The Kids Are In Bed, Tim and Jenni discuss their weekend golfing trip and their favorite pizza. They also continue counting their years together, focusing on 2006. They talk about the launch of Twitter and the Wii, then dive into movies from that year, including The Departed, The Break-Up, Devil Wears Prada, and V for Vendetta. They share their thoughts and favorite moments from each film. In this conversation, the hosts discuss their memories and experiences from 2006. They talk about movies, songs, fashion trends, and personal events that occurred during that time. The hosts also share stories about their relationship, including a breakup and a surprise proposal. Overall, 2006 was a significant year for them.
I sit down for breakfast with most of my ten roommates at the Boston Market on University Avenue near the University of Minnesota campus. We leave the gray drizzle and get a table big enough to seat our group of college undergrads, all nursing hangovers.
No hangover cure works like a cheap, greasy breakfast—at least, not one I know of. A Greek yogurt parfait, half a grapefruit, and a green smoothie may also do the trick. Still, I prefer a breakfast skillet with questionable hollandaise dumped on the top, which pushes me toward the line of bowel incontinence.
Looking back through my mind’s eye, it’s hard to believe any of the guys seated at that table have become successful and fathers.
This was not a lazy breakfast. We had business that needed our attention.
The weekend before the final exams for the spring semester has been special on the U of M campus since 1942. However, it wasn’t until the early otts that the University began to book bands and reserve a place for them to perform. The names of the artists booked have historically been underwhelming, but I wouldn’t know, as parties are held all over campus to celebrate spring jam for the bargain price of five dollars per solo cup.
For my roommates and me, the coup de gras of parties was held in the parking lot behind the houses at what some people called “11th & Uni” (11th Street and University Avenue) while others called it “10th & 4th” (10th Avenue SE and SE 4th Street). Neither was better than the other as it got you to the same place. On Spring Jam weekend, that parking lot would host the keg race.
If you’re unfamiliar with a keg race, I’ll explain the rules, but first, what is drinking responsibly like?
The rules of a keg race are simple:
1. Assemble a team of seasoned binge drinkers.
2. Buy a keg and tap (*Note: The tap can be rented, but you should be aware you may forfeit a pretty hefty security deposit if you don’t return it to the liquor store in working order).
3. Drink until the keg is empty. If you are the first to complete this task, you are rewarded with nothing but pride(?).
Our business at breakfast was the keg race—specifically, how to win it. We had been talking through strategies over the week, but nothing had piqued our interest.
“What will really slow us down is having to piss all the time,” someone said.
“Well, there is no getting around the fact that drinking beer makes you have to pee,” another of my roommates countered.
Do you ever have an idea that is equal parts genius and stupidity? An idea whose mixture is such that voicing it is a no-lose proposition because you will either be lauded as a forward thinker or everyone thinks you are telling a hilarious joke?
“We could pee and drink simultaneously if we wore diapers,” I said.
Everyone looked at me, processing what I had just said. Then, the discussion started with an even split between pro and anti-diaper people, and that is how it remained until we realized we could turn it into a theme with nothing more than a handful of white t-shirts and a black permanent marker.
“The front could say, ‘Boxers or Briefs,’ and on the back, we could each have a letter of Depends.”
Bringing the shirts into the mix transformed the idea from strategy to costume. The group unanimously agreed we had found the plan that would win us the event. Some of our mathematically inclined roommates even calculated how much time it would save our team by remaining within pouring distance of the keg. Needless to say, the data strongly suggested we had uncovered something revolutionary. I remember thinking, this is what the Wright Brothers must have felt like when they designed their first successful glider.
The day of the keg race arrived with warm weather and clear skies. We put on our, er, uniforms and made our way to the battlefield. We placed our keg in the first open space and readied for battle. One of the benefits of a keg race is that the only requirement of the playing surface is to be level enough to allow the keg to stand upright.
As we walked between a couple of houses into the rear parking lot, it was clear the keg race would not be the sole event of the day. A wrestling ring stood lazily in the center of the parking lot. The ropes dangled like forgotten Christmas lights hanging from a deck in July.
Our plan was to drink beer slightly faster than a typical Saturday afternoon while relying on the time-saving secret weapons hugging our loins to save us the trouble of walking away in search of a bathroom. Other teams decided speed was the only solution, so they brought beer bongs to speed up consumption.
