Howdy! Welcome to another edition of Moronitude. This week we’re going to be talking about a hilarious French punk album, a bear soldier and more. But first, let’s discuss getting needles in arms, shall we?
Covid has changed our lives in ways both profound and minuscule over the past 50 weeks. All of the obvious ones have been documented 10,000 times, both in this newsletter and elsewhere. It’s the little changes I’ve seen in myself that I think are worth talking about. Like how I’ve become hyper-aware of the chubbiness level of my face thanks to countless Zoom calls and masks that accentuate my extra chins. It’s a thing I think about all of the time now.
Another little thing is how I have absolutely mastered giving side-eye to people on the train. I used to shoot a disapproving glance every once in a while, often motivated by some bozo ignorant of how easy a pair of headphones is to obtain. But now that I’m riding the PATH train with maskless dolts on a daily basis I have honed my skills well beyond what I thought was possible. I shame people into pulling up their damn masks about 3-4 times per week without even opening my mouth. I’m starting to go a little wild with my power, not unlike Colin Robinson in “What We Do in the Shadows.”
The biggest changes I’ve seen in myself are both related to getting the vaccine. First of all, I’ve apparently overcome my aversion to needles. Aversion is a weak term actually, I’m terrified of needles. I know what most of you are thinking, “But Charlie, you have a bunch of tattoos. What the hell?” The thing is that when the needles are hidden in the midst of a tattoo machine they don’t bother me one bit. Now, I’m not going to stare down at what’s happening while getting a tattoo (I’m not a huge fan of blood either), but for some reason my brain doesn’t connect the two.
But I will go into a full blown panic over getting a shot. It’s why I never bother to get a flu shot. It’s why I despise getting blood work done. It’s why I duck my head under the blanket whenever a movie character does heroin, which honestly seems to happen way too often on film.
So it’s very strange to not only want to get a shot, but to witness myself actively work my ass off trying to get an appointment. I’ve signed up to be on the list at just about every possible place you can. I follow multiple vaccine trackers that let you know when spots open up. I’m on the list at all sorts of places that I couldn’t even find on the map with no idea how I would actually get there, but that’s a problem I’ll deal with when my number comes up.
All of this work has been to no avail. I have yet to be able to secure an appointment and it sucks. Which brings us to the second change I’ve seen in myself—a bitter jealousy towards everybody I see getting the vaccine.
I want to be completely honest about this because I’m guessing I’m not the only one with these thoughts. Every time I scroll past somebody in my timeline celebrating their second Moderna, I feel an immediate tinge of jealousy. And anger. My mind goes places I really don’t want it to. I start having thoughts like how I deserve the vaccine more because I have to go to the office. I deserve it more because I’ve been very good about quarantine. I should have that vaccine and they shouldn’t because [insert increasingly flimsy argument here].
These thoughts pass almost immediately and are replaced with the emotion I should be having, joy for a friend of mine who is now protected from getting a potentially fatal virus. But I need to acknowledge the vitriol that has entered my subconscious. I hate it so much. It’s not who I am, but it’s what this pandemic has done to me. It’s taking away some of my empathy, it’s made me more selfish.
That vitriol isn’t just directed at others, I also get furious at myself. My inner voice is constantly chastising me for not spending more time researching on the web, criticizing me for giving up after calling 20 times in an afternoon. Every day that goes by without securing that first dose makes me feel like an even bigger failure.
The thing that makes all of this maddening—besides the botched rollout process, the scarcity of vaccines and rules that differ wildly not just by state, but by zip code—is the way our brains have been rewired after a year-long pandemic. It’s been more than a year since I’ve seen my family or traveled out of state (commuting to NYC doesn’t count in my book) and during that stretch I’ve seen my friends a fraction of the amount of time I would have normally. While Zooms and phone calls help keep me sane, not to mention the benefits of living with a pretty rad fiancée, I do feel like I’ve lost some of my humanity.
I’ve told myself a billion times that it’s OK to feel off during this pandemic. So I guess it’s OK to have a small moment of jealous rage each time I see that somebody got vaccinated, as long as that moment dissipates quickly. Once I get over these momentary lapses I’m overjoyed each time I see a completed vaccination card in my feed. I’m psyched to see a friend of mine shed this burden and I need to focus on that.
My time will come. Now, excuse me while I go make some more calls.
Weekly Song to Rock Out To
Quel Est Mon Âge Encore by Clignement 182
A friend posted a link to this album last week and, it brings me great shame to admit this, but I’ve listened to it at least 20 times. If this was simply a cover of a Blink-182 song in French it would be enough, but no, it’s so much more than that. This band covered the entire Enema of the State album translated literally. Often when a band tries to cover a song in a different language they’ll fudge the lyrics a bit, trying to do the best they can while still maintaining the proper vocal melody. That is not what’s happening here and it delights me. In every song there is at least one brilliant moment where the singer has to fit 20 syllables into a spot designed for 5. I cackle every single time.
