4-OH!

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So I’ve been busy aging over here. Today I’m 40, and I did the whole Facebook countdown of all the things that are so awesome about being 40–you know, the cosmic Hallmark ones…friends, family, health, etc. And I busted out a super-awesome yoga pose to prove 40 is all that. (WordPress apparently can’t handle a portrait image–it’s a known issue, but if I can balance on my forearms, you can turn your head to the right.)

And one day in, I think it is. But I have some questions for those of you on this side…

  1. Does “hip replacement” refer to the old woman who sneaked in my room and traded out her old lady hips for mine?
  2. Is it unhealthy that a new mattress has changed my life so much that I have named her Gigi and made provisions in my will for her?
  3. Is there anything better than a Chobani in the fridge? Except for a Pomegranate one. I can’t eat that unless I’m near floss. The seeds get stuck under my new crown.
  4. Do I have to stop wearing socks, because the indentation in my leg never seems to go away?
  5. Why are my feet shrinking? Is that why old ladies fall down so much?
  6. Do I have to like Jazz now and vote Republican?
  7. When do I get to say to someone, “Listen here, Little Miss…”
  8. Do I now have to start timing when I eat certain foods, knowing “I will be up all night”?
  9. Do I need to start asking my doctor if things “are right for me”?
  10. When should “Bootylicious” be replaced as my theme song?
  11. Now, can I order a Bloody Mary without weird looks?
  12. Do I automatically get issued a red hat?
  13. Do I have to wear a red hat? I can’t really pull off hats.
  14. Must I now own a sweater vest?
  15. And finally, where’s my cake?

Here comes Khaos

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I’m not exactly sure what a Kardashian is and why I’d want to keep up with one. But from what I can glean, I’m going to posit that they are a tribe of wealthy, shallow, under-educated, over-modified, K-branded, caricatures that allow the average person to shake his head in wonder and go back to snaking the plumbing.

I would like to suggest a new idea for a reality show– a contest to become a Kardashian. It would be much like a presidential primary process, where the least desirable candidate can surge ahead at any given time, and like it or not, the establishment is stuck with him or her. In my own Kampaign, I’d market myself as Khaos Kardashian, the smudge on an otherwise immaculate white sofa, the honey badger of the Kardashian empire. The anti-Kardashian.

First of all, Khaos has a job and drives a Prius. Khaos has been spotted wearing Crocs and using coupons at the store. Khaos goes to the store and buys nasal spray. Khaos eats chicken in nugget format. Khaos has a PhD in Gender Studies, is a concert bassoonist, and has a skin condition inflamed by tanning beds and creams. Khaos hosts a drum circle, cries at AT&T commercials, and has a unicorn figurine collection. Khaos lends her celebrity to support micro financing for women’s co-operatives in the Congo. Khaos knows where the Congo is.

As for the slogan, “What America needs now is a little more Khaos!”

 

A Cup of B, anyone?

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I’m about to turn 40, and it’s hard to keep up. There are all kinds of things I can do to better my appearance…grow hair where I want it but don’t have it, remove hair where I have it but don’t want it, plump up saggy places with fat, tighten up places that have too much fat, curl straight lashes, straighten curly locks, get darker skin and lighter hair.

I don’t have a plastic surgeon. I barely have a dermatologist, and that was for the 15 year old pencil lead in lodged in my shoulder. Long story.

Anyway, I generally assume that everyone is the same age I am, has their natural hair color and original equipment. It saves a lot of time that way. So, I’m continually taken-aback at who has had what tucked, lifted, lowered, implanted, removed, injected, and sculpted. I guess all of those plastic surgeons in my town aren’t skin grafting for burn victims after all.

I don’t know if I can’t bring myself to care, or I just can’t figure out where to start. I’ve done the basics–had braces, colored my hair and had it Keratin-treated. And sure, there are some things about my physical appearance that are considered standard deviation or two off the ideal. I have scrawny eyebrows, a bulb of a nose, skin the color of a night-crawler, and can’t fill out a bikini top. Maybe I’m just rationalizing, but translucent skin doesn’t get leathery, eyebrow waxing is time consuming and painful, I have a great sense of smell, and an over-abundant chest gets in the way of yoga. I spend most of my time trying to tamp down what I have under enough lycra anyway. I don’t need something hitting me in the face during headstand.

