The perfect application of self medication - a smallmouth update
Love is the best drug, but then definitely heroin
Most good feelings about America come from ginning up that righteous WWII style patriotism or from Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island immigrant rags to riches type shit. Even these are complicated. The amber waves of grain are nice too, but lots of countries have those. My point here is that I am patriotic and love my country despite its “complicated” past. Living with cognitive dissonance - evolutionary adaptation and surviving more than just modern society - a hot take on human psychology. But also pretty much no one is proud to suspend habeas corpus. It is never justified and it is decidedly not-mint. Make peace with cognitive dissonance. Make trouble with Trump. Can I maintain the uneasy stability of this cognitive dissonance during a democratic emergency? How long will this straightening of the arc of the moral universe last?
To describe something with the slang term “mint” is to indicate that it is high quality or in excellent condition. I assume this usage is related to “mint condition” coins - uncirculated, perfect as the day they were made. But when I was a kid I thought it was mint because it was cool and fresh, like the herb.
Does the name Buster Douglas mean anything to you? Thirteen year old Jennifer Capriati? Jose Canseco becoming the highest paid player in MLB history? The Philly Phanatic and I were born in 1978 - coincidence? I think not. Do you like mescal and lemonade? Do you know what “tatonka” means? A slice of pizza and mescaline? A Jamaican queen from Jamaica Queens? The perfect application of self medication? Have you ever noticed how famous Spanish names can be translated into stereotypical mafia names?
Antonio Banderas - Tony Flags
Benicio del Toro - Benny Bull
Guillermo del Toro - Billy Bull
Enrique Iglesias - Henry Churches
Diego Luna - Jimmy Moon
“So, Esmarelda Villalobos, is that Mexican?”
“The name is Spanish, but I am Colombian.”
“That’s some handle you got there, Honey.”
“Thank you. And what is your name?”
“Butch.”
“Butch. What does it mean?”
“I’m an American honey, our names don’t mean shit.”
The woman who played Esmarelda [sic] Villalobos in that iconic scene, and did her terrible accent, was born in Greensburg, PA and went to college in Pittsburgh. Why didn’t anyone tell me that the movie The Brutalist was pretty much about Pennsylvania?
Anyway, smallmouth season was quick and good this year. I made one last open lake trip last night to a new spot because the wind was good but I couldn’t find any pods of fish, just ones and twos that wouldn’t cooperate. Like a needle in a haystack out there. I probably won’t scratch at any spawning fish this year and Muskie opens in two weeks so I’ll start wasting all my time on that. I need to learn some open water summer smallmouth spots and I’m excited to poke around for them this year, but it seems to me that if you want to chase the biggest smallmouth in the world then April is the right month on Lake Erie. Last year I got a five pounder and this year I got a six. Next year is a seven, 2027 is an eight, 2028 is a nine, and 2029 is a ten. The end.