Race officials positioned a large packing barrel in the center of the racing teams. This barrel was specifically designed to catch and hold at least fifty gallons of vomit, and it was used. I witnessed people vomit and immediately chug another beer. Countless college students threw up the foamy cold beer that had only made it halfway down their esophagus.
So immature, I thought as I tipped my red solo cup upward, finishing my beer in my adult diaper.
Shortly into the race, it was time to test the strategy. The warmth of my urine saturated the absorbent core of the diaper, and I’d be lying if I claimed it didn’t feel pleasant, like easing into a warm bath.
A short time later, a teammate approached me looking anxious, “I don’t think I can do it.”
“Do what?” I asked.
“Use the diaper.”
“It’s what they’re made for. I’ve already used mine, and,” I paused waiting for the flow of urination, “I’m using it again right now as we speak, you’ll be fine.“
“Fine,” he paused momentarily, “I’m going.”
“See, it’s kind of nice isn..”
“Goddammit,” my teammate said, looking down at his shoes.
I followed his gaze downward as a small amount of pee trickled down his right leg.
“I didn’t think it was possible to use a diaper wrong,” I gasped with laughter.
The race went on, and, as in so many sports, speed killed. Our strategy had failed, and we were not victorious that day.
My Own Worst Enemy by Lit played as I allowed myself to take in the sights of the field of play while I stood in an adult diaper sagging from repeated use. To my left, another person was using the vomit barrel. Behind him, the backyard wrestling continued, with one wrestler bleeding from his forehead. Behind me, a girl sobbed about her boyfriend talking to another girl. A light breeze carried on the warm May air blew through the parking lot, reminding me that the urine in my diaper was now cold and uncomfortable.
I made my way to change out of my racing uniform when I came across another of my roommates. This was the roommate who was the physical manifestation of my worst impulses.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to change. My diaper is about to fall off,” I said.
“We should probably change into another one of these, right?” He asked, holding up the box of diapers with two more diapers left.
“Yes,” I said without hesitation.
We went inside the house to use the bathroom for the first time that day. The bathroom was on the second floor, and we waited in a short line until it was my roommate’s turn. He walked through the doorway and turned to me, “You’re not going to change me?”
“Change you?”
“Well, yeah. I thought you were going to change my diaper,” he said, looking at me as though I was his father breaking my promise to play catch in the backyard.
A smile formed on my face as I said, “Yeah, I’ll change your diaper.”
We entered the cramped bathroom. My roommate lay lazily on the floor, put his feet straight in the air, and said, “Change me.”
“You need to lift up your butt,” I instructed through laughter as I crouched down, attempting to pull the diaper over his hips and up off his legs. As the diaper went past his knees, the heavy inside of the diaper inverted. It must’ve weighed three pounds.
“How many times did you go?” I asked.
“Oh, I lost track, but you are definitely going to need to wipe me.”
“Wipe you?”
“Yeah, haven’t you ever changed a diaper before?”
As I leaned to grab the toilet paper roll sitting on the toilet tank, I heard a light knock on the door, followed by the click of the latch. I turned to look over my left shoulder as three girls opened the bathroom door, eyes wide and jaws hanging slack as they tried to understand what they were witnessing.
My roommate propped himself on his right elbow to glimpse the girls who had walked in and said, “We’ll be out in just a minute.”
The girls slammed the door quickly, and laughter erupted on the other side of the door.
The embarrassment was too great, and I needed to explain. I left the bathroom, but the girls who walked in were nowhere to be found. I never got a chance to explain what was going on. I think about those girls often and wonder what the scene looked like from their perspective.
My roommate left the bathroom after a moment. “Thanks for your help,” he said, adjusting his fresh diaper while handing me mine.
I went back into the bathroom, locking the door this time. I changed into my new diaper and left the bathroom. As I walked out, my roommate stood beside an open window overlooking the back parking lot. I saw the party, and the wrestling was still in full swing.
As I walked toward the stairs, my roommate said, “Should we go out there?”
“Where do you think I’m going?”
“No,” he said, gesturing to the open window, “out there.”
The window opened out onto the roof without a screen. My roommate wanted to go on the roof. It’s tough to say how many beers I consumed at that point in the day, so it isn’t shocking that I made a responsible decision and said, “Yes.”
