However, the violent culture is nothing compared to the sexual culture. This claim has been made for centuries and it will continue to be used for centuries more: kids these days are more promiscuous and know more about sex than any other generation. Back in my day… yada, yada, yada.
Humor me and remind yourself of the last time you saw a TV show or movie where the first kiss didn’t immediately lead to the bedroom. Or the couch, if it was more than one room’s walk to the bed.
My favorite Canadian TV show, Being Erica, disappointed me when two women friends exclaimed that sleeping in the same bed, but not having sex was “taking it extremely slow.” There was a scoff and a pair of rolling eyes thrown in there. We get the picture, she was a puritan for keeping her pants on.
Sex and passion in TV shows like Grey’s Anatomy look like the two characters are as famished for Love as the kids in the Christian Children’s fund commercials with flies buzzing around their heads are famished for rice. They’re addicted to the other person, they must have them right now.
In this country, we’ve resigned to the fact that we’re all