South City Confessions: Every August, I dream of colder summer getaways
Take me where the cool air is 24/7/365. But I can't leave St. Louis again.
The last time I moved away from St. Louis, I became depressed and felt like I was living in Witness Protection next to Walter White and Henry Hill. However, every July and August in St. Louis makes me want to get the fuck out of dodge--at least for a few weeks.
There’s nothing nice about extremely hot weather. It’s the same hazard talk from people who despise extremely cold weather. Both can kill, neither budge much, and either can turn an otherwise civilized evening into a sweaty chaos.
Welcome to this week’s South City Confessions. Paid subscribers only, but check this out because I’m not messing around. No baseball or movie talk here. Let’s get real.
Five minutes after stepping outside in very hot weather, or very humid and kind of hot weather, I am already feeling the levee breaking. What stands as my favorite Led Zeppelin song can also refer to my forehead being overwhelmed by sweat suddenly. Once it goes, the leaking and sweating doesn’t stop for a good 30 minutes. It’s like being submerged in your own body’s salt water production.
It’s the reason why I roll my eyes while watching HBO’s “Westworld.” Every other scene on that show is outside in a hot environment, and no one is sweating. Not one. Evan Rachel Wood’s skin glistens almost as much as Tessa Thompson’s. I understand that it’s not real and they aren’t in St. Louis, but I still bitch and moan like a child. We spend so much of our time being good adults that some childish activity is in order.
Cannabis helps. Oh baby it does. Stuff a pre-roll with something sinister-let’s say a little Killer G strain-and the worry of the weather will disappear--even if the weather won’t. It’s staying and causing chaos. Don’t forget about the role that mosquitoes play in very hot St. Louis weather.
They are the true Dr. Evil of this season. They need our blood to fuel their family growth, and leave a little nasty saliva on the skin as a token of disrespect. I’d like them eradicated immediately. I could almost stomach the heat without the bugs that hunt humans. Third world problems, but still a tiny big fucking problem.
It’s these times that I dream about leaving St. Louis not for the winter like some but for the massive heat waves, a pure sign that this February storm of 1982 baby likes his birth weather. Too cold? Put another layer on. Too hot? Take it off and get sued.
Final thoughts:
*Watching the Yankees at Busch tonight in good seats due to a gift from a Twitter friend in Brett Spencer, a sign that the world doesn’t think I suck.
*Be kind to your restaurant workers. Tip if you like, but be nice at the very least.
*Fuck rain. Three flood watches in two weeks is three past my limit.
*A kid who cleans his room and showers in the summer break is a good one. Vinny is getting there, like we all do.
*Salt and Smoke’s best menu item is the pulled chicken. Alabama Ranch on top, a trustworthy Brioche friend, and off you go.
Goodnight.