I’m unsure if it was because we went on the roof or just a song added to a long playlist, but it wasn’t long before we were doing the “Macarena” on the roof in our diapers.
I wore my diaper for the rest of that day, though I didn’t use it until the night’s end.
Many people will roll their eyes at this behavior, which they find immature and reckless. I will not argue that point. I am well aware of the dangers of binge drinking and climbing out onto roofs. I understand that wearing a diaper for the sole purpose of drinking more beer is concerning behavior.
However, that day played out like a scene from a stereotypical college movie. It is a scene you would see and think there is no way that would happen at a real college, but it did.
People ask, “Wouldn’t you be concerned if this was one of your children’s stories?”
This week on The Kids Are In Bed, Tim and Jenni discuss Taco Tuesday, boating on Lake Minnetonka, and attending Chalk Fest in Maple Grove, MN. They reminisce about 2005, including working at Gadzooks, watching movies like Wedding Crashers and Star Wars, and their love for the Oscars. The conversation is filled with humor and personal anecdotes. In this conversation, the hosts discuss various topics, including JC Penney’s jingle, Christmas cards, TV shows like The Office and Lost, and their experiences in 2005. They reminisce about their favorite moments and share funny anecdotes.
Join Tim and Jenni this week on The Kids Are In Bed as they delve into a hilarious and insightful conversation spanning a variety of topics! From reminiscing about the Friends-themed dinner at Travail to debating the nuances of tipping etiquette, Tim and Jenni cover it all with humor and wit. Tune in as they discuss the iconic movies and music of 2004, sharing their personal favorites and reflecting on their cultural impact. They share their memories of the music festival everyone wanted to be at in the summer of 2004, “Us Fest.” Tim explains how it came to be.
But that’s not all! They also explore the milestone of turning 40, sharing their reflections on life, friendships, and personal growth. They’ll keep you entertained with anecdotes and humorous incidents from the past while offering thought-provoking insights into their own.
Read one of Tim’s first essays, Punch Drunk, for a little more detail on the story told in the podcast.
Thank you so much for being here, if you have a moment, please go subscribe on YouTube!
Is 2003 the best year yet? Join Tim and Jenni for a trip back to 2003 as they talk about some of their favorite movies of the year: How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days, The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King, Old School, Elf, Love Actually, and more!
They briefly review some of the hit songs of 2003 before talking about their memories of the year, growing up, and the beginning of a year separated while Tim went off to college.
Then, it’s time to decide where the year ranks. Will 2003 take over the top spot? The only way to find out is to watch. Have a laugh and take a stroll down memory lane to the year 2003.
Last night, as I watched the Minnesota Timberwolves clinch victory and advance to the Western Conference Finals, I was reminded of the breathtaking essence of sports. It was a moment of pure poetry, exactly two decades since the Timberwolves last won the seventh game of a playoff series. Games like these remind us why we love sports—the drama, the passion, the sheer unpredictability.
Critics often argue that professional athletes are overpaid and lazy. But in the final game of a playoff series, none of that matters. Contracts and bonuses fade into the background. Game seven is when these athletes show us why they’re worth every penny. Their talent, skill, and teamwork are on full display, and it’s impossible not to be in awe.
Watching those players on the court last night, I was struck by the realization that they were living their dream—playing in a game seven of the NBA playoffs. It’s a dream shared by countless kids who’ve spent hours shooting hoops in their driveways or local parks. I couldn’t help but wonder: What does it feel like to step onto that floor? How do they handle the deafening roar of the arena? What must their families be feeling as they watch?
As I watched the second half with my wife, Jenni—a rare occurrence—I wasn’t thinking about the players’ political beliefs. The focus was on the game, the thrill of the competition.
This brings me to Harrison Butker. The attention this small-minded, football-kicking man is receiving is infuriating, but not for the reasons you might think. I disagree with Mr. Butker. His face alone suggests he’s a misogynistic, homophobic, antisemitic, small-minded individual. But despite my disdain, he has the right to hold and share his beliefs. It would be hypocritical to criticize his freedom of speech while exercising my own.
Athletes and celebrities often believe they are more important than they are, a belief we perpetuate by listening to their opinions on matters outside their expertise. A week ago, most people wouldn’t have known who Harrison Butker was. Now, he’s likely getting calls from political groups because he’s proven to be polarizing and divisive.