Maybe I’m too afraid to be off cycle…I’ll work up my nerve, spend a fortune, and enjoy a long recovery only to find out night-crawler is back in. Most likely, I’d hate to be that person that had something go terribly wrong. I don’t want my kids to know that I died from a cankle-ectomy, or have that face that can only register a constant state of surprise and have to adjust my vocabulary to match. Every response would have to be, “Really? You went to the post office? I just can’t imagine!”

For now I can eat cinnamon and enjoy a slight allergenic effect of puffy lips and wait until the lumpy, pasty Rubens ideal makes a comeback. I can at least enjoy getting to lumpy via Thin Mints.

Bowling for Snoot

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As it is college bowl season, I thought I’d share my decision tree of how to pick a team in any given game.

1. Follow the Money

Root for the school Eric and I went to: Northwestern. I figure at $20,000 a year, for a combined total of 11 years, we’ve earned the right to enthusiastically support the team that makes other teams’ bowl dreams come true. You may ask if I root for DePaul, since I do have a degree from there as well. Let’s put it this way…I’m unaware of it if they have a football team, and I have tried unsuccessfully to send my diploma back for a refund, as I’ve never used that particular degree.

2. Conference Solidarity

I generally stick with The Big 10 because in some complicated Ponzi scheme, it’s good for Northwestern’s program. I don’t recognize Nebraska or Penn State as part of The Big 10. They were late additions, hangers-on. It’s like adding Scrappy-Doo – brings the whole level of the enterprise down. I don’t even have to make a Penn State joke, but they also disqualify under both the silly helmet and unidentifiable mascot rules.

3 and 4. The Silly Helmet and Unidentifiable Mascot Rules

Talking to you, Oregon. Judging from your pathetic band uniforms (windbreakers and baseball caps?), you spent all your money on mirror ball helmets. I want my marching band in full outdated, impractical, foppish attire. I want feathers, spats and high stepping. I want my band to get jiggy with Hall & Oates. But I want my football team in smart uniforms with no white pants. Miami Dolphins also have a stupid helmet. Why does the dolphin wear a helmet? It covers his blow hole.

I don’t know what a Nittany Lion, a Hoya, or a Gorlok is.

5. Root against any or all of the following:

Ohio State (unless they are the only Big 10 team left, and we need a win)

Any Florida team (out of general principle)

Texas A&M (I resist for fear of being assimilated)

And if still unsure, use

6. The Bad-Ass-o-Meter

Determine which mascot would win in a fight:

Examples of Muy Badass: Badgers, Wolverines, Gary Busey

Examples of Latent Badass (could become aggressive if cornered): Wildcat, Cardinal (like the mean one in my yard), Bulldogs

Examples of Lame: Ducks, Banana Slugs, Hustlin’ Quakers (unless up against the Irascible Mennonites, of course)

Mass Confusion

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I grew up Methodist and went to an Episcopalian school, so I’m quite secure in being sure of absolutely nothing. What I do love is the ritual and ceremony involved in other religions. I used to make my friend Jonathan take me to temple with him in Chicago. I’d ask questions, and he’d tell me to ask our other friend, Brian.

I like going to Mass with Eric’s family. It feels like a sociology project, like observing tribes in their natural setting, trying to glean meaning from their customs. I have lots of questions, but they aren’t of lofty ecumenical debate. Mine are more of a practical nature.

For instance, it’s common knowledge that if you want to sell your house, you buy a St. Joseph statue kit, bury him upside-down, facing the street next to the For Sale sign. Duh! He even comes with a pointy hat, so you can drive him like a stake in the ground. What happens though (I’m speaking completely hypothetically here) if you use your foot to drive him forcefully into the ground and snap him in two accidentally? Would that be, again hypothetically speaking, a one-way trip to hell? Not that it matters. Metho-palian girl is already on the no-return flight.

Communion is fascinating. I get the whole trans-substantiation argument, and I get why protestants chose to go the other way. That’s a logistical nightmare. Once the bread and wine has been changed to body and blood, there’s no going back. And apparently you have to store what wasn’t used in Communion in a special box. Here’s what I want to know, is there some FIFO system where the oldest Host gets used first? Is there an expiration date on God? What happens if the priest drops Jesus? I’m assuming you can’t bring out the Dust Buster.

And how about the to-go box? I thought maybe a woman was going in for seconds. I have learned that’s for delivery to shut-ins. Do you have to deliver it within a certain window? Is there a blessing half-life?

