Memory Is an Odd Mistress
Why do I forget everything I want to remember, yet recall every minute detail of trivial things?
Hello and welcome to Moronitude! This week we’re going to talk about memory—specifically the weird way mine works—and a real-life supervillain finally kicking the bucket. Let’s get right into it, shall we?
Hello and welcome to Moronitude! This week we’re going to talk about memory—specifically… wait a second. Did I already write the intro? I think I did but I’m not sure… oh yes, I did, let’s carry on. Look, I know half of you signed up to this here newsletter for the cringe worthy dad jokes that I roll out with regularity. You’re welcome. And to the rest of you, thank you for enduring my idiocy.
But I digress, let’s talk about grey hunk of matter sitting in my skull and the weird ways it manipulates the world in which I live. I was in the office today, doing my best to look busy while slowly readjusting after a weekend of overindulgence, when the subject of the Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest came up.
My colleague from Ireland has been privileged to live most of her life completely oblivious to this revolting spectacle (make no mistake, I love the damn thing, but let’s be honest, it’s gross) and she asked a simple question about the event—do the contestants have to pay for the hot dogs?
I laughed and informed her that the people gorging themselves on stage are professional eaters. Simply put, this is their job. Or at least a side gig. And then, to my horror, I realized that I could name at least five professional eaters with zero prompts whatsoever. Joey Chestnut, Kobeyashi, Tim Janus (more commonly known as Eater X), Maria Edible and Crazy Legs Conti.
Why the hell do I know this? And more importantly, what important information has been muscled out of my brain in order to retain this nonsense?
I have so much trouble remembering what various chores or work obligations I have on a daily basis. Do I have any meetings tomorrow? I have no clue without opening up my email and/or work calendar. But I can recite the lyrics to every single song from Mustard Plug’s 1997 magnum opus “Evildoers Beware!” with at least 95% accuracy. I get tripped up on “Mendoza” since—I know this is an unpopular opinion—it is a very bad song.
The question that I wish I could get to the bottom of is why my brain prioritizes certain nuggets of information over others, because I can tell you with 100% certainty the process is not based on my wishes. Do I have an affinity for the 1990s Atlanta Braves? Sure! But I’m pretty confident being able to talk about the double play combination of Mark Lemke to Jeff Blauser will not benefit me in any way whatsoever. Being able to remember exactly what was said on a conference call last week would have tangible benefits… guess which one I recall?
I get so upset with myself when I can’t remember the details of some event that other friends of mine recall perfectly. I know that it is all down to the peculiarities of my brain, but I often find it to be a personal failing that I don’t remember some idiotic Wednesday night bowling with coworkers back in 2002, particularly when others recall the night vividly. Sure, my memory will get jogged once they throw in some details, but I get irate at myself for not remembering all along.
People often talk about how having a photographic memory would be a curse. I recognize the burden one must have being able to recall every minute detail about every single break up, tragedy, death or embarrassment in their lives. But it seems to be completely outweighed by the benefits you receive. And I’m only talking about the personal level here, not the obvious academic advantages you would get by retaining every lecture you’ve attended or every book you’ve ever read. If I was able to choose a mutant power, it would most certainly be this.
But this isn’t the X-Men. So I’m going to keep on remembering every detail of the David Copperfield show I saw in Lake Tahoe on my 8th birthday and having not the faintest idea what I’m supposed to do this week. There are merits to recalling the terror of a buzzsaw ripping through Copperfield’s flesh but my life would probably run a little smoother if I could just remember every damn call I have to get on at work.
Weekly Song to Rock Out To
You Never Give Me Your Money/The End by Tenacious D
Given that I learned about their existence from watching Mr. Show, I once thought Tenacious D were just a couple of silly oafs pretending to be musicians. Sure, the songs in the skits were catchy and fun, but I assumed there was probably some actual musician in the back writing everything for JB and KG. Then, of course, the first album came out. For a certain type of person (nerdy dudes) that album hit so fucking hard back in 2001. I loved it to pieces and listened to it constantly while working at the video store, often singing along with my coworkers.