Before letting outrage consume us, we should ask ourselves: Do we really care what a football player with the handle @buttkicker7 thinks about anything? We shouldn’t.
When I watched Top Gun: Maverick, I did not think about how Tom Cruise believes he is an immortal alien being with amnesia trapped on Earth (See: Scientology). I sat down excited to see a fictional character named Maverick fly a make-believe plane.
Similarly, I wouldn’t ask the Timberwolves for gardening tips or look to an NFL kicker for advice on anything other than kicking.
We must stop expecting these people to be everything we want them to be. You are allowed to be a fan of someone’s professional skill while disagreeing with them on big topics and small, like what the best candy bar is. Does Harry Butker look like he would claim Mounds as the best candy bar? Absolutely. Is that grounds to have him fired? Of course not, but it’s close.
Living in this country means respecting others’ beliefs, regardless of how backward they are. It is the other side of that coin which has allowed the little progress to be made for people in marginalized communities to date.
Harrison Butker’s commencement speech reads like I asked ChatGPT to sum up everything that was taught to me on Wednesday nights in confirmation class as a teenage Catholic. He was given a platform to say what he said because, unfortunately, he is not alone in how he thinks. An organization with far more power and influence has taught people these things for centuries, The Roman Catholic Church.
An online petition to remove Butker from the team garnered over 220,000 signatures, demanding accountability from sports figures who should promote respect for all.
The petition states, “We demand accountability from our sports figures who should be role models promoting respect for all people regardless of their race, gender identity or sexual orientation. We call upon the Kansas City Chiefs management to dismiss Harrison Butker immediately for his inappropriate conduct.”
Roughly 1.6% of NCAA football players are eligible to be drafted annually. .016% of the players in that pool will be drafted. To beat long odds like those, the players are forced to live, eat, and sleep football because there isn’t time for anything else. So, are we asking that the NFL only draft players with progressive, liberal ideals?
As a Liberal, that sounds great. As a football fan, that is the worst idea ever. Southern Conservatives and football go together like a full bottle of hair gel and Harrison Butker’s hair.
Change doesn’t come from bullying anyone into agreeing with you.
I love my brother-in-law dearly. We have so much in common that we once bought the same car within a week of each other without having discussed it. He is a person I trust and respect more than most people, and that jerk is a Republican (far more handsome than Harrison Butker).
Not once have I attempted to change his mind. I have explained my views on topics, and he has done the same; I think we have helped each other expand our understanding of different political and social issues. However, when we step into the voting booth, we know what boxes we’re checking the majority of the time.
Change happens at the dinner table. Shouting into social media echo chambers to all your friends and celebrities you follow because they agree with you on all fronts changes nothing.
Harrison Butker deserves any and all criticism regarding his remarks. He does not deserve to lose his livelihood.
While it may feel good to get the gratification of seeing results from action, this result will not move the needle in a meaningful way. Odds are, it will move the needle in the opposite direction as there are Catholic parishioners reminding themselves to bring a little extra cash to put in the basket when it makes the way down their pew this Sunday at Mass.
We should be sharing stories and truths. Will Harrison change his views? Probably not.
However, there are thousands of people who are on the fence. Honest stories about why the remarks made in Butker’s commencement speech are hurtful, insensitive, and/or flat out wrong will tip them in the right (left?) way. Maybe after tipping, that parent will have a child. Maybe they will give that child a name that won’t lead to getting made fun of in school. Maybe that child will grow up to be a professional athlete, give a commencement speech at a real institution of higher learning (University of Minnesota, for instance). And maybe, just maybe, that speech will be written to include ALL who hear it.
In the meantime, we can enjoy every missed extra point and field goal, like the one he hit off the upright in Super Bowl LVII. And, who knows, maybe Taylor’s boyfriend decides to have a conversation with him in the privacy of the locker room and changes his mind.
This is my opinion. As the father of a five-year-old daughter, I have a vested interest in ensuring she doesn’t grow up in the future Harrison Butker or those who support him envision. I will advocate and do what I can to further progress, but I will not do so by infringing on another person’s rights. It’s a waste of time to work to get a kicker cut from a team because, well, they usually take care of that themselves.