It’s such a silly endeavor and so much fun. I really need more of this in my life. There’s Bad Religion’s German version of Punk Rock Song, but a band singing their own song in a different language isn’t quite as much fun, especially when you realize Greg Graffin speaks German. I want, no, demand a Spanish language version of “Exile on Main Street,” a Mandarin version of “Dookie,” and a Greek version of “Boys and Girls in America.” Shit, it’s illogical that a Russian version of “Evil Empire” doesn’t already exist.
The possibilities are endless!
Things to Read
I, for one, welcome our new octopus overlords. https://www.nytimes.com/2021/02/20/science/octopus-arms-light.html?surface=home-discovery-vi-prg&fellback=false&req_id=197263734&algo=identity&variant=no-exp&imp_id=776425230&action=click&module=Science%20%20Technology&pgtype=Homepage
The CIA determined the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia approved of, and likely ordered, the murder of a U.S. citizen. So what are we going to do about it? Apparently, nothing. https://www.esquire.com/news-politics/politics/a35636583/mohammad-bin-salman-jamal-khashoggi-biden-declassify-report/
Remember back in November when Mitch McConnell, the supervillain version of Kermit the Frog, said there was no harm in letting Trump claim the election was rigged. Here’s more proof of how The Big Lie is being used to restrict voting rights across the country. https://www.npr.org/2021/02/28/970877930/why-republicans-are-moving-to-fix-elections-that-werent-broken
Charlie’s History Corner
Bears rule. My adoration for all things ursine goes far deeper than simply rooting for George Halas’ football team. Watching polar bears do their thing is my favorite part of going to the zoo, my affinity for going pantsless comes from Winnie the Pooh and my all-time favorite Twitter account belongs to a very clever, albeit a little sad, bear.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise that my favorite Polish soldier of all-time happens to be a bear, even if it is a bit surprising that I’ve compiled a list of favorite Polish soldiers.
Wojtek was a Syrian brown bear from Iran who was adopted by soldiers in a unit made up of Polish refugees living in the Soviet Union. Yeah, I know, that’s a lot to process in one sentence, but it’s even more complicated than that.
The story really begins with the Nazi invasion of Poland in 1939 when the the country was wiped off the map and divided between the Germans and the Soviet Union. Over the next couple of years close to half a million Polish civilians were relocated from Soviet Occupied Poland to areas deeper within the Soviet Union. Much to Stalin’s surprise, Hitler didn’t really want to be BFFs and with the commencement of Operation Barbarossa, the Nazis were at war with the Soviet Union by 1941.
The Soviets started working with the allies, which in turn meant reestablishing relations with the Polish government in exile (in London). And this is how Anders’ Army came to be. The force was composed almost entirely of Polish POWs, including many Jewish soldiers who ultimately left the army once it arrived in Palestine. As the army shipped out of the Soviet Union they were accompanied by a large group of Polish refugees, including many women and children who chose to follow their family members who had joined up.
At a railway station in Hamadan, Iran, the army came across a teenager with a bear cub who had been orphaned when a hunter killed its mother. One of the refugees, an 18-year-old girl named Irena, thought the bear was cute because of course it was cute it was a frickin’ bear cub. Irena convinced the soldiers to adopt the bear and she became its main caretaker.
After a couple of months spent feeding the bear condensed milk from a vodka bottle (this is the most hardcore thing I can imagine), Irena gave the bear to the soldiers because she didn’t want to be eaten in her sleep. OK, I made that last part up, there’s not a good explanation out there as to why she no longer wanted to be a bear mom, but the point is the soldiers named the bear Wojtek and made him one of their own.
Army life suited Wojtek well. He enjoyed a cup of coffee in the morning, a couple of cigarettes during the course of the day (although he usually ate them, probably because it's difficult to light a match with bear paws) and, at the end of the day, Wojtek liked to relax with a nice bowl of beer. He even learned how to salute.
Wojtek attracted a crowd everywhere Anders’ Army went, from Iran to Egypt. It was there that the orders for the army changed, they would no longer be wandering around the Middle East, it was now time to head to Italy and take on the Nazis. Which meant hitching a ride with the British Navy.
Militaries love regulations, and the British Navy was no exception—they had a very firm “no pets” policy. This is where I assumed the story would end. We’d pan out with a shot of the soldiers waving goodbye to the bear as they sailed off to war.
But that’s not what happened. Instead, the soldiers made the bear an official member of the army. Paddington may have worn a slicker and cute yellow rain boots, but Wojtek took things to the next level as he became a private in the 22nd Artillery Supply Company. The bear joined his fellow soldiers on the boat and took part in the Battle of Monte Cassino, where he possibly helped carry artillery shells. Whether or not that part was true, Wojtek earned a promotion to corporal and an image of the bear carrying a shell became the company’s official emblem.
Can you imagine being one a private in that company? Being outranked by a bear has to bring an altogether never previously experienced level of shame.
After the war, Wojtek retired from military service and spent the rest of his life as a resident at the Edinburgh Zoo. Not a bad life for a bear.
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Bears.