearings...but I watched and half listened. I became familiar with all the key players' names...Erlichman, Haldeman, Dean, Rayborn, Ellsberg, Mitchell.
Last night, I relived those moments. It was quite, well, scandalous. I had no idea that John Dean was in his early thirties when all this went down. And he's kind of the one who broke rank and started talking, even though it was clear that he was a huge part of the snaking obstruction of justice train.
It must have been quite the spectacle as first Agnew resigns, then Nixon's two top aides resign and then there was this crazy snowball of firings of the special prosecutor Cox and the resignations of the Attorney General and the Deputy Attorney General...when I Googled it make sure I got the stats right, it was referred to as the "Saturday Night Massacre."
Less than a year later, Nixon would resign. I felt myself getting emotional watching his political career tank, because for all his alleged paranoia and proven illicit political maneuverings, I think Nixon was a fairly decent president (don't tell my dad I said that...although he'd probably agree). At least in the area of foreign affairs.
As he climbed aboard the helicopter that would escort him out of Washington, DC for the last time, he flashed that infamous double "V" sign and smiled from ear to ear. He had to have been completely devastated. But there he was, smiling and waving from the window of the helicopter.
My last views on the 70's ( at least for this week)...there was a lot - and I mean A LOT - of bad hair and fashion. And a political scandal that would not be challenged in its fervor until a young girl in a blue dress started talking.
Monday, June 15, 2015
because MY inquiring mind HAS to know
Kate and I were lounging around yesterday afternoon and I asked her a question about the definition of "gender queer." It seems like there is an unending wave of new terms and classifications about a lot of stuff, so I thought I'd go to a reliable source for some edification.
After trying to explain it to to me, she said, "Just Google it." So I did.
And I had to laugh. Because my previous search had been for a biblical reference. The dichotomy of the two pretty much sums up my world view these days.
So, just for grins, I thought I'd take you through a day of my search engine history. I think you might find it enjoyable. Or extremely puzzling. Scary. Worthy of institutionalization.
Jeremiah 29:11 - One of Tyler's favorite teachers just found out a few weeks ago that her toddler (named Tyler, after my Tyler) has leukemia. It's been a whirlwind of hospital stays, prods and pokes, drugs, financial upheaval, etc. I wanted to share my favorite Bible verse of all time, Jeremiah 29:11, but I always get nervous that I'm going to cite the wrong chapter, so I always look it up. I should know it by now. It's part of my email signature. It's graffiti-ed on the wall behind my desk. But, still, I check.
Gender Queer - See opening paragraph. I found out a lot of information, much of it as confusing as the term itself. I read terms like gender binary and cisnormativity and non-binary...say what? If you really want to know...it's not strongly identifying with either male nor female. I likened it to "having your cake and eat it, too" to which I think Kate took exception. One of the characteristics listed was "being bigender [which I pronounced as 'big ender'!], trigender, or pangender."
So confusing.
Ruby Rose - Following up on the aforementioned, Kate showed me a video of this person, a beautiful blonde, transitioning (pretty much via soap and water and scissors) into a strikingly handsome, heavily tattooed young man. She's a new character on the new season of Orange is the New Black. Great series, but you gotta have some room in your brain to process the many facets of life in a female prison. I don't know how Martha Stewart did it without breaking down just a little. Maybe she did. But we'll never know because she's, well, Martha Stewart.
Serial - Every time Kate and I have some time to kill we eventually end up talking about NPR's breakout podcast "Serial." If you haven't listened to it, it's worth your time. Synopsis: In 1999, a female high school student was murdered in Baltimore and her former boyfriend was convicted and sentenced to life plus thirty years for the crime. Despite the fact that there was no forensic evidence linking him to the murder presented during the trial. Only the testimony of one witness who has changed his story at least seven times. A new hearing is scheduled to determine whether or not the case will be reopened to allow testimony from a witness who can verify his alibi; she was never contacted by the defense team in the first trial.
TCM - I love my classic movie channel! I check it several times a week to see what's going to be on. There's nothing like falling to sleep to a classic like "Mr. Deeds Goes to Town" or "The Thin Man." They also have these great shorts between the feature films. Some of them are pretty funny and, oftentimes, very informative.
Dallas, Love American Style and Falcon Crest - Ron and I watched "The Seventies" on CNN last week. Kate alerted me to the series premier and, since that was the decade where I "came of age" I thought it might be good to watch. It was! The first episode was the groundbreaking era of television programming. Stuff like "All in the Family,"Mary Tyler Moore," "Carol Burnett," "Bob Newhart," "The Waltons," "Little House on the Prairie," "Happy Days," "M*A*S*H," "Saturday Night Live."
The reason I Googled those shows is because they weren't mentioned and I wanted to find out if they really aired in the 60's or 80's; they all ran in the 70's. I'm not sure why I thought it necessary to find out...except to prove to myself that I was right.
