I’m finishing this in the parking lot of the John Fenwick rest stop on the New Jersey Turnpike (I’m picking up my daughter at Newark airport and then visiting Grandma—and Fafoon). That’s not really relevant to anything, but it does help convey the glamour and excitement of the life I’ve chosen. And one of the consequences of the life I’ve chosen is that I take questions like “What’s the sweatiest movie ever made?” or “Did Joachim of Fiore get a bad rap?” pretty seriously.
So, too, the question: “Who started the culture war?”
(Fun fact: Some would say, “Joachim did!” But that’s for another day.)