Uncultured

By Iain Aschendale · Feb 12, 2017 · ·
Categories:
  1. So, TV today.

    Something on the History Channel, the aliens show with the guy with the crazy hair. Either the Aboriginal Australians are aliens, or we're all aliens, but descended, not from Africa and Olduvai Gorge, but by way of Alice Springs.

    Wasn't paying attention, not sure. Key points is that Ayers Rock (sic) is an Aboriginal/Alien standing stone thingy, and the 33rd Southern parallel connects directly to the center of the galaxy, and is thus the anchor point for the stargate.

    Also something about the Matrix.

    But it sucked me in with the claim that the Aborigines (is that an OK term? Sorry if I've given offense, none intended) are the oldest living culture on Earth.

    Skeptical of anything that claims that Uluru is an alien radio, but there have got to be some facts in there somewhere.

    Fast forward an hour or two, and I see that my cable movie channel is running all three Godfather movies back to back.

    Y'know how much of Godfather II is in Italian? Y'know how hard it is to understand that if you don't speak Italian or read Japanese very well?

    But anyway, towards the end of Part III, I started to think about mourning cultures. I know the Godfather is all Hollywood bullshit, but when I think of people who know how to mourn, Italians and Jews pop to the top of my head.

    Don't read too much into that, just keep reading.

    And then I realized that I have no culture.

    My wife can, by the law of the land, trace her family back..... shit, several many generations. Japan has a "family registry" system, which is more or less a legally required family tree. When Japanese people hear that I don't know the names of my great-grandparents, their minds boggle almost as much as when I tell them that I know I'm pretty much German and Scottish.

    'Cuz they're all Japanese.

    All.

    All the way.

    But but but but.....

    I come from the culture of Velveeta and Wonder Bread.

    Scratch that, my parents were pretty liberal. Velveeta and Roman Meal. Holy shit my sister and I were amazed when the folks discovered wheat bread.

    But anyway, I'm penciled-in for mourning soon. On the plus side, the family dog died some time ago, and they opted for a fairly traditional cremation and service.

    So I know how to pick apart the bones with chopsticks and put them in the urn.

    Dog bones.

    And I come from a culture outside of mourning. A culture outside of culture.

    Right, I've lost the thread in here somewhere, so I'm just going to hit "post".

    Shit, it's "create" here.
    Categories:
    Mumble Bee and Malisky like this.

Comments

  1. Malisky
    Being cultured has nothing to do with your family tree. It has to do with you and not them. If any one of us traced back our roots, and I mean waaaay back, we would figure that we're all brothers and sisters. No one is "purely" one race or another. "Race" or "culture" was divided on the way somewhere in history when we (humans) split in order to explore. Some minor mutations took part, depending on the climate and the altitude, and then many different beliefs, discoverings and ways-of-livings sculpted the variety of cultures we have today. At least that's how I perceive our specie on a short note.

    I've been told of my great grandfathers but I seem to lack the ability to hold their names in, simply because not enough is known about them. They died young. I remember the names of my great grandmothers though. I remember Anna, because I've met her when she was healthy and energetic, until I met another Anna at some point near her end, when she was at her death bed. She died at 102 and that's the only reason I know of her. Because I got to meet her. My other grandmother died around 90. She was ahead of her time (very progressive) and although she never became famous, she was a theater actress. I've seen some very old pictures of her and she was very pretty and expressive in her photos in contrast of the trend of her time. The only reason I remember her name though, is because she died the day I was born. If not for this detail that somewhat connects with my entering the stage, I don't think that I would remember it or care to know more about her. She must have been an interesting individual though.

    I'm not sure how this knowledge affected me in the whole run. Not much, since I never got too close to these old relatives of mine, but mourning is not a culture thing. Everybody mourns in their own individual way. Some show it, some don't. Some celebrate it to honor the departed, some would rather keep on living as usual, like they just parted for the millionth time with a loved one and keep on going like they will soon meet again anyway.

    The only thing I know about me, is where I began and I seem to have a faint impression of where I'm going. I lived here and a little there, I had these experiences, I learned these things, I've seen and heard these things, etc, and I'm still learning. What my dna analysis will show is a mystery and will remain as such because quite frankly, I don't give a damn. It won't change who I am. I already am. My next step is what's important.
  2. Iain Aschendale
    Yeah, I kind of packed it in last night because I was hammered and pissed (both senses of the word) and expressing myself badly. When I started writing, I had the intention of showing "uncultured" to mean, not an absence of civility or whatever, but an absence of ritual, tradition, and expectations of what to do in a given situation. A "barbarian" would probably just be following the ancient traditions of his culture when he took a bite of the deceased at the funeral, and be horrified that the host family was going to stuff the body in the ground unmourned, but it was my privilege not to have to attend the funeral of a family member until I was fifteen or so, and that was held without the presence of clergy, just everyone who usually came to Thanksgiving save the one who was serving as the centerpiece.

    Then we went to dinner while they cleaned the rental display casket and burned his body in a mandatory cardboard box that still cost a hundred and fifty bucks.

    Make no mistake, I don't think he was wronged or would have been offended, it's just that ritual, culture, is absent from my experience. All the other funerals I've been to have been for people outside the particular sub-branch of mainstream American Protestantism that my parents tried to force me to subscribe to, and thus safely in the realm of "they" do "that".

    I still don't know what I'm on about.

    I'm colorblind. I feel like I'm trying to describe the difference between "red" and "green".
To make a comment simply sign up and become a member!
  1. This site uses cookies to help personalise content, tailor your experience and to keep you logged in if you register.
    By continuing to use this site, you are consenting to our use of cookies.
    Dismiss Notice