I wanted it to look real Christmassy, but I didn't want it to look gaudy. I wanted it as tasteful as possible.

I'm too tasteful for my pants.

I lost my daughter in 1989.

It was a small tortoise with Julia’s initials set in diamonds in the living shell, and this slightly obscene object, now slipping impotently on the polished boards, now striding across the card-table, now lumbering over a rug, now withdrawn at a touch, now stretching its neck and swaying its withered, antediluvian head, became a memorable part of the evening, one of those needlehooks of experience which catch the attention when larger matters are at stake.

We pass a church with a massive blue neon cross, and I am spiritually lifted by feelings of great religiosity. No, I’m not, for crying out loud. Don’t be ridiculous. But what I do love about this road is how the gaudy becomes grand, how tastelessness is a way of everyday life. You have to admire how these people shamelessly try to get your attention as you drive by, whether they’re trying to feed you a hamburger or a savior. (p.37)

This was done in a very tasteful way. It's an ad about a group of challenges the president has faced -- the recession, other things and September 11, 2001, ... You'd almost not be able to do the ad and talk about the challenges if you couldn't mention the truth.