I used to date a guy who considered himself properly cultured. He attended the movie theater only to see foreign films and literary adaptations. He listened only to 'proper' music, meaning classical and the approved Top 40 hits. He read only 'literature'. He was very proud of his BA in Philosophy, which had paid off with a lovely temporary data-entry job.

Needless to say, he despised my taste in just about everything. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on his face when I suggested a viewing of Escape from L.A. (Never mind the fact the time before I had suggested watching Kieslowski’s Bleu.) He never understood my argument that the world needs both beauty and trash to be complete. I don’t think we made it more than three dates.

I was reminded of him this evening when I read David Brooks’ article “Return of the Pig” in this month’s Atlantic. (I’m not a subscriber. I picked it up because of the short story “We Have a Pope!” More on that issue laterish.) The piece contains this:

To enter the world of Maxim is to enter a world entirely free from the taint of polite opinion. Even the editors of Playboy and Penthouse maintain intellectual pretensions, but the single-minded pursuit of horniness is the Maxim editors’ most striking trait. …

The men depicted by Maxim are not without cultural interests – for instance, they are likely to have participated in prestigious chugging contests. They are capable of emotional bonding – mostly with their remote controls, and with their voyeur buddies at wet-T-shirt contests. And they are not incurious about the world: their wanderlust can be aroused by the mere mention of the word “Tijuana.” …

It is as if millions of American men – many of them well educated – took a look at the lifestyle prescribed by modern feminism and decided, No thanks, we’d rather be pigs.

First of all, Maxim isn't porn, it's trash. Which brings me to my point: Why is an appreciation for trash, camp and cheese so often perceived as a lack of appreciation for anything else? My world needs Pink Flamingos and The English Patient. It needs Traci Lords and Juliette Binoche. It needs cathedrals and Virgin Mary glow-in-the-dark nightlights.