Tuesday, July 06, 2004
Culture Wars
So this past weekend I had the privilege of attending the biggest, baddest, bitchinest Hindu wedding of all time. Of course, prior to this my knowledge of Hindu culture had been drawn almost entirely from Bend It Like Beckham (most of which I spent trying to decide whether or not to hate Keira Knightly, anyway) and The Simpsons, so I spent a lot of time trying not to make some gauche remark about Pakistan or insult someone’s god. But after five days of curry-drenched, sari-spotting fun, I can honestly say that their culture kicks my culture’s ass like Al Roker cutting in line during all-you-can-eat night at Shoney’s.
For starters, Indian music rocks. They’ve got that song with the Knight Rider theme in it, and everybody does the little dance like they’re putting in light bulbs with both hands. Then, the groom gets to ride on a white horse to meet the bride’s family, which sure beats a Ford Aerostar. At this wedding we were also fortunate enough to have an honest-to-god chocolate fountain (think Willy Wonka) in which to dip oreos and, well, whatever, but get those dirty thoughts out of your head. Plus there were like five open bars staffed by surly, tight-permed waitresses. It was enough to make me forget that they wouldn’t give me a henna tattoo and that they tried to put yogurt on my chicken.
It did get me thinking, though, about the deficit of true culture I face as a white American male of unspecified descent. What is my tradition, my heritage? Liking Julia Roberts? Going to the GAP? I mean, the last time some of my white friends got married, the proceedings featured Bette Midler ballads, NASCAR paraphernalia, and a drunken bridesmaid puking up cake in a public restroom. I refuse to accept that as my culture. On the other hand, I don’t think most people would want to accept my wedding suggestions of a cheese-in-a-can buffet and classic lit party favors. Probably my desire for a common culture is just a desire to make everyone else like the things I like, and absent a sweeping change in our nation’s penal law, I’m just not going to be able to make that happen.
So this past weekend I had the privilege of attending the biggest, baddest, bitchinest Hindu wedding of all time. Of course, prior to this my knowledge of Hindu culture had been drawn almost entirely from Bend It Like Beckham (most of which I spent trying to decide whether or not to hate Keira Knightly, anyway) and The Simpsons, so I spent a lot of time trying not to make some gauche remark about Pakistan or insult someone’s god. But after five days of curry-drenched, sari-spotting fun, I can honestly say that their culture kicks my culture’s ass like Al Roker cutting in line during all-you-can-eat night at Shoney’s.
For starters, Indian music rocks. They’ve got that song with the Knight Rider theme in it, and everybody does the little dance like they’re putting in light bulbs with both hands. Then, the groom gets to ride on a white horse to meet the bride’s family, which sure beats a Ford Aerostar. At this wedding we were also fortunate enough to have an honest-to-god chocolate fountain (think Willy Wonka) in which to dip oreos and, well, whatever, but get those dirty thoughts out of your head. Plus there were like five open bars staffed by surly, tight-permed waitresses. It was enough to make me forget that they wouldn’t give me a henna tattoo and that they tried to put yogurt on my chicken.
It did get me thinking, though, about the deficit of true culture I face as a white American male of unspecified descent. What is my tradition, my heritage? Liking Julia Roberts? Going to the GAP? I mean, the last time some of my white friends got married, the proceedings featured Bette Midler ballads, NASCAR paraphernalia, and a drunken bridesmaid puking up cake in a public restroom. I refuse to accept that as my culture. On the other hand, I don’t think most people would want to accept my wedding suggestions of a cheese-in-a-can buffet and classic lit party favors. Probably my desire for a common culture is just a desire to make everyone else like the things I like, and absent a sweeping change in our nation’s penal law, I’m just not going to be able to make that happen.
