Extra Thoughts, Volume 1: Tarasenko, Pujols, Baldwin, Dairy Queen, and one wicked truth

Let’s call this… everything else. While there’s a buffet every week over at Jewish Light, there are things that get left out, or happen an hour after the article posts. So these could be called extra thoughts, ideas, bullet points, potential story threads. We shall see.

If there’s any difference, let’s just say these are rapid fire deliveries that don’t go on for long.

I wish Vladimir Tarasenko would stay longer. Doug Armstrong is going to have to give to get rid of you. If not, the trade would have already happened. There’s two years left on a contract that I see completed elsewhere. I still think #91 plays elsewhere come October, but it would be nice if the transaction didn’t happen until February. However, clubhouse tension is dangerous for a team with many new and important parts. I’d simply prefer a better ending to Tarasenko’s time here.

Alec Baldwin is a great actor. Film or television, small or big roles, chewing scenery or burning slowly. Phenomenal. But I’d wish he’d shut the fuck up about politics and pretty much any vital thing. That’s not for all celebs, just the ones who call their own daughter “a pig.” Stick to the craft, Alec.

If the Cardinals do plan on tossing the COVID-19 delta variant at our faces for reasons to not spend big this coming offseason, they can at least bring Albert Pujols home to swing one last time. He’s 24 home runs away from 700, and has comprised a .780 OPS with the Dodgers this season. At 41 (or 44, who really cares?) years of age, Pujols has still got it. At the very least, put him in the DH spot.

If you are going to spend, get a shortstop. Please. Paul DeJong is about as satisfying these days as a beefy burrito without the cheese.

Dairy Queen isn’t that good, folks. The Hampton/Eichelberger location lights up so hot on any given night, you’d think the ice cream was free. It’s just subpar, like waiting in line for a grand slam breakfast at Denny’s. Lines wrapped around the building and protruding into traffic, which is already nuts with the “no rights on red” and new setup (which I prefer). Clementine’s Creamery is close by and so much better.

Pools are complicated. Very much so. You construct them based on directions, burning in the red hot sun and wishing bugs were friendlier. But later on, the yard informs you that leveling is another world of bullshit that the human brain can not tackle alone. Minds compress, lots of local deli-made sandwiches are eaten, and much alcohol is consumed afterwards. It’s trial and error, with enough fucks to make Tarantino blink.

Can we stop talking about Zack Snyder’s “Justice League” and how it would have or could have performed in a pandemic-less world. Play that song for all the lost 2020 original release souls? Instead, push all that brain oxygen into his fun-as-fuck Netflix film, “Army of the Dead.” Look back at one of his gems with the “Dawn of the Dead” remake. Screw, Justice League. Re-edited and extended, the film still came off as a dry piece of meatloaf without any rub.

Wicked Truth: Beer tastes so much better in a glass bottle than a can. The chill that accompanies the bottle lasts longer than the coldness on the can. There’s nothing worse, maybe cold coffee originally intended as hot, than a warm beer. It’s deflating. The kind of deflating that sets off a severe mood swing, chronicling warm pretzel and cheese consumption. Chilled glass bottles retain the integrity of even a commercial beer like Bud Select. Cans are a choice below aluminum and cups.

Class dismissed.

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