I know you can’t chew the wafer. You wouldn’t want to be flossing out the Lord later. I’m always prepared with the Heimlich when Eric tries to swallow the giant piece of Methodist bread whole. He doesn’t view it as the half-way point snack that most of the rest of us do.

I know I can’t take Communion at Mass, so I only know what I can observe from afar. I like to count old school tongue takers vs. the palm takers. I’m pretty sure there is a trapdoor for interlopers that can’t pass the complicated response and secret handshake. It’s a good excuse, though, not to have to drink out of the same cup as my 500 closest friends. I avoid the handshake too, if I can manage it. Wearing shoes with complicated laces that are notorious for coming undone is a good trick.

I’m always confused when to sit, stand, or kneel; when the large genuflection is in order vs. just the mini head version. Eric explained it once, but he’s not a very reliable source and can’t be trusted. Once at a funeral I was closest to the aisle, so stood up when it was time for Communion to let his family file past. They all sat there tying their complicated shoes, looking at the heathen standing in the aisle trying to crash Communion.

Yep, straight to the fiery pits. I guess it’s a good thing I’m generally unsure of their existence.

Holiday Sneer

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Ok, I think I have observed the appropriate amount of snipe-free commentary in honor of Christmas. There was at least a good 15 minute span where I refrained. And because many of you are about to board planes and travel to exotic locations, like Buffalo,  I’d like to present my vision of Air Travel, the Snooty Way in time for your forays into the skies.

Snooty Rules of Air Travel

1. If you must speak to the desk personnel to check-in, you get 5 minutes on the clock. Once you have exceeded your allotted time, you must return to the back of the line and start over. Buh-bye!

2. If you and your traveling companions are sporting matching American flag jackets and velcro Rockports you must by-pass the security line and go straight to the interview room and have your passport confiscated. You clearly represent a security threat, a high potential for diplomatic incident, and at a minimum a confirmation of an embarrassing stereotype. I know, there goes any potential I had for running for Congress. My flag pin has been revoked.

3. There is a line for people who insist on wearing belts, shoes that lace, and have chromium hip replacements, and it is always the shortest line. Don’t be fooled. It’s like the farm equipment line at the DMV. It will draw you in, and then it will crush your soul.

4. If I must take off my shoes and submit my bag to an extra search, then TSA must compliment me on my impeccable taste in footwear and handbags, apologize for suspecting me in the first place, and then go clean the hair out of those bins.

5. If the carrier insists on charging me extra to bring luggage, eat or drink, use the bathroom, have a seatbelt, and sit down, I get to bill the airline for the following: injury to my elbow, seating me next to someone whose person rolls over into my personal space, snores, and/or has a phlegmatic cough; late arrival fee, early arrival fee, tarmac-waiting fee, and core body temperature distress fee.

6. If your carry-on is too large to lift over your head, you must buy a seat for it, and it cannot hog the armrest. And if you feel you must Saran-Wrap your luggage, you must also admit that you really don’t have anything of value in there (or else it wouldn’t be checked on a plane) and that you are just asking for it.

7. If when the plane arrives, there is no gate crew to move the jet bridge, passengers are allowed to boo and then use the inflatable slide.

8. I am allowed to request a seat change on the grounds that the person next to me tried to start a conversation.

9. If you allow your child to continually kick my seat, I get to tell him there isn’t a Santa. And if you must use the back of my seat to lift you out of your own, I get to turn around and stare wild-eyed and say things like, “It’s you – just as the prophecy foretold!”

10. If a flight less than 3 hours in duration requires a bathroom break, you must sit on the aisle or provide your own travel catheter.

I could go on and on, and perhaps I will in another installment, but let’s hear from the snoots…

 

Merry Christmas 2011

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December 3, 2011

The halls are decked, the gifts have been ordered from amazon.com, and I sit by the non-working fireplace reflecting on another year gone by, suddenly seized by unspeakable panic. I have not written the Christmas letter. I have toyed with and dismissed several format ideas, none quite worthy of my readers’ high expectations. The pressure to perform is intense.

This has been a year of many gifts for the Milhizers, I think best expressed in song…

Not exactly, but I would like to take this opportunity to revisit a song that I feel is long overdue for some refreshing: “The 12 Days of Christmas.”

