Best Saturday Ever

Yesterday was an especially nice Saturday. The sun broke out at the end of the long, wet run with great friends who uncharacteristically didn’t complain about the elements. The YMCA hot tub was glorious. Fully recovered, I picked up some raspberry chocolate and deep chocolate chocolate gelato and other essentials, before heading home for a late breakfast and hit of caffeine.

Then I put an ass groove in the couch watching the pros flail at Pinehurst #2. “How do you like making double bogey sucker!”

Then I connected with the GalPal and got fully updated on the Coffee Klatch. Then we rolled down the hill to Well 80 where I ate an order of brussels sprouts and a whole pizza. And maybe a little of someone’s Impossible Burger. Of course I positioned myself so I could watch the Mariners win again and further extend their American League West lead without the GoodWife suspecting a thing. “Yes dear, you don’t say.” Inner voice, “Come on Julio, where’s the power?!” The American League West is one sad (sick) division, but I digress.

Then I prepped a giant bowl of popcorn and watched episode 3 of the second season of Netflix’s Tour de France documentary which taught me sprinters are not likable.

But of all of those highlights, one towered above the others. It was this discovery.

Are you shitting me? Kirkland Rolled Oats (KRO)?! I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Good riddance Quaker Oats, oh ye of the .62 cents per ounce. These babies are .50 cents per ounce! For the numerically challenged, that’s .12 cents an ounce cheaper. I eat 8 ounces of oats about 6x/week. The Kirkland Rolled Oats nutrition info says 1/2 a cup is 40g. So when we convert my 80g into ounces we get 2.8. Then we multiply that by our savings of .12 and get a grand total of 33.6 cents saved. Every damn morning. Costco for the win! And Ron!

In a few days, after I’ve finished all the remaining Quaker Oats, I will launch Operation KRO which consists of three phases. Phase one, invest my KRO savings in NVDA. Phase two, in a year or so, sell all my NVDA. Phase three, buy this.

Don’t hate me because you ain’t me.

Let Me Take Care Of It

‘member when I said one huge advantage of the new crib is the time I’ll save maintaining the much smaller yard?

The truth of the matter is, I kinda like yard work because the results are immediately visible, the exact opposite of my efforts to educate the next gen. Or my efforts to contribute to the common good more generally.

Right now, I’m bouncing back and forth between the old, still unsold house, and the new one. Yes, as a matter of fact, it does take real muscles to lift the mower in the back of the hatchback.

Yesterday, post shitty weather, I hit the Nature Park hard. There were an infinite number of brown pine seeds, leaves, branches, weeds, overgrown shrubs, but they were no match for me. First, blow. Then recharge batt. Then, pick up branches, pick largest weeds, toss pine cones over the outfield wall. Second, trim bushes front and back. Third, take recharged batt and blow a second time, moving bush clippings, leaves, and pine cone seeds into yard. Fourth, suck up said detritus while mowing with bag (verus the usual mulch). Fifth, pick up small branches that mower missed. Sixth, blow again because you can never blow enough.

It looked like like a million dollars. Or more.

A friend in North Carolina referred to “Mow, blow, and go” guys with derision. Screw that. It’s all about mowing, blowing, and going as fast as possible. Get the heart rate up and don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the pretty good.

Maybe when I close the classroom door for the last time, I’ll start a lawn business. Running between two houses is fun, but I imagine running between 10 would be 5x as fun. I’m workshopping names, let me know what you think. I saw a sign/advert yesterday while cycling for Lawn Boys and immediately thought of “Lawn Boy”,” a “take that” to that evil woman at Burgerville. Or maybe,”Mow, Blow, and Go”? Catchphrase, “Let me mow, blow, and go for you.”

The best part of this plan is I’ll have to buy a pickup truck. Well, that and what the GalPal is going to do when she sees my sweaty self get out of the truck after a long day of mowing, blowing, and going. Hubba hubba.

Student-Faculty Ratio To Ponder

“The nearly 150-year-old University of the Arts in Philadelphia will close its doors June 7. Many of its 1,149 students and about 700 faculty and staff members got the news from an article in the Philadelphia Inquirer on Friday or on social media, only later getting official word from the school.” The New York Times.

Less than two students per faculty/staff member. How did UAP last as long as it did?

Breaking Mexico’s Glass Ceiling

“Claudia Sheinbaum, a climate scientist and former mayor of Mexico City, won her nation’s elections on Sunday in a landslide victory that brought a double milestone: She became the first woman, and the first Jewish person, to be elected president of Mexico.

Early results indicated that Ms. Sheinbaum, 61, prevailed in what the authorities called the largest election in Mexico’s history, with the highest number of voters taking part and the most seats up for grabs.

It was a landmark vote that saw not one, but two, women vying to lead one of the hemisphere’s biggest nations. And it will put a Jewish leader at the helm of one of the world’s largest predominantly Catholic countries.” New York Times.

One detail left out of the Times coverage. Zero felonies.

Happy To Help

The best and most famous women’s college basketball player of all-time is now a rookie in the Women’s National Basketball Association. Caitlin Clark, with Steph Curry-like range, set numerous records on the court and now she’s setting them off the court with multimillion dollar endorsements. And bringing unprecedented attention to women’s college and professional basketball. I can’t think of any female athlete who has captured as much of the public’s attention as Clark.

You would think WNBA players would appreciate the eyeballs and money Clark is injecting into the until now low-profile league. Like PGA players who make four times as much as they would without Tiger Woods. That’s the way to think of Clark, as the WNBA’s Tiger Woods. Tangent—her golf swing is pretty good too.

But if you thought that about WNBA players, you would be wrong. Saturday, while standing under the basket, Clark got a forearm shiver from a Chicago Sky player when she wasn’t even looking. And one of the Chicago Sky’s teammates celebrated the hit, embracing her knucklehead teammate as she returned to the bench. More importantly, those two players appear to represent lots of WNBA peeps that resent Clark’s popularity and bulging bank account.

The predominant attitude seems to be “Who the hell do you think you are?” Not, “Welcome to the league, let’s ball, and let’s (finally) make bank.” Is there something about the way Clark conducts herself that explains the antipathy? Fo sho a large part of her success has to be self-confidence which at times crosses over into cockiness. Or what the kids call “swag”. But only on the court. One wonders, does heat-of-the-moment in-game swagger justify blind forearm shivers away from the ball? Hell nah, breh.

The coverage of the hard foul away from the ball has focused almost exclusively on where were Clark’s teammates? More to the point, who is the Indiana Fever’s enforcer? So here we are with people who’d be loathe to tell their school-aged children to “hit back” screaming at their televisions for “an enforcer”.

I suspect two things are at work. I wouldn’t be surprised if that “Who the hell do you think you are” sentiment is at work in her own teammates even as they fly on Clark-inspired charter flights for the first time in league history. Way too much fame and money too early on.

Race has to play a part too. Rightly or wrongly, the Chicago Sky player and Clark’s own teammates probably think a large part of her notoriety is a result of her Iowa whiteness.

Because WNBA players have long sought a white Boomer’s advice, I’m going to give it to them. Take a cue from the Professional Golf Association at the dawn of the Tiger Woods era. It’s in your enlightened self-interest to embrace Clark in total, the long-distance bombs, the television commercials, the in-game swag, the Midwest farm girl persona.

This is a generational opportunity to double or triple your salaries. And to avoid having to play in Russia during the off-season. And to avoid flying commercial with the rest of us plebs. And in case you hadn’t noticed, your time as a professional athlete is limited.