God Wants Me to Remain a Philistine

Lord knows, my cultural knowledge level is abysmally low. And I do try to make amends for that on occasion. But it sometimes seems if God himself is plotting to undermine my efforts to get culture.

Years ago, I subscribed to a Smithsonian magazine to vary my usual defense and news fare. It was interesting but soon it got lost in the plethora of magazines and journals I subscribed to. I let it lapse.

And last year I bought a tuxedo to be ready at all times for that black tie cultural event that might happen my way. Tux still in the packaging.

I even attempted to learn about classical music earlier this year. A beginners book and a couple CDs sit on my shelves. I didnt get too far before the futility of reading about classical music enveloped me. Liz Phair may not by high brow but at least she doesnt require me to set the stage for listening by sitting in a darkened room to isolate my senses for the experience. Heck, in an ideal world you are slightly drunk and Phair is playing in the background as you score with a woman you just met. Now that's a musical experience. Dont get me wrong. I liked the classical music I listened to. Some was even familiarand not just from watching Bo Derek in 10 or Bugs Bunny (you know, kill da wabbit, kill da wabbit ). And I admire those who understand it. But it is too much work to really learn to appreciate classical music. Though I'd be more than willing to have it as background music to score, most certainly.

Anyway, my latest efforts to appreciate culture centered on art. I like paintings. So last year I went to the Ontario Art Gallery. Sadly it was under renovation and so they had quite limited artwork for its galleries. Oh well. I tried again this year. Not only is it still under renovation--until 2008, it was closed on Monday when I went to see it again this year on the chance they rotated their stocker, pieces? Whatever. So I went to the Royal Ontario Museum , which had limited art on display. But they had weapons on display, too, so I don't think it really counted as culture.

Even before going to Toronto , I had decided to finally go see the displays at the University of Michigan Museum of Art. Ive lived in Ann Arbor over twenty-five years and still havent seen it. So after my vacation, I vowed I would go. Last week, to fulfill my promise, Mister and I went downtown on Sunday in a sort of mini-vacation to see the art museum, wander around on campus, have lunch and dessert, and use mass transportation to do it. Mister loves riding the bus. He knows the routes like a city planner. The whole thing was just like going to another city. Vacation continues!

But I was foiled again. This art museum, too, is under renovation--until fall 2008. What is with the art community? Am I not allowed to see art? Are you guys chatting with each other? Is any city I might go to going to have their art museum shut down, the painting stored away, and scaffolding put up? And the Off Site temporary museum is just four pieces--three of which were crappy--and a gift shop. All relied on strobe lights for their artistic effect. One was clever and rose to the standard of neat. But art? Not as far as I'm concerned. But I'm with Tom Hanks in Bosom Buddies who, when confronted by critics who panned his work, pointed to a big red dot on a white field and asked the critics what they thought about that one. They went on about the symbolism and blah blah blah--in short, they loved it. It was deemed art. Only boors could fail to see that. Hanks exclaimed in outrage, "It's the flag of Japan!"

Anyway, the gift shop had better art. I bought two prints to stay in the tourist mode. And given my Toronto experience, it was actually exactly like being a tourist in that city trying to see art. Still, we had fun and Mister was relieved to have the art part really brief. Although being nine he did complain that there wasn't much to this museum. You wanted more? End of mild complaints.

I also considered live performance when I went to Toronto . No, not the Windsor Ballet or anything like that. I found some community group performance of Shakespeare in some park off Yonge Street taking place while I was to be in the city. I'd have had to take the subway up there, but I considered it. In the end, I pub crawled instead that night. I think I made the right call. That's my problem, I suppose, when it comes to me and the arts--no sixty-four ounce cups of brew. Maybe some wine in little glasses. And cheeses, I'm sure. In cubes. But no yards of Labatt and foam fingers saying Bach # 1 to wave around. And no nachos with cheese melted on them. How do the culturally attuned endure those events?

Heck, even my effort to experience jazz and blues in Toronto ran afoul of no air conditioning on a hot Sunday evening. If they didn't have beer I wouldnt have made it the hour and a half I stayed there.

I actually came really close to going to a play while on vacation in Toronto . A play! Thats the gold standard of artsy living, isnt it? (Or is it opera? Yeah, it has to be opera come to think of it. Notwithstanding Bugs Bunny. I'm not that ambitious. Not going to happen. I dont think they even serve wine at those.) I looked up the play details online and saw that on one afternoon I would be there, Spamalot was playing downtown at the Canon Theater. I had found a Monty Python loophole to get cultured! Tickets were expensive. To me, anyway. Over 110 bucks for the good seats! Still about $100 in US money. Thats way too much. Three bucks gets me a video of their best stuff and I'm expected to pay this much for a play about Monty Python? But wait, there are lower priced tickets. Ninety-nine? Eighty? Still too much. Wait. Whats this, $26 tickets? Well that's not bad at all! Lets take a look. Hmm on the mezzanine floor, but on the aisle where I could see a bit better. There's promise, there.

Wait. Not on the aisle--in the aisle. And not seats. Theyre mezzanine stools.

Stools?

How insulting! I mean, most of the theater is filled with seats for people with enough money for seat backs, and they will let the poor folks inbut they don't rate seat backs? They couldn't put little folding chairs there, instead? They had to put stools there? I mean, it is probably easier to find little folding chairs than stools, but the theater folks made that extra effort to demean those in the cheapest seats. Do the other people with the cheap seats on the mezzanine get to poke the people on the stools with sticks to make them feel better for not having the really good seats? Hey, you may be on the floor but at least you aren't on a stool being poked with a stick. So shut up and enjoy the low brow humor dressed up as a play and cultural entertainment.

Hey, I own my own tuxedo! Oh sure, the people in the orchestra seats probably own their own, too; but I bet most of you guys in the $54 seats are renting. If you are even wearing a tuxedo! Yet I'm expected to endure back pain for over two hours by perching on a stool? Do I get to lean on the seat next to me? Or if I do that, do auditorium employees wander up and down the aisles with cattle prods to discipline the unwashed masses who settle for stools? If I pass out from back pain, will theater henchmen drag me off and hose me down before depositing me on the street? But I digress.

So no culture for me. I've tried. Really, I have.

I don't get it. And given all the sudden renovations going on with art museums I walk up to, I think I am doomed to alternative rock, the limited art on my walls, and Monty Python reruns. Oh, and a tuxedo that may go unused until Mister marries. I really did have such high hopes for it at one time.

But really, I'll probably be happier this way. Perhaps God is looking out for me after all on this.