Really, disease-ridden birds, all that mess of milk, and needy musicians who are probably union and expect tips? And all of the leaping? That would put me on edge. True love? What a jerk. How about a storage unit to go with all of that? Anyway, “The 12 Days of Christmas” as retold Milhizer style…

One Job in a Tough Economy

I’m one year into my new job as Partner at PeopleResults. It’s the perfect combination: the team is fantastic, the clients are a mess (good for business), and they pay me to be bossy. (Family, take note). I’m in my element. This year I’ve gotten to do quite a bit of blogging and speaking on social media. I’ve gone viral once or twice too (that’s a good thing).

Two Parents Traveling

Eric and I celebrated 15 years of marriage with a two-week trip to Turkey. I did all of the planning, and Eric showed up. It was the perfect location with historical wonders, beautiful terrain, amazing food, and friendly people. The highlight for both of us was hot air ballooning over Cappadocia – for me because I was in the balloon, and for Eric because he got to sleep in and look at the pictures afterward.

Three Boards A-Breaking

Gus capped off 5 years of practice, earning his First Degree Black Belt in Tae Kwon Do. His test involved some very involved sequences of moves, called forms, breaking 3 boards with his elbows and feet, and scampering up a wall doing all manners of kicks and turns. Weighing only 50 pounds has its advantages; he was able to do 2 full turns and 2 back kicks before coming back to earth—the most the instructor had seen from a student.

Four Families Gathering

This 4th of July we headed to beautiful Torch Lake, Michigan with Eric’s mom and dad, older brother, and sister. We had the usual lake activities: swimming and boating as well as water gun fights, campfire stories, and the annual cousins’ talent show. We even experienced the Floating Burger Barge at the sand-bar. We introduced a new activity with the boat: tubing. The kids took to it right away. The adults, well, let’s just say there was often a choice between hanging on and keeping your swimsuit bottoms.

Five Years to VP

After 5 years as Director, Eric got a much-deserved promotion to VP of Marketing Operations at MetroPCS. He’s been working on data analytics and determining the most effective marketing strategies based on customer profiles. He’s a numbers genius, and as a result we were rewarded with tickets to the Super Bowl in Dallas. I forget who played, much less who won. I do, however, remember the mud, the lines, and the $23 hamburger.

Six Hands A-Playing

Gus, Nate, and I continue in our piano lessons. This year Gus and I took on real challenges. He played Für Elise, and I played a Chopin waltz and prelude at the recital. Gus was amazing and commented that “No one appreciates classical music anymore; it’s all this rock stuff.” He’s decided to take on more Beethoven this year. Meanwhile, Nate is a stealth performer. We practiced and practiced, and right up to the spring recital it was touch and go. Nate, however, was completely cool. He owned “The Muffin Man” like it was Carnegie Hall. Apparently all he needed was an adoring audience.

Seven Seconds Balancing

I still teach yoga twice a week, and as I’m approaching my 40th birthday decided to challenge myself with a few elusive poses. One involves balancing on your forearms with your feet in the air overhead. Not so hard to do, but hard to maintain. I’m up to seven seconds before rolling out of it. It’s critical to perfect the exit strategy first.

Eric has also been upping his game: hitting the elliptical machine, coaching Nate’s soccer team, and playing in an over 30 soccer league. No need to point out just how far over 30 he is. He’s down about 12 pounds and will be asking for belts for Christmas before he’s cited for indecent exposure at work.

Eight Skis Sliding

A spring break trip to Michigan had us all on skis. Eric rented the demo skis, and miraculously decided he needed to buy a pair. Gus and Nate participated in ski races and took 3rd and 4th places respectively. This year, we’ve decided we are ready for Colorado and have planned a trip to Steamboat in March. Given we are used to 15 minute runs at sea level, we may never make it all the way down the mountain and will likely still be there come spring break 2013.

Nine (and a half) Spins Accomplished

Gus is in his third year of Breakdancing, this time in the Intermediate class. He’s moved up to spinning on any part of his body imaginable. He boldly volunteered for a head spin contest, the youngest and never having done it before. He made 9 turns on his head and one on his face. When asked his lesson learned, it wasn’t about courage or confidence in yourself; it was, “Stop spinning when your neck starts to bend.” He has a career in fortune cookie writing.

