I’m a Cultural Illiterate

Anthropologist Franz Boas was the first social scientist to refer to “cultures” in the plural back in the 1880s. He meant “that civilization is not something absolute, but that it is relative, and that our ideas and conceptions are true only so far as our civilization goes.” We’ve taken that idea and run with it. I wrote a book called “Culture Clash” that’s about the contested terrain between those who live in the forest and those who visit the forest (sort of). “Cancel Culture” seems to be about censoring whomever you don’t like intruding in your space. The “Arts & Leisure” section of the Sunday New York Times prints all the latest news about what is culturally significant in dance, art, classical music, pop music, and theater—at least to those who read the NYT. After reading last week’s issue, September 18, I discovered that I am culturally illiterate. Actually, I’ve known this for quite some time but now I know for sure.

Let’s take a look at what’s in it. The front page is a full color photo of the soon to open German production of “Hamilton” in Hamburg. The article talks about how difficult it was to translate the “rhythm, sound, and sensibility” of a rap musical about Alexander Hamilton, the father of American capitalism. I’ve never seen the New York production of Hamilton, of course (I’ve never been to any Broadway show), which is sacrosanct in the world of musical theater. But I’ve never understood why people of color wanted to see or be in a musical about a white colonial slave owner in the first place, much less German people struggling to reproduce language and music that is almost impossible to translate. Hamilton seems to have developed a life of its own, however, so watch out world, Iceland could be next.

Moving on to page 6 is The Queue, where someone from the NYT staff writes what they’ve been listening to or reading or seeing lately. This week it’s an editor on the Culture Desk and her choices include Bad Bunny, Bjork’s new podcast, Bunny the book, and Everything’s Trash, a TV show. I’ve never listened to Bad Bunny, I’ve never read Bunny or heard of its author, and I’d never watch Everything’s Trash in a million years. I’ve heard Bjork’s weird singing—once was enough—but she was pretty damn good in Dancer in the Dark, so I’m going to score that as one minor point towards literacy.

Next up is the Headliner page with Rivers Cuomo, the rock band Weezer front man. I’ve never heard of Weezer, so obviously I’ve never heard of Cuomo, either. In this section famous (?) people talk about their favorite 10 “cultural products.” Of Cuomo’s 10, the only one I know anything about is Beethoven’s Piano Sonatas. TikTok—never gone there. Vipassana Meditation—haven’t done it. Coding—I don’t know how.

On the same page is a list of Podcasts and what’s new to listen to. I actually listen to many podcasts when I drive anywhere from El Valle, which is an hour away from anywhere: Slate, Slow Burn, Radio Lab, Chapo Trap House, Car Talk, This American Life, Useful Idiots, etc. But this week’s podcasts are hosts dissecting famous TV shows with names like “Buffering the Vampire Slayer” and “Gilmore Guys.” I’m not interested in dissecting Buffy the Vampire Slayer and I don’t think I’d listen to “Breaking Good,” either, even though I’m one of the millions who watched the series—twice. Watching it was fine, thank you.>>

We’re only on page 8 and there’s a lot left to go but I’ll hurry us along. I almost never read the Dance section although this time I saw the name Alan Cumming, whom I’ve always liked as an actor, so I had to read enough to find out he’s going to embody the Scottish poet Robert Burns through dance. OK, good luck. I skipped over Classical to Film, where a new movie about Gen Z supposedly acknowledges 1990s classic teen films like “Clueless” and “10 Thing I Hate About You,” which were actually rather clever and funny (so sad about Heath Ledger), but “Do Revenge” is about rich kids ingesting magic mushrooms at a school dinner and probably won’t be either clever or funny. Someone else will have to decide because I’ll never see it.

I skipped right over Television because it’s about the latest Star Wars show “Andor” that debuts on Disney + because the only Star Wars movie I’ve ever seen is the first one, which was also the last one. On to page 17, Pop. I wasn’t hopeful because somehow I’ve completely lost touch with pop music since the 1970s (see Play That Rock Guitar from 2014) except for when someone like Amy Winehouse or Chris Stapleton or Leon Bridges comes along to recharge my love (but then again, they really aren’t pop, are they?). No surprise that I have no idea who Alex G, aka Alex Giannascoli, is. Glancing through the article I see they label him as an indie, regional celebrity (Philly) so maybe many other readers also don’t know who he is, either (but I do know who Lake Street Dive is and they’re pretty indie and regional, too).