I used to sneak watch "Love American Style"... it was completely racy and all about the sexual revolution and infidelity and other hot stuff. I also sneak watched "Dark Shadows." It was completely stupid, with horrible acting and even worse sets. But I loved it anyway.
The series airs on Thursdays, if you're interested. This weeks' show is all about Nixon. Not so funny, but certainly a major story of the 70's.
So there you have it. A glimpse into the diversity/confusion that makes my world go 'round.
After trying to explain it to to me, she said, "Just Google it." So I did.
And I had to laugh. Because my previous search had been for a biblical reference. The dichotomy of the two pretty much sums up my world view these days.
So, just for grins, I thought I'd take you through a day of my search engine history. I think you might find it enjoyable. Or extremely puzzling. Scary. Worthy of institutionalization.
Jeremiah 29:11 - One of Tyler's favorite teachers just found out a few weeks ago that her toddler (named Tyler, after my Tyler) has leukemia. It's been a whirlwind of hospital stays, prods and pokes, drugs, financial upheaval, etc. I wanted to share my favorite Bible verse of all time, Jeremiah 29:11, but I always get nervous that I'm going to cite the wrong chapter, so I always look it up. I should know it by now. It's part of my email signature. It's graffiti-ed on the wall behind my desk. But, still, I check.
Gender Queer - See opening paragraph. I found out a lot of information, much of it as confusing as the term itself. I read terms like gender binary and cisnormativity and non-binary...say what? If you really want to know...it's not strongly identifying with either male nor female. I likened it to "having your cake and eat it, too" to which I think Kate took exception. One of the characteristics listed was "being bigender [which I pronounced as 'big ender'!], trigender, or pangender."
So confusing.
Ruby Rose - Following up on the aforementioned, Kate showed me a video of this person, a beautiful blonde, transitioning (pretty much via soap and water and scissors) into a strikingly handsome, heavily tattooed young man. She's a new character on the new season of Orange is the New Black. Great series, but you gotta have some room in your brain to process the many facets of life in a female prison. I don't know how Martha Stewart did it without breaking down just a little. Maybe she did. But we'll never know because she's, well, Martha Stewart.
Serial - Every time Kate and I have some time to kill we eventually end up talking about NPR's breakout podcast "Serial." If you haven't listened to it, it's worth your time. Synopsis: In 1999, a female high school student was murdered in Baltimore and her former boyfriend was convicted and sentenced to life plus thirty years for the crime. Despite the fact that there was no forensic evidence linking him to the murder presented during the trial. Only the testimony of one witness who has changed his story at least seven times. A new hearing is scheduled to determine whether or not the case will be reopened to allow testimony from a witness who can verify his alibi; she was never contacted by the defense team in the first trial.
TCM - I love my classic movie channel! I check it several times a week to see what's going to be on. There's nothing like falling to sleep to a classic like "Mr. Deeds Goes to Town" or "The Thin Man." They also have these great shorts between the feature films. Some of them are pretty funny and, oftentimes, very informative.
Dallas, Love American Style and Falcon Crest - Ron and I watched "The Seventies" on CNN last week. Kate alerted me to the series premier and, since that was the decade where I "came of age" I thought it might be good to watch. It was! The first episode was the groundbreaking era of television programming. Stuff like "All in the Family,"Mary Tyler Moore," "Carol Burnett," "Bob Newhart," "The Waltons," "Little House on the Prairie," "Happy Days," "M*A*S*H," "Saturday Night Live."
The reason I Googled those shows is because they weren't mentioned and I wanted to find out if they really aired in the 60's or 80's; they all ran in the 70's. I'm not sure why I thought it necessary to find out...except to prove to myself that I was right.
I used to sneak watch "Love American Style"... it was completely racy and all about the sexual revolution and infidelity and other hot stuff. I also sneak watched "Dark Shadows." It was completely stupid, with horrible acting and even worse sets. But I loved it anyway.
The series airs on Thursdays, if you're interested. This weeks' show is all about Nixon. Not so funny, but certainly a major story of the 70's.
So there you have it. A glimpse into the diversity/confusion that makes my world go 'round.
Friday, June 5, 2015
glasses in the freezer
Ron, much to my dismay, travels quite a bit for his job. I end up with waaaay too much time on my hands and really kind of go stir crazy after the first couple of days. (At this point, I'm sure many of you are thinking, "Well, she is retired, she could be doing something.) And you would be right. I'm still in the process of discovering where I'm being drawn (see earlier post). Until the light has dawned, I'll be here, counting the hours until my beloved returns to me. (In my defense, I have cleaned out every drawer, cabinet and nook and cranny in our home, which was very cathartic.)
The other day, before this most recent trip, Ron asked me if I felt safe here when he was gone. Our townhome is pretty much brand new, but the surrounding area is a teeny bit marginal. I said I felt safe, not to worry. I was fine.
