Covid-19: A review

Even as the Covid-19 craze swept the world, I steered clear. I've never been one for trends, and was able to avoid participating in this one for a full four and a half years. But trends are not things that can be avoided forever; after a half a decade or so, they stop being trends and instead become part of the natural way of things.

So fine. Fine, let's do this.

I will start off with the summary version: As a virus, Covid-19 brings nothing new to the table. It aspires to be something great, but relies on the same hoary tropes of other viruses, believing instead that quantity trumps all. Its presentation is pedestrian, but in execution is simply boorish. It does not invent; instead, it only insists upon itself.

I mean that last part literally: It literally insists upon itself. I am triply vaccinated, which is about as clear an opt-out clause as one can imagine in the virus world, but Covid insisted upon itself regardless.

While it should not be the beginning or end of any review, it should be noted that any enterprise that relies on rousting customers off the streets and against their will is almost assuredly not a quality operation. If a restaurant stays in business primarily by kidnapping its customers, it hardly speaks well of the chef's professional confidence. If a musical group relies, as central artistic statement, on a deafening loudness meant to mask the muddiness of each abused instrument, it is the mark that none of the participants believe they have anything to offer up aside from "loud."

Covid-19 is like that. It insists on itself despite bringing nothing to the virus scene that has not been done before, and better. The only thing it is can truly claim to be "better" at is being worse.

My own Covid-19 infection came with no menu; each experience is strictly chef's choice. I was presented with what appeared to be an omicron-based variant (also the likely cause of the virus' blatant evasion of my multiple presented opt-out cards.) It is unclear how often the menu rotates or, indeed, what the alleged chef's vision might ostensibly consist of; individual experiences are likely to vary drastically.

Mucus generation: The old virus standby. This rates no more than a passing mention; obnoxious levels of fluid generation are to a viral infection what peas are to a frozen ready-to-eat dinner. It is the packing peanuts of virus symptoms, added in solely to take up space. Zero stars.

Fever: Imagine you went to a restaurant and were presented with an absolutely terrible soup. Now suppose you sent it back with a complaint, only to be then be presented with the exact same soup—only hotter. Would you consider it an improvement? Of course not—it would be obvious the chef was either flailing or gaslighting. Zero stars.

Muscle aches: The same. No stars.

Searing chest pain: Even this speaks to the dullness of the virus' vision; this symptom, too, is copied wholesale from influenza. And that is the entirety of the Covid-19 vision: "What if The Flu, but Louder?" "What if The Flu, but Hotter?" "What if The Flu, but there is some measurable chance that on day four your Heart Will Explode?" This is not a monster truck rally. You cannot just add bigger wheels to a preowned virus and call it done.

Sudden chills: I'm actually going to give a point for this one. Not for the cold sweats that come standard with any fever, but my particular Covid experience came with a surprising dose of straight-up-the-spine shivers. They'd come out of nowhere. They might affect only a single shoulder, or portion of the back, or elsewhere.

It was odd, but do you know what? I'm good with that. That is not a symptom I personally mind, so long as it doesn't wear down its welcome, because you can make a game of it. Whenever you feel that sort of spine-tingling chill, you can tell yourself that it is because a ghost is licking you.

The questions then abound. Why is the ghost licking you? Why did it just show up now? Is it trying to show affection, or do you possess something that ghosts are fascinated with—have you become some sort of spectral salt lick? How powerful that sounds. How mysterious.

As a symptom it is also one of the few that are not monstrously unpleasant, which by itself makes it stand out.

Second verse, worse than the first: Ah, yes. Covid-19 is at this point infamous for appearing to abate somewhat, only to come roaring back with symptoms even worse than before. This does count as a new innovation, and it is such a roundly awful one that I'm going to take back the point I assigned for imaginary ghost licks and going to assign 100 negative points instead. A rebound? Really?

You. Jerk.

Going back to our restaurant example, it is one thing to be assaulted on the street and dragged into a shady hole-in-the-wall "restaurant" to be served a truly terrible meal. One of the very few things that could manage to make that dismal experience worse is if you ate your awful meal, paid your unasked for bill, and headed for the door only to be stopped by three surprisingly burly waiters before you could get there:

"Sir, you forgot your dessert."

And that is how I received a not-at-all-complimentary tray of bacterial pneumonia, bronchitis, zebra-stripe fever, sudden onset elbow depression, and several other entrees even though I had already walked into the place with asthma and wasn't the least bit hungry for the rest.

It was a horrible experience. Miserable and bullying, this virus is nothing but a collection of cheap tricks presented one after another.

And that is the heart of the matter. We have to be honest with ourselves; the international virus scene in general has been terribly stale for the last millennium, filled with derivative after derivative that does nothing to innovate or stand out. There is fever; there is headache; there is nasal drip; there are varying degrees of lung involvement. All of it is rote, to the point where even the most devoted experts have struggled for centuries to differentiate one from another.

Even when a new virus comes along that does attempt to stand out, however, it distinguishes itself only by adding negative features on top of the usual set. Ebola tried to bring us "bleeding from every orifice" as its snappy gimmick—and you know what? Nobody wants that. Nobody wants "bleeding from every orifice," which is why the world turned away from Ebola and Ebola will likely never be more than a regional player. Nobody wants broken glass in their peanut butter. Nobody wants machine screws sprinkled on top of their salad. And nobody, not ever, will want "bleeding from every orifice."

Where are the viruses that come with good side effects, instead of bad? Why do viruses attempt to advertise themselves by making their host miserable? What kind of business plan is that? Are viruses tech companies?

If they continue to dedicate themselves only to producing negative effects, viruses will never be more than unwelcome intruders on the immune system scene. Where are the viruses that can make you smarter? That can increase muscle strength? Where are the viruses that propagate by making their hosts tremendously good at juggling—viruses that could spread through an entire Renaissance Faire in the span of a few hours?

Here is a free product idea for the virus community: A virus that, when you contract it, gradually makes you six inches taller. Oh, it could still come with the life-threatening other side effects. It could include "bleeding from every orifice" and whatever else you wanted to add into it; if there was a virus that made its survivors six inches taller, you would have midwestern barbecue dads throwing their kids into new pox parties with wild abandon. Possible death? Meaningless, compared to the possible athletic potential of whichever kids you didn't have to bury.

So that is my review of Covid-19. It is derivative. It relies on intensity over innovation, and on stubbornness over artistry. It offers to the world nothing the world needed, and yet it insists upon itself, self-importantly, like a megalomaniac ordering his name be written in ever-larger letters on all the buildings he owns. It is a too-loud band, a too-seedy restaurant that's almost certainly just a front for something else.

It sucks and we hate it. Zero stars; cannot recommend.