It’s hard to peel myself away from the war in Ukraine.
That sounds like I’m actually in the war, but I’m not even close. Anything’s possible, but I’m sure no one has ever considered firing a bomb, smart or otherwise, at my house.
Of course, I’m talking about my specific house. Back in the 1980s, we were in the middle of the Cold War, and there was a 100 percent chance somebody in the former USSR had gamed out the possibility of nuclear winds sweeping away our three-bedroom, two-bath house as well as the three-bedroom, two-bath houses of millions of other Americans.
A miniseries called “The Day After” attempted to illustrate what would happen after a full-blown nuclear war. It made for interesting and dark conversations at school the next day.
That was scary while “Red Dawn” took the same existential threat and made it fun.
In the movie, a ragtag band of freedom fighters, led by heroic Patrick Swayze, went machine gun to machine gun against Russians who’d invaded the United States of America.
I watched “Red Dawn” too many times. The characters experienced plenty of hardships, including hunger and raw terror. They also executed righteous kills on the big screen. It’s been decades since I’ve seen it, but scenes are burned into my longterm memory.
Now, Vladimir Putin appears to be on a nostalgia tour and talking about the possibility of using nuclear weapons.
I would’ve preferred the return of parachute pants or women with hair puffed out to the max, but no one asked me. Maybe we could all start wearing Izod shirts and quit eating quiche. (If you missed the 1980s, the “quiche” reference is topnotch. Trust me.)
I’m heavily invested in the war in Ukraine. It’s available on my TV and phone 24/7, and I’ve become an armchair expert.
For instance, I’ve learned that Russia could compete for corruption capital of the world. Generations of generals have been funneling money away from the armed services and into their own pension funds. That’s apparently why so many trucks, tanks and other vehicles have run out of gas or broken down on muddy roads.
I quietly cheer the bogged down vehicles, and a darker part of me takes a sick type of pleasure when one of my screens reveals the destruction of a Russian unit.
On Saturday, a photo was making the rounds of a group of Russian soldiers trapped tightly together in an elevator. (Pro tip: When taking over an enemy’s building, use the stairs.)
Twitter commenters suggested cutting the elevator cable. If it were happening in “Red Dawn,” I’d enjoy watching bad guys fall. But it’s real life playing out on my screens, not some Hollywood writer’s fever dream.
My screens also show the fiery destruction of Ukraine’s cities and the many civilian casualties. In addition to news footage, people have been posting pictures of their Ukrainian friends killed in the fighting.
I’ve seen some nasty stuff but haven’t lived any of it. I’m nowhere near the war, so I can put down my phone and or turn the channel and be free, but that hasn’t been easy to do.
Not so long ago, it took weeks or months for news of a war to travel more than 5,500 miles. Only in this recent sliver of human history have we been able to see atrocities as they happen.
I’ve yet to figure out a good way to deal with that fact.