Ten Years A-Passing

On December 20th, Eric and I will celebrate 10 years of parenthood. Gus turns 10, and a month later Nate turns 6. They are simply amazing kids. Gus started public school this year, and for all my fretting about it, is having a great year. He loves his teachers, friends, and the special classes called Encores. His Thanksgiving letter to us included,  “I love you more than the Chemistry Nobel Prize.”  High praise, indeed.

Nate is in Kindergarten at The Spanish Schoolhouse, which is 3 days taught completely in Spanish and 2 in English. He’s reading, adding, and growing up way too fast.  He is a fast friend of Seamus, our one year old lab, and their method of playing would probably have both Child Protective Services and the SPCA frowning.

Nate decided the training wheels could come off his bike this year, and he pedaled away so fast that Eric never could run along behind holding on. He’s a born salesman and the family comedian, recently trying to convince us that Gus agreed to a plan of his making. He finally admitted, “Ok, I’m accidentally lying, but…” Got to admire that kid’s creativity.

Eleven Hours Flying

Having missed out on Turkey, the boys decided they were ready for a big trip. Hawaii was considered too dangerous—active volcanoes and all. After intense negotiation between them, they settled on seeing castles in Europe, and Germany was judged the winner. Having lived in Munich in college, I decided that was an excellent base for Castlepalooza 2012. We plan to visit Salzburg, Prague, and Budapest this June.

Twelve Followers Following

I restarted my personal blog this year: www.snootycall.com. At press-time, I have 12 followers who receive email updates when I post an entry. Hey, Jesus started out with 12 and look where that went. I have 100 or so regular readers, but I understand they can’t commit. No offense taken. I’ll just continue to toil, and they throw me crumbs of attention when it suits. I have kids, I’m used to it.

The blog originated from my travels to Colombia adopting Nate and has turned into an outlet of sorts. It’s usually about things that are annoying. But I feel that may give a negative (if not accurate) impression. That’s why I have brought you here this year to experience it for yourself, clear up any misconceptions, and to cleverly inflate my readership.

So there you have it, the Milhizer year in review set to a Christmas standard. Again, we have been given gifts beyond measure and look forward to what 2012 brings. We wish you all of the best of the holiday season and in the year to come.

Love,

Eric, Barbara, Gus, Nate, & Seamus

Is nothing sacred?

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You must not be a regular reader if you have to ask that question. By definition nothing on this site is sacred. As we head into the height of the season, my thoughts are focused on the simple pleasures: a prime parking spot, free shipping, and the abundance of opportunities for snoot.

I love Christmas carols, but even here there is ripe opportunity for snootage. Oscars, Grammys, Tonys all have their place. I give to you the Snarkies.

1. Most Depressing Song: Christmas Shoes

Have you heard this song? It’s awful on so many levels. It’s like that kid’s book about the kid who climbs into his aging mother’s window. Anyway, the song is about a kid trying to buy his dying mother some shoes. Barf. First of all, kid, if she’s on death’s door, what are you doing in a store on Christmas Eve? Secondly, and more practically, what kid knows his mom’s shoe size or taste for that matter? I shudder to think of what Gus or Nate would bring me in my dying hour. Really? Snake-skin peep toe? Where’s the pedicure to make these workable?

2. Creepiest Lyric: “Veiled in flesh, the Godhead see”

Who wrote that, Yoda? I don’t like the word “flesh” and certainly not when paired with “veiled.” It makes me think of “The Raiders of the Lost Ark” and the face-melting Nazi scene. That’s just uncomfortable, and it doesn’t stop. Hark, The Herald Angels Sing goes on for 3 more, increasingly weird verses. And that’s the common version. The original is 10 stanzas of pure freak.

3. Just Stopped Trying: It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Otherwise a great song, but in the Weird, but Harmless Lyric category, “There’ll be scary ghost stories and tales of the glories of Christmases long, long ago.” Know anyone who tells ghost stories at Christmas? Rhyme fail. Try harder next time.

4. Non Sequitur

I just hereby ban any Beach Boys interpretation of a Christmas song.

5. Most Annoying: The Chipmunk Song (Christmas Don’t Be Late)

Does that even require explanation? Even the parenthetical title is annoying–personifying a date and giving it supernatural powers to suspend time.

6. Wholly Unnecessary

There’s one that pops up on Sirius XM Holiday Traditions now and again called Dominic, the Italian Christmas Donkey. Not in my holiday tradition. Ever. Poor Italy, Jersey Shore and Dominic. The indignity.