Until the other day. It was the day of my boob squish appointment and the day I got caught in the typhoon (funny side note: just as I reached my car, which was parked in the second-to-last spot in the far corner of the lot, I had to turn into the rain. It was like someone dumped a HUGE bucket of water on my head. I'm pretty sure I squealed. I think walking a half block in driving rain should count as my bucket challenge for ALS this year.)
After I got home, I dried off, wrung out my clothes and snuggled into some sweats and a hoodie. When it was finally time to go to bed (when you're alone, the hours drag on foreverrrrrrr) I went into the closet and reached into the cubby with my pj's and they weren't there. Hmmm. That was odd. We have a couple of shoe cubbies in our closet and I always put my pjs in the same one. I pulled everything out -twice - and looked. No luck.
I looked in the laundry basket. I looked in the cabinet. I went into the bedroom to see if I had, atypically, peeled them off as soon as I got out of bed. Still no jammies.
I retraced my steps that morning. I took a shower, so I would have disrobed in the bathroom. Such a puzzlement.
It was then that the idea that someone had come into our home when I was at the boob squishers and made off with my pajamas. Because - and don't tell anyone - I've been known to purposely leave the back door unlocked so I can make a quick entrance in case of heavy rain (See? Completely necessary that day), or because my hands are generally full and it's a pain to fumble with the keys. Whatever. There's a six foot high fence surrounded by trees and a locked garage any intruder would have to master, but still...
I briefly thought about telephoning Ron to tell him I did NOT feel safe because my pajamas were missing so he could NEVER travel again. Then the real panic set in.
There was an episode, many years ago, on ER where Alan Alda starred as a preeminent physician in the early stages of Alzheimer's. He was telling a colleague of his that one of the first signs he noticed was that he couldn't find his glasses and he finally found them in the freezer.
What if my bleeping pajamas are in the freezer? I couldn't even bear to walk the fifty feet to the fridge to find out.
One last search of the cubby. Sure enough, one slot beneath my usual stashing hole, there they were, shoved way to the back so I couldn't see them. Usually my tennis shoes are in those two cubbies, but I tend to be a bit of a slob when Ron's gone so they were in the living room. That's a total lie. About the slob part. I find it amazing how clean (or tidy, there IS a difference) our home can be with very little effort.
Perhaps I should become a slob...it would at least give me something to do every day. Besides freaking out about misplaced jammies.
The other day, before this most recent trip, Ron asked me if I felt safe here when he was gone. Our townhome is pretty much brand new, but the surrounding area is a teeny bit marginal. I said I felt safe, not to worry. I was fine.
Until the other day. It was the day of my boob squish appointment and the day I got caught in the typhoon (funny side note: just as I reached my car, which was parked in the second-to-last spot in the far corner of the lot, I had to turn into the rain. It was like someone dumped a HUGE bucket of water on my head. I'm pretty sure I squealed. I think walking a half block in driving rain should count as my bucket challenge for ALS this year.)
After I got home, I dried off, wrung out my clothes and snuggled into some sweats and a hoodie. When it was finally time to go to bed (when you're alone, the hours drag on foreverrrrrrr) I went into the closet and reached into the cubby with my pj's and they weren't there. Hmmm. That was odd. We have a couple of shoe cubbies in our closet and I always put my pjs in the same one. I pulled everything out -twice - and looked. No luck.
I looked in the laundry basket. I looked in the cabinet. I went into the bedroom to see if I had, atypically, peeled them off as soon as I got out of bed. Still no jammies.
I retraced my steps that morning. I took a shower, so I would have disrobed in the bathroom. Such a puzzlement.
It was then that the idea that someone had come into our home when I was at the boob squishers and made off with my pajamas. Because - and don't tell anyone - I've been known to purposely leave the back door unlocked so I can make a quick entrance in case of heavy rain (See? Completely necessary that day), or because my hands are generally full and it's a pain to fumble with the keys. Whatever. There's a six foot high fence surrounded by trees and a locked garage any intruder would have to master, but still...
I briefly thought about telephoning Ron to tell him I did NOT feel safe because my pajamas were missing so he could NEVER travel again. Then the real panic set in.
There was an episode, many years ago, on ER where Alan Alda starred as a preeminent physician in the early stages of Alzheimer's. He was telling a colleague of his that one of the first signs he noticed was that he couldn't find his glasses and he finally found them in the freezer.
What if my bleeping pajamas are in the freezer? I couldn't even bear to walk the fifty feet to the fridge to find out.
One last search of the cubby. Sure enough, one slot beneath my usual stashing hole, there they were, shoved way to the back so I couldn't see them. Usually my tennis shoes are in those two cubbies, but I tend to be a bit of a slob when Ron's gone so they were in the living room. That's a total lie. About the slob part. I find it amazing how clean (or tidy, there IS a difference) our home can be with very little effort.
