Compari-sins

I have a loose, clammy grasp of history. And it’s only getting less secure by the day. I simply can’t hold it together for much longer, shamelessly pretending to understand the relationship between past, present, and future. Things always seem barely out of reach. So what do I do? 

I make comparisons all day between current events and touchstones from the past. My favorite phrase is, “this is exactly like Weimar. You had to be there.” While I wasn’t technically there, I have a good idea what things were like in the apocalyptic glow of a certain country. Of course, I don’t know what “Weimar” was like, but it sure sounds good to my merry band of clickers, following my every move with bated breath and far firmer grips than I can muster.

There are plenty of terrible leaders I could drawn upon. I could reference Vlad the Impaler, Pol Pot, or any number of cagey Khans pillaging across Eurasia. I don’t do that though. I only allude to one sickly man whose rhetorical histrionics are infamous to this day. When I speak of fascism, I might be talking about Pinochet or Salazar, but I’m not. You know what I mean. I don’t have time for cleverer comparisons and references to non-Teutonic barbarians. 

My inability to think deeply is by no means limited to history. No, no. I do the same thing at the dinner table, putting every dish from Italy in how it stacks up against spaghetti and meatballs. Babe Ruth is the only baseball player I can think of. And Baby Ruth is the only candy bar that comes to mind. 

I like to maintain a surface level understanding, like a frog resting on a lily pad, never diving deeper. That and I line my home with important books hoping people watching at home notice the breadth of my shelves. Both to seem to work. No one has noticed yet.