#116 Cultshaa

Culture is a funny word. It can mean all the ingredients of our society, like cell phones, SUVs, the food channel, and the Red and Green show. Or it can mean those who are steeped in sophistication. They are said to possess culture, or are, simply, more cultured. Kinda depends, I would guess, on what culture you’re talking about. A cowboy in a four-wheel-drive pickup with duellies and a big net on the back instead of a tailgate would certainly be a shining example of redneck culture.
I guess when they say someone is un-cultured they’re talking about hoity-toity culture. Emily Post and Miss Manners and all that. Not that we couldn’t use a lot more manners here in the 21st.
My son had a girl friend that lacked culture. My first clue was when we took her to a restaurant and immediately she started looking around at the walls for the menu. And I’m not saying the gum-popping per se isn’t a good thing culture-wise but it does get annoying as constant punctuation in sentences such as: Like, you know, I’m like, you know, like, like, and your dad’s like, you know, sooo rude, man.
Culture’s also what may be deduced from things that may eventually become archeological artifacts. In the year 2525 a sign of twenty-first century culture dug from the Olympia biohazard zone will most likely be the desiccated remains of a latte cup, in a cupholder, in a rusted Humvee...
I viewed such the other day. I was downtown at Percival Landing at the new Port of Olympia observation tower area. There was a little kiosk on a post thingie that had a plastic bag dispenser on it. Great. Baggies for bums. Heck, I thought, baggies are getting real expensive, maybe I’ll kaip a few. Turned out these were for dog poop. And they were opaque blue. Clear won’t do for poo. A clear bag of poo might put the restaurant patrons over at Anthony’s off their feed. Oh look, Buffy, that young man’s got a big steaming bag of poo. Pass the calamari please.
What was most interesting about this—other than we put biodegradable dog poop in non-biodegradable bags and cart them to the airless compress of the landfills, and that those bags are manufactured from our dwinding petroleum resources—was the directions on the dispenser. There for all to see, children, adults and visiting Japanese tourists alike, was a four-part, graphic, international picture manual of how to pick up poo. Take off bag, stick hand in bag, pick up poo, turn bag inside out with poo now on inside, remove hand now on out side, twist vigorously and deposit in first available container. Beautiful. In Japan, I hear, their culture is different. They have a paper bag with a scoopy lip that then folds over like a expensive coffee bag and gets thrown in a biodegradable location.
Paper seems like the way to go to me. Easier to set on fire on someone’s porch. Oops, there’s my hick culture showing again.
America, ya gotta love it.