Let’s leave the athletes to play their chosen sport and marvel at the talent and dedication it took to get them there. Let’s stop expecting them to be role models because, if you look around professional sports, those are few and far between.
On this week’s episode of The Kids Are In Bed, Tim and Jenni discuss their memories from 2002.
2002 brought great movies: The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Spider-Man, Signs, Catch Me If You Can, Gangs of New York, and more. Tim and Jenni give their reviews of some of these greats.
2002 music brought Eminem’s The Eminem Show, Nelly’s Nellyville, Justin Timberlake’s debut solo album Justified, and Coldplay’s A Rush of Blood to the Head.
Tim and Jenni show off how little they remember about the big news events that took place in 2002 before talking about the fashion trends of the year despite not knowing how to define fashion.
Kelly Clarkson won the first season of American Idol in 2002, The Wire debuted on HBO, and The Osbournes first season aired on MTV, helping usher in the new era of reality TV.
Throw on your graphic tees and low-rise jeans to travel back to the early otts and laugh. Thanks for watching!
This week, Tim and Jenni discuss 2001, the year that brought Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, The Lord of the Rings, Shrek, Oceans 11, American Pie 2, The Others, and more to the theaters. Friends dominated TV while the inaugural season of Scrubs aired. Destiny’s Child, Nelly, Staind, Lifehouse, and Ja Rule topped the music charts. Wikipedia launched, and 9/11 happened. Join us for a walk down memory lane as we give our recap of 2001.
If you have been watching The Kids Are In Bed, you understand that bedtime has been a battle for my wife, Jenni, and me. I am not one to compare myself to other people regarding parenting. I have little interest in how people choose to attack the day-to-day challenges that come with raising children. It’s not that I think I know better. Instead, countless independent variables vary due to numerous factors.
I am the independent variable that led to the bedtime trouble in our house.
There was a day Jenni informed me our son would start falling asleep by himself when he was four. I almost cried hearing this news. While I want the best for my children, I am selfish with my time with them now. I know that the clock is counting down, far too quickly, to the day Jenni and I cease to be the sun they orbit.
When Jenni suggested we read a couple of stories to my son and leave the room for the night, all I saw was the vast, infinitely expanding universe awaiting the tangential path my kids would be slung into when they exited our orbit.
Some moments catch me off guard and highlight how quickly my children are growing up. It’s not the milestone moments. It’s the little things that only a parent can notice in their child. New words popping up in their vocabulary or the ability to put on their own shoes are the things that steal my breath and put a lump in my throat.
Determined to right my wrongs with bedtime, I have been working on keeping a stiff upper lip with my daughter. My five-year-old daughter doesn’t run out of her bedroom, down the stairs, and out into the street when we tell her it’s time to go to sleep, as her brother did. Rather, she has the unique ability to lie in bed in the dark with her eyes closed for hours without falling asleep.
It is beyond maddening.
Because of her resolve to show off this talent, we informed her daycare that we didn’t want her napping during the day. As a result, my daughter began falling asleep in as little as twenty minutes some nights.
We were rounding the final turn and could see the finish line when a new teacher took over her class. Jenni sent her a message a little after midnight on a night our daughter didn’t fall asleep until after 11:00 PM. She asked the new teacher not to put our daughter to sleep at naptime. I had pegged this new instructor as the zealous type, so after Jenni sent the message off, I asked, “What are you going to do when she responds tonight?”
Jenni laughed at the question. Ten minutes later, we got a long reply that suggested she would not honor our request. After a few more days of late bedtimes and inside information from our daughter about what happens at nap time, it was clear our request had fallen on deaf ears.
On a typical day, I take both of our children to school, allowing Jenni to get out of the house and make her commute to work. This morning, my daughter requested that Jenni take her to school so she could talk to the teacher about what was happening at nap time.
I felt like a batter being called back to the dugout, replaced by a pinch-hitter in the bottom of the ninth with the game on the line. In other words, it stung. As the sting began to retreat, shame-filled its space.
As her father, she should be asking for me to have a serious conversation with her teacher.
Since I am on a mission to get to the bottom of why I allow almost every scenario to lead to anxiety and self-loathing, I caught my thought, and I asked myself a simple question:
Why do you think that?
It’s the same question I would ask a friend confiding in me if I heard them say something that didn’t make much sense.
