The Rant: Dylan Carlson's last stand, diet Gyllenhaal, sequelitis in Hollywood, and preparing to fight mosquitoes
Walter White had life as an enemy. My sworn foes in this world are tiny.
Every March in St. Louis, I feel like Arnold Schwarzenegger at the end of Commando. He climbs into his tiny inflated boat with his 1,000 pounds of weapons and explosives, setting a course for the island where his daughter is being held hostage. He only needs boots and paints, because a shirt is too much weight for revenge and justice to carry. I get up, grab my can of green OFF spray, and douse myself with a bug repellent that works most of the time. But I wear a shirt, because not wearing one would be absolutely fucking stupid.
Pardon the interruption, curse words will be used on this Substack. Yes, just like Esquire and The Rolling Stone publication. If that lessens the writing for you or sets me on a lower moral high ground with your free spirit, so be it. Some of the best scribes have cursed in their ramblings like it was going out of style, and that gives it an extra layer of authenticity. The proper use of a “fuck” is special in just about any sentence, but I’ll make it count. Now, fill up your Bloody Mary and let’s get back to the weekly rant.
Spring time can be a lovely time of year. Baseball is starting, the nights are lighter and longer, and school is almost out. The last part hits differently for me than it used to, because it essentially equals a smaller amount of responsibility with the young one. When Vinny gets back from spring break on Monday, he has around two months left. Afterwards, it’ll be an odyssey filled with gaming, World War knowledge bites, sleeping, Cheez-It destruction, and much more non-school stuff. I’m envious.
But the spring also means those small, hard-to-see asshats called mosquitoes are making another appearance. They’re slowly coming back, and I think they’re more stronger than ever. A few weeks ago, the temperature hiked up to 84 degrees and unleashed a few families of human blood suckers into the Princeton Heights neighborhood. My tiny boat of weapons and explosives were not ready yet, and I was bit like a sweet crimson drum right behind my ear.
I’m the guy who hates welts and bumps on his face and neck that can’t be explained, as if an origin tale is never coming. George Carlin made a funny joke about pulling odd things off your skull and launching an investigation. A mosquito bite doesn’t really disguise itself. It’s a big red bump that itches like nothing else. You do more damage to your skin than the bug itself due to the rubbing, scratching, and general touching.
All due to the fact that unlike every other bug on this planet, mosquitoes need us. Our blood gives them the necessary means to create protein for their eggs. We help create the things that suck on us. As Will Ferrell gleefully proclaimed in Wedding Crashers, “the circle of life, it’s so beautiful.” But it’s not, Willy. They’re back and ready to take our blood. Can I find my tiny boat, weapons, explosives, boots and pants without a shirt, and fight back?
We shall see, but if you want to see the rest of this post, a paid subscription will be required. Blame it on everything costing more or the general idea of being paid a few shekels for a hobby, but the near 2,000 word or more weekly outputs are the one thing I can plant a few seeds for and wait for the paid list to grow. Also, my wife thinks it should be paid. (She’d be charging you for more, for the record.) If you’re a smart husband and generally like the idea of more oxygen in your head, agree with your wife more often.
Now, let’s get into it. All the madness, despair notes, and general ruminations that can fit onto a page.
YOUR TIME TO SHINE, DYLAN CARLSON
He’s still young, but the patience clock is getting low with the St. Louis Cardinals’ opening day centerfielder. With Victor Scott II’s exciting yet raw play being sent to the minors to sharpen those Harrison Bader-type (but maybe better) skills, Carlson gets the nod. The guy with the uppercut swing, switch-hitting setup has one last chance to make it or break off onto a different team or expectation if 2024 goes bust.
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