Me and High Culture

Los Angeles has the ballet, museums and the opera. These are all lovely cultural events but I haven’t patronized most of these places in years. If I heard that the ballet had gone out of business, to honor it, I stand on my tippy toes for one minute. But if I was offered tickets to either the ballet or pro wrestling, I’m heading for headlock derby. 

I have very little DNA “culture” in my bones. The few ballets I’ve attended, I didn’t leave thinking about the great artistry of the danseuse or the danseur. I was never awed by a plié, pirouette or, for that matter, a fouetté. What did amaze me was when the danseur would put his hand into the wishbone section of the danseuse’s (a wrestling move called “The Gripper”) and then lift her over his head and spin her around. Who lifts people like that? I can’t imagine my grandfather ever lifting my grandmother like that. “Sadie, come a-here. I vant to try sometin’ on ya.”  

I believe most museums are nothing more than big storage lockers for old paintings. Send in Marie Kondo. I walk by 95% of the paintings so fast you’d think my shoes were on fire. Put me in front of a Monet, Da Vinci or Rembrandt, and I’m done in less than 45 seconds. Rembrandt’s “The Night Watch” is about 12 by 14 feet. Except in north Beverly Hills, who has walls that size? I grew up in a one-bedroom apartment. We didn’t have room for an extra spoon. 

A while back, my wife and I went to the Museum of Modern Art in New York City. I saw a few paintings I felt I could have done. One was a white canvas with a black line drawn through the middle of it. I asked someone, “Why this is great art”? They said, “Because he did it first.” I said, “No he didn’t. I did that same painting when I was 6.” My masterpiece is not hanging in a museum because my mother said it was garbage and tossed it. She also tossed my collection of Elvis Presley photos.

Recently, a starving artist sold a banana duct-taped to a wall for over $100,000. If it didn’t sell, at least he had lunch. He could have eaten his masterpiece. Then he wouldn’t be starving. 

That brings us to the opera. Not just opera. It’s called “the opera.” We have “the opera” and “the ballet.” Have you ever noticed there’s no “the wrestling” or “the bowling”? To me, the opera is just chubby people screaming mostly in Italian. I honestly believe that all the bravos and cheering at the end are from people relieved that it’s finally over. A few years ago, someone took me to “La bohème” at the Hollywood Bowl. It was 2 hours and 36 minutes long. “La bohème” changed my life. I slept during the entire first act. Then I woke for intermission, had a pretzel and then slept through the entire second act. Now, every night I now play Donizetti or Puccini for the best sleep I’ve ever had. 

Entertainment-wise, nothing compares with the zoo, roller derby or sumo wrestling. A few years back, a friend and I went to a sumo competition. Five hundred-pound men in diapers trying to push the other guy out of a circle. Bravo. A truly unforgettable evening. And how about roller derby? Women on roller skates elbowing and punching one another in the face. Brava. So much fun. When you see an orangutan or gorilla swinging from a rope and banging its chest or a snake eating a rat at the zoo, tell me that’s not great entertainment. Show me a children’s play that produces as much laughter and gaiety than when they see an elephant pee or a horse plop.

You’re probably thinking: This guy needs “culturalizing.” He’s a beast. Hey, shoot me because I know what I like. Tonight, I have a choice of watching a documentary on Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg or a two-hour “Hoarders” special. Guess what I’m watching?

Mark Schiff is a comedian, actor and writer.