Perhaps I should become a slob...it would at least give me something to do every day. Besides freaking out about misplaced jammies.
Monday, June 1, 2015
did i really just hear that?
I continue to be amazed at things I'm hearing over the airwaves. One of the best sources of really crazy things that actually happen is "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me," one of my favorite NPR shows. I listen to it while I'm walking and more than once I've kind of doubled up laughing at the stupid things people do.
Wait, wait, now that I think of it, passing cars can't know that I'm doubled up in laughter and not in pain...and not once has anyone stopped to ask if I'm in distress. Where's the humanity? The Good Samaritan? Probably texting or blue-toothing.
But, I digress. If you're not familiar with "Wait, Wait" it's a game show format that has three panelists (usually comedians and journalists) and folks can call in and interact with them, answering current event-type questions. At times, Peter Sagal, the erudite host, asks the panelists questions; correct answers get points and at the end of the show the panelist with the most points wins absolutely nothing.
More often than not, one of the questions has to do with a research project. Today's research involved sex and rats. Apparently, male rats are more likely to engage in sexual activity with female rats that are wearing - and I am not making this up - sexy vests.
WHAT? So many questions spring to mind...
What kind of vest makes a rat look sexy? Does it have sequins? Does it have a push up bra with multiple cups for all the rat teats? Is there a Fredrick's of Sewers that produces and markets these sexy vests?
What are the researchers trying to prove? That rats are as superficial as humans? Can you imagine a researcher telling his/her parents - who have probably forked over a lot of dough to fund their education - that sexy vests on rats is their field of study?
Who is funding this research? No, wait, wait. I don't want to know.
Finally, who gives a rat's ass (!) if male rats are attracted to female rats in a bustier? Personally, the less I know about the mating habits of rats the better. I have my own mating habits that require my attention.
Seriously. There are far more serious situations in the world that need our best scientific minds.
Then there's these Burger King commercials where adult chickens are having a sex talk with their kids about where chicken fries come from. They have great tag lines...
"Don't forget the condiments" and "Don't ever double dribble."
I realize this makes me look like a 14-year old boy, but they make me laugh.
Finally, there's a series of commercials about Hannah and her Horse and I have no idea what it's hawking because at the end of the commercial the horse stars talking in this very British voice about something completely unrelated to the product, like how it's so much more difficult for him - the horse - to walk because he has four legs and has to mentally think about which leg goes first.
Some advertising firms are getting paid a lot of money to be quite inane. I could do that. And for a lot less money. And I just happen to have quite a bit of time on my hands.
As you can plainly see.
Wait, wait, now that I think of it, passing cars can't know that I'm doubled up in laughter and not in pain...and not once has anyone stopped to ask if I'm in distress. Where's the humanity? The Good Samaritan? Probably texting or blue-toothing.
But, I digress. If you're not familiar with "Wait, Wait" it's a game show format that has three panelists (usually comedians and journalists) and folks can call in and interact with them, answering current event-type questions. At times, Peter Sagal, the erudite host, asks the panelists questions; correct answers get points and at the end of the show the panelist with the most points wins absolutely nothing.
More often than not, one of the questions has to do with a research project. Today's research involved sex and rats. Apparently, male rats are more likely to engage in sexual activity with female rats that are wearing - and I am not making this up - sexy vests.
WHAT? So many questions spring to mind...
What kind of vest makes a rat look sexy? Does it have sequins? Does it have a push up bra with multiple cups for all the rat teats? Is there a Fredrick's of Sewers that produces and markets these sexy vests?
What are the researchers trying to prove? That rats are as superficial as humans? Can you imagine a researcher telling his/her parents - who have probably forked over a lot of dough to fund their education - that sexy vests on rats is their field of study?
Who is funding this research? No, wait, wait. I don't want to know.
Finally, who gives a rat's ass (!) if male rats are attracted to female rats in a bustier? Personally, the less I know about the mating habits of rats the better. I have my own mating habits that require my attention.
Seriously. There are far more serious situations in the world that need our best scientific minds.
Then there's these Burger King commercials where adult chickens are having a sex talk with their kids about where chicken fries come from. They have great tag lines...
"Don't forget the condiments" and "Don't ever double dribble."
I realize this makes me look like a 14-year old boy, but they make me laugh.
Finally, there's a series of commercials about Hannah and her Horse and I have no idea what it's hawking because at the end of the commercial the horse stars talking in this very British voice about something completely unrelated to the product, like how it's so much more difficult for him - the horse - to walk because he has four legs and has to mentally think about which leg goes first.
Some advertising firms are getting paid a lot of money to be quite inane. I could do that. And for a lot less money. And I just happen to have quite a bit of time on my hands.
As you can plainly see.
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