7. Best Rhyme: Ding Dong Merrily on High

I just want you to know how deeply I dig for you people. Hidden in the oft neglected second verse:

Let steeple bells be swungen,
And “Io, io, io!”
By priest and people sungen.

Now that’s really working for it.

8. Conscientious Objection: Winter Wonderland

I object to a snowman as a circus clown. I object to clowns in general, and then knocking him down. That’s uncalled for.

9. Best Not Messed With: Brenda Lee’s Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree

I’m a purist and with each of the best songs, there is a definitive version that should not be refreshed, remastered, re-anything: Bing Crosby’s White Christmas, Eartha Kitt’s Santa Baby, and Andy Williams’ It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year for starters. But, nobody can out-Brenda Brenda. Shame on you, Cyndi Lauper!

10. Snootiest: We Wish You a Merry Christmas

Any song that can demand food delivery has got my vote, even if it is Figgy Pudding, whatever that is.

Fowl Play

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I stepped out to Bird-ma-geddon yesterday. There were 6 dead birds on the front porch in an apparent mass suicide. It looked like Bird Jonestown. I was expecting amazon.com boxes but instead had a real mystery on my hands. That would have been awkward to explain to the UPS man, “I’m not into ritual sacrifice, it just looks that way.”

You can find anything on Google, I’m convinced. Here’s what Google had to say about my search today, “what do 6 dead birds on your porch mean?” First of all, a fascinating site comes up called “Witches Brew Asks.” A polling of renowned experts, Witchywoo and princesspoopypants, indicated the following

Apparently finding a dead bird can mean many things…

1) an omen of bad luck (certainly for the bird)

2) an indicator that I’m about to receive money if the dead bird’s head is turned to the right (his right or mine?) and lose money if it’s turned to the left. Let’s just say there were 6 and I’m at about 50/50 – a break-even on the dead bird windfall.

3) a very prolific and generous cat

4) windows that are too clean or are too dirty

5) it depends on the totem of the bird

That last one seemed like a lot of work, but Google did not disappoint. Within 15 minutes I identified the bird(s) as cedar waxwing and then searched on “cedar waxwing totem.” Cowboypsychic.com (not making this up) indicated that the waxwing totem is gentleness and courtesy.

Whoa! Think someone is trying to send Snooty a message? The irony is not lost on me: gentleness and courtesy sacrificed at the altar of Snoots herself, x6. Message received. I could take the snoot down a notch, maybe to the 4-bird level.

Or…maybe it was a sacrifice of appreciation–an homage, a direct challenge, a threat, a warning, a plague, a game of Angry Birds taken too literally, or an offer I can’t refuse? I should have taken pictures and drawn little chalk outlines so I could interpret the signs appropriately instead of having Eric usher them out unceremoniously in a Hefty bag.

Sorry, I’m just no good at interpreting dead animal signs. I tend to overanalyze. Maybe something less dramatic and quixotic next time? Though I do appreciate the apparent thought put into it and commitment to execution (no pun intended). A text would be perfect. But then again, with auto correct it’s likely to come out, “6 deaf Cesar rafting on pitch.” I guess your way works. But let’s stick to something Hefty can accommodate and Eric can lift. No need to involve the neighbors.

Regret-a-bowl

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I just found out Northwestern is playing in a bowl game–the 10th time in school history! And it’s in Houston, close enough to travel. And it’s a team that doesn’t tend to show up for the second half! And it’s the Meineke Car Care Bowl?

I hate to tell Meineke this, but hosting NU in your bowl is pretty much the kiss of death for your company. Last year we were at the Ticket City Bowl. Ever hear of them? Exactly.

I’m just wondering who the bowl committee turned down in favor of Meineke. Was Chess King too demanding? Couldn’t get the Head-On, the roll on headache relief people on board?

I’m sure Meineke is full of nice people and a decent business model, but I would have liked to have been in that marketing meeting, trying to get the corporate executives on board. “I know, we can sponsor a bowl game with 2 mediocre teams and triangulate our prime demographic, people who drive cars!” On second thought, I’m sure anyone watching it will find it’s as good a time as any to get an oil change and rotate the tires about 4 minutes in.

One of Meineke’s tag lines is “we know exhaust.” So do I, Meineke. So, do I.

Umm, Go Cats?