Yet I still had some lingering doubts about the band, partially dismissing everything to studio magic. Looking back, I’m not sure why I was so dubious, but I thought it all had to be smoke and mirrors somehow. Then I saw The D live and I was blown away. Not only were they the first band on a lineup that exemplifies the era—Weezer/Jimmy Eat World/Tenacious D—but they stole the damn show.
Not only did they provide the chuckles with their “pyrotechnics” (Nerf rockets they stomped on) and ridiculous cover of “Chop Suey” by System of a Down, but they wowed the hell out of me by playing the medley above. They nailed it while still making it their own. I think the recorded version isn’t quite as good as a) I don’t have any powerful nostalgia attached to this exact version, b) I already know both Jack Black and Kyle Gass are super talented musicians at the time of listening, thus my mind isn’t blown in the way that it once was. That being said, the song is very good… unlike the man we’re about to discuss.
Charlie’s (Contemporary) History Corner
Donald Rumsfeld died last week. Normally I do my best to not be the type of person who dances on the graves of others—karma and what not—but I most definitely made an exception for Rummy. This time I saw the news on Twitter and exclaimed, “Hell yes! Donald Rumsfeld is dead as shit!” To which my coworkers responded, “Who is Donald Rumsfeld?,” yet another reminder that I’m old and the year 2001 was a long, long time ago.
To say that Rumsfeld was an evil man is an understatement. He was a war-mongering piece of shit who quite literally is responsible for hundreds of thousands of deaths. During his second tenure as Secretary of Defense, Mr. Rumsfeld only wanted to go on the offense, eventually finding an excuse to start the war he dreamed of in the tragedy that was 9/11.
Within minutes of the Twin Towers falling Rumsfeld was searching for a way to pin the attacks on Saddam Hussein, facts of the matter be damned. According to notes from one of his aides, Rumsfeld’s immediate instructions to his aides were to “Judge whether (information) good enough to hit S.H. (Hussein) at same time. Not only UBL (Usama bin Laden). Need to move swiftly—near term target needs—go massive—sweep it all up.”
In the hours after the September 11th attacks there was admittedly a lot of confusion and fear, but Rumsfeld was able to work his way through this to find that he could use the national tragedy as an excuse to begin a forever war in Iraq. Nothing was going to stop him from going to war with Hussein, most certainly not facts. So when it was easily refuted that Hussein had nothing to do with 9/11—something anybody with cursory knowledge of bin Laden and Al-Qaeda knew immediately—Rumsfeld had a back up plan ready to go.
As Rumsfeld told the nation, Iraq had massive stockpiles of weapons of mass destruction just sitting there, ready to be unleashed upon the world. In his version of events Iraq may not have actually been involved in 9/11, but they’re ready and capable to do much worse. Rumsfeld leapt upon the opportunity to scare America into backing a war that had few real goals and zero plan for an exit strategy.
We all know how it worked out—hundreds of thousands of people died, maybe more. It’s horrific to consider just the deaths, but when you add in other effects like all of the civilians who lost their homes and livelihoods, all of the soldiers who were injured, all the people who suffer from PTSD thanks to the horrors they experienced and the political instability that still exists in Iraq nearly two decades later, well, the Iraq War should be remembered as a staggering catastrophe.
A catastrophe that more than likely wouldn’t have ever taken place if it weren’t for the urging of Donald Rumsfeld and a few of his cronies. The world is without a doubt a much better place without him and if there is a Hell you can be guaranteed he is burning there as we speak. That is a known known.
Things to Read!
I’ve been really slacking on including links to stuff lately. Is there an excuse? Probably. Is it any good and worth trotting out? Absolutely not. So here are some articles I enjoyed!
We need a new national anthem and it absolutely should be this ripper by Mastodon.
William Henry Harrison was dead 31 days into his presidency and he is still held in greater esteem than Donald Trump.
https://www.c-span.org/presidentsurvey2021/?page=overall
I don’t remember if I shared this previously, but Eric Carle (of The Very Hungry Caterpillar fame) had a quote he never said widely circulated after his death. Where did it come from? An April Fools Day joke from a well-respected media publication. I feel your pain, Eric, it’s happened to many of us. Here’s the full story of how that happened and it’s pretty interesting.
https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2021/06/08/anatomy-of-a-hoax/
That’s it! Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed what you read, why not share Moronitude with a friend? C’mon. You know you want to.