Finally, I come to the last page—Arts. And I read it because it’s about Just About Midtown Gallery—JAM—that showcased black avant-garde art starting in 1974 for 12 years, and is getting a major exhibition. It was wonderful to read about the founder, Goode Bryant, a 25-year old single mother who somehow pulled together the funding to open the gallery on 57th Street, blocks away from MOMA, which never acknowledged its existence. Do I get one more culture literacy point for this?

My final score is 2 out of 8. In the next week’s NYT Sunday Book Review I found out that maybe culture is “a mere byproduct of status” and perhaps we “make our aesthetic choices within the context of status.” So not only am I a cultural illiterate I’m also a plebian and an outsider. No surprise there, either.

It's Covid Time!

I made it two and a half years without Covid. I’ve lasted seven days with it. You know how you sometimes think, being sick for a couple of days might not be so bad if you’re not too sick so you can stay home in bed and read a good book and binge watch some TV show like The White Lotus or Enlightenment (if you don’t know about Mike White go directly to any show he creates). And even with the dreaded Covid-19, you figure you’re not going to die if you get the Omicron variant, as everyone says it’s not so bad, just the symptoms of a cold: sore throat, cough, runny nose, headache, and fatigue.

Then you get sick with all these symptoms and you say to yourself, what the fuck was I thinking? I feel terrible. All I want to do is sleep but I can’t because my throat is so sore I can barely swallow, and my head is so full of snot I can’t breathe when I lie down and if I try to lie with my head elevated on three pillows I get a kink in my shoulder and my back starts killing me. If it weren’t for Xanax I’d have been awake for four nights now (sorry all you doctors out there who don’t like to prescribe Xanax or Valium, but it’s imperative we all have a stash of either one for situations just like this).

Then there’s the other person in the house who’s watching you warily and trying to wear a mask and stay ten feet away and eat in the same kitchen and use the bathroom while remembering to feel sorry for you. Then they have to take the dogs to the dog park and get your apple juice and your prescription for Paxlovid, the anti-viral they prescribe for old people like me who get Covid.

I’m sorry I have to malign my local health care clinic, which I’ve gone to for 30 years with pretty good results, but they really missed the boat on this one. First, my primary doc, a Physician’s Assistant whom I love, isn’t at the clinic when I call to say I have Covid so they transfer me to the other clinic down the road in a different village. The only provider there is a PA who’s filling in and he prescribes the Paxlovid and tells me to call him back if I have any problems.

I take it for two days. Shortly after ingestion, your mouth tastes like metal and remains so the rest of the day. After two days of metal I develop a rash across my back and by the third day my mouth is so sore I can’t eat anything that has any kind of seasoning such as salt. So I call the number on my phone that showed up when speaking to the prescribing PA, but it guides me to my home health clinic where no one answers the phone and tells me to call back. Which I do, any number of times, until hours later someone finally answers the phone and I ask why I’m not getting through to the PA who prescribed the Paxlovid, because that’s who I need to talk to. Apparently all the calls get routed to the clinic where there are no providers on duty and the person answering the phone says the PA who prescribed the Paxlovid isn’t at the other clinic today so I just hang up and that’s that. I quit taking the medication. The next day I test positive—again.

Would I not have tested positive if I’d kept taking the Paxlovid? Who knows? Covid-19, in Donald Rumsfeld’s parlance, is full of unknown knowns but apparently the only known known is that we’re all going to get it at some point, just like we all get colds (do you think there’s anyone out there who’s never gotten a cold?). I hope all your cases are mild, that you have Xanax or Valium around, and someone to watch over you who doesn’t get sick by doing so. I’m going to spend the rest of the afternoon in bed with the new issue of The New Yorker, which luckily has a bunch of articles I want to read (many times it doesn’t) and one I already read, Ben Lerner’s hilarious short story about choking. And if you’re not feeling all that bad and want a really good, funny distraction, read Richard Russo’s Straight Man, which is being made into a movie next year starring Saul Goodman himself, Bob Odenkirk. Now that’s something to look forward to.