Driving home from dropping my son off at school, I smiled. I smiled because I wasn’t on the receiving end of my wife’s serious conversation. I was relieved not to be responsible for initiating the discussion. More than anything, I was proud—proud of my daughter for recognizing Jenni as the right person for the job and asking for what she thought was best for her.
The answer to my simple question began to form in front of me.
Since I quit my job and have been pretending to be whatever I have been for the past four months, I have been battling the societal pressures that have been challenging my masculinity. Throughout the spring, I have been called a house husband and given tips on organizing the house’s daily upkeep. I’ve seen the judgment in the eyes of people I have talked to about my chosen path. I also hear the imaginary opinions I have crafted from everyone I have ever known.
As a male, I am supposed to work and make money, to be handy, and to be stoic.
As I write this, my new venture has earned me $6.68. Jenni has called me handsy many times but never called me handy unless the statement was dripping with sarcasm. If you Google “stoic antonyms,” you will find the following: caring, concerned, emotional, feeling, interested, and responsive. I am all of the antonyms.
I have been programmed to believe I am supposed to be something I can never be.
Like my teenage self in an Abercrombie & Fitch dressing room, I have been trying to fit into something that will never fit, no matter how much I suck in.
According to an annual Gallup poll that asks Americans whether they are satisfied or dissatisfied with their personal lives, we are near a record low. Of course, people who make the most money are also the happiest. I imagine some people report being happy because, on paper, they should be. Yet, if you got them to have an honest conversation, they would tell you about what they’d rather be doing for free, which would make them truly happy. That’s nothing new.
What is new is those people’s ability to pick up their phones and scroll through videos of people doing the things they’d rather be doing while getting paid to do it. These are the people who claim all of social media is terrible. It’s far too complex to admit you’ve become a cog in a wheel and can’t get it out.
I refuse to become an old curmudgeon who is beaten down by doing what I should do instead of what I want to do.
I intend to write and do everything I can to influence the future Gallup polls to trend in the right direction.
I can only do that because of my wife, Jenni Severson. A woman who sees barriers as nothing more than minor obstacles in her way. I have had a front-row seat for nearly twenty-five years as I’ve watched her battle society’s expectations of what she should grow up to be. She will stand up for what is right regardless of social pressure. She is so beloved by everyone she comes into contact with that if you hear someone disparaging her, it reflects poorly on them rather than her.
My daughter made the decision that she decisively made this morning because of her mother.
If I could design a friend, wife, and mother in a lab, the result would be Jenni every time. However, the lab version may have a slightly better memory.
I blame so many situations in life on my bad luck. I don’t have bad luck. I used up all my good luck when I met Jenni and would make that trade a thousand times over.
Thanks to Jenni. We are creating a space where our children are not told they can be what they want to be; they are shown. I am happy to get out of the way so my children can take my front-row seat to watch Jenni in action.
While I’d love to say my courage and resolve led to me changing my life path by quitting my job, I can’t. Jenni saw what I couldn’t years ago, yet she kept her patience and never lost faith that I would wise up and listen to her.
I’m listening now.
What’s more, Jenni surrounds herself with women just like her. There are people in this country who don’t want to see the Jennis of this world ascend. It’s threatening to see these exceptional people break through the patriarchal defenses that have been standing for centuries.
Those people are driven by their insecurities because, from where I sit, a world run by women like Jenni seems like paradise.
We’ll call this an early Mother’s Day piece, but there isn’t a day that goes by that I am not thankful for my partner on this journey through life.
The year 2000 was the beginning of a new millennium and our first full year together as a couple.
This week on The Kids Are In Bed, Tim and Jenni talk about their recent trip to a Minnesota Twins game in the midst of their winning streak and the Timberwolves’ hot start in the playoffs. There is nothing Minnesotans love more than a winning team. They move on to the year 2000 and discuss the music that topped the charts (Eminem, Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Papa Roach, Blink-182, and more!) and the movies that crushed the box office (Gladiator, Coyote Ugly, Almost Famous, and more!). Tim can’t share Jenni’s enthusiasm about the new Max Harry Potter series that has been announced to Jenni’s chagrin. Tim does his best to comb through Jenni’s memory for… anything! Will he be successful, or will we be astonished by Jenni’s lack of recall? The only way to find out is by listening. Thanks for being here.
