February 12th, 2017
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 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.
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”.