GlueStick was probably on to something
A dispatch from the Bread Basket
I do quite a bit of remote work. As such, I spend a lot of time in coffee shops and other places with free wi-fi and increasingly expensive food and drinks. As such, I am writing this from a Panera Bread, a term which, if google is to be trusted, means “bread basket”. Thus, I choose to work at a place called “bread basket” and yet I wonder why I can’t seem to keep any weight off. Life is a mystery. In any case, as I nosh on this bagel, please enjoy tolerate some observations for the week. There is a nod to a notorious horse race, further contemplation of the purpose of it all, and a celebration of just getting the domestic stuff done.
There’s a Season to Celebrate . . .
This week is an exciting one in my home city of Louisville, Kentucky, as the world turns its collective fascinator-donned head toward a humble little multi-billion dollar racetrack in the heart of Louisville’s west side. In honor of this prestigious event, here are a few facts* about the Derby that may or may not be well-known.
The Kentucky Derby covers a racing distance of 1.25 miles. This is down from the original length of 1.5 miles, which this was found to be increasingly daunting due to the number of horses who were taking up another time-honored Kentucky tradition, namely smoking on breaks.
Speaking of distance, a “furlong”, which is the unit of measurement commonly used in horse racing, is equivalent to 1/8 of a mile. The term is of medieval origin, and comes from the roots furh which means “for” and longe which roughly translates “heavens sake, just use miles.”
One of the most surprising losses in Derby history came when Point Given, heavy favorite and subsequent winner of the Preakness and the Belmont Stakes, came in 5th. By contrast, one of the least surprising losses was in 1996 when Bob Baffert-trained gelding GlueStick freaked out at the sound of the starting bell, dumped his jockey, ran into the infield and was later found drinking Falls City beer and eating nachos out of a trash barrel.
The official drink of the Derby is the Mint Julep, a delicate potable made with bourbon, mint, and sugar. However, the most popular race-day refreshment is the Backstretch Burn, a mixture of any whisky that can be securely attached to a leg flask, Splenda, and a wintergreen Altoid.
Only 3-year-old Thoroughbreds can compete in the race. However, it’s fairly well-known in the industry that 2-year-olds with fake ID’s are commonly allowed to enter.
Finally, particularly with the advent of online betting, common wagers such as “Win” or “Show” are being supplanted by more exotic bets. For instance, the most popular bet of 2024 was the NotExacta, a bet that a horse will finish the race, in any position, but more importantly that it will just have fun!
*I cannot be responsible for vetting every “fact” presented on this publication - no one has that kind of time.
. . .And a reason for everything
Sometimes, at the end of a long day, my wife Abby and I will be sitting in the living room, exhausted, worn from the trials of the day. Often in those moments, I will find myself wondering where energy for the next day will come from, questioning if I’m doing any of this right, pondering - nay, contemplating! - what compels us along this oft-tumultuous journey called parenthood.
And then I’ll look at my wonderful children, at all of their vitality and energy, and I’ll be instantly reminded of why we do all of this . . .because we will eventually need someone to bury us.
BTW, do we even need a tub?
The following is a throwback, but now that we have a granddaughter, who lives with us, gets filthy, and treats the bath like her own personal splash park, what’s old is new again!
Last night a bath night in the Mullins home. Which means our bathroom now resembles a gas station restroom from a movie about a fugitive on the run:
There is standing water everywhere; q-tips, half-empty toothpaste tubes, cups and other random items lying about; a tattered rag floating in a sink full of murky water; an abandoned box of hair dye; pieces of hair lying atop and around a pair of broken rusty scissors; a single, flickering light bulb swinging ominously to and fro in front of a dirty mirror; a receipt from the purchase of a one-way bus ticket to Tijauna; and a ripped-in-half photo of a large albino Russian man with the words "El Diablo" scrawled across it in what appears to be axle grease.
Still, another bath night is in the books.
Thanks for reading! It’s always good to hear from you. If you enjoy, please feel free to forward to your friends and loved ones. If you don’t enjoy, I’d quite frankly prefer you keep that to yourself :)
