So what if we don’t like “˜The Sopranos’?

  Adam Skalman Skalman is a second-year
American literature and culture student who, like you, enjoys
backrubs and gum. E-mail him at [email protected]. Click
Here for more articles by Adam Skalman

Do I have to? Recently, I have been feeling incredibly guilty.
My teeth are flossed, my oil is changed, and I have been keeping up
religiously with the Chandra Levy investigation. All my errands
have been run. All my boxes are seemingly checked.

So what is this lingering sense of dread plaguing my normally
tranquil conscience? I’ve apparently forgotten to do
something important … and so have you.

Responsibility is everything in a world that operates with such
terrifying efficiency. Miss a stitch, and socio-cosmic law will
surely intervene. It’s called social Darwinism, kids. And
while it was once restricted to genes, governments and economies,
it is now dictating the way we consume media, ideas and especially
entertainment.

Intellectual discourse is now a zero-sum game where, in order to
survive, the fittest must watch, read and enjoy exactly what they
are told. But you’ve forgotten your obligation; you have an
outstanding debt to impeccable taste, and that’s plain
irresponsible. So take heed and hold on.

Cultural obligations are everywhere. We were once quietly chided
for our bad taste, but now, it seems, we are punished for it. In
the past, it was enough to simply watch the right shows and read
the right novels, but now you have to like them as well, or else,
no one will like you.

This fear has always been evident in the adult male population:
a working knowledge of professional sports minutia is imperative to
successful interaction. I still feel guilty for my ineptitude in
this area, but this type of guilt has crept into other areas of pop
culture where ignorance and distaste were once completely
acceptable.

Do you watch “The Sopranos?” I don’t … or I
should say, I have, but I’m certainly not one of the fold. It
seems like an OK show (the Academy of Television Arts and Sciences
certainly agrees), and HBO is hoping that you’ll like it
too.

But they have the built-in security that any bona fide cultural
phenomenon promises: they know you’ll feel bad about not
watching it. But I already feel bad enough about things that I
actually do watch. (By the way, “SClub7″ is a
culturally viable television program full of wit, humanity and
artistic irreverence.)

However, as if I didn’t feel bad enough about not watching
“The Sopranos” faithfully, I have the added stigma of
not especially loving it, which is apparently some kind of serious
congenital disorder for which the cure is unknown. I hope they find
it soon, because I really miss my friends.

I don’t watch “Sex and the City” either, thus
committing a misdemeanor in several U.S. states and territories.
When in the presence of most girls, the admission that you
don’t like “Sex and the City” will elicit
anything from poorly disguised snickers to the brandishing of mace
and stun guns. Somehow, not knowing what brand of condoms Carrie
Bradshaw favors is equivalent to a crude and sexist party foul.

But why is this? Call me crazy, but I don’t want to hear
about Charlotte’s depressed vagina or how Samantha
doesn’t like the taste of semen. And I don’t feel
particularly guilty about it.

It’s not just television, either. Steven Spielberg is the
undisputed king of the cultural obligation. He created the summer
blockbuster with “Jaws,” and through years of
self-aggrandizement and audience manipulation, he gave birth to the
“event movie.”

“Saving Private Ryan” was an event movie.
What’s the event? I feel like I shouldn’t watch an
event movie, but should instead record its spectacular unfurling
from behind a video camera or an eclipse viewer. Should one wear
sunglasses to an event movie? I saw it because I had to, and when I
didn’t like it, I was treated like one of the Hollywood Ten
in front of Joe McCarthy. “You didn’t like it? Are you
or have you ever been a member of the Communist Party?” (I
get the same reaction if I groan at the playing of “I’m
Proud to Be an American”).

It’s like Steven Spielberg has some sort of monopoly on
virtue, that he descends biannually from the heavens to offer his
messianic gifts unto the corrupt masses. I saw “Saving
Private Ryan,” and thought it was mediocre. Sue me.

And let us not forget the supreme mistress of preordained taste:
the Oprah. Since when did reading become a Tupperware party?

Oprah treats books like unpopular girls just waiting to be
annointed by the prom queen of the New Literacy. Excuse me ladies,
but there are books out there that aren’t about sassy
orphans, domestic abuse and disenchanted Southern divorcees.

And guess what? Oprah won’t know if you don’t read
her latest pick. She can’t make fun of you in gym class, and
you can still eat lunch at whatever table you want. So while Oprah
is waiting to exhale, I’ll be reading Harry Potter (but not
because I have to).

This manic, widespread adherence to cultural obligations is
especially apparent in the multitude of recent “best”
lists that seem to spring forth from the intelligentsia like sweat
from Bill Bennett’s forehead. I’m surprised they
aren’t delivering pamphlets door to door.

TIME magazine recently published an issue on the best artists
and entertainers in the country. I’m sorry, but is this
necessary? It reads like a manual for how to make conversation at
cocktail parties.

“Did you hear the new Lucinda Williams album?”
“Isn’t Julia Roberts a doll?” “I think
Martin Puryear is the most innovative visual artist of our time,
and have you tried the fois gras? It’s a little
dry.”

I happen to believe that Julia Roberts proves the existence of a
divine creator, but I don’t think non-believers should be
thrown to the pop-culture lions.

I fully support any effort to verse the masses in the cultural
vernacular of the time. I don’t have a problem with a helpful
shove toward what in pop culture and art is relevant, important and
interesting. But I don’t think we should be cajoled into
liking it, or made to feel guilty if we don’t.

Dissent is vital to any intellectual undertaking, especially
where art is concerned. The very essence of art is in its
subjectivity, and the absence of lively discourse on the subject is
the absence of common sense. Unless, of course, we’re talking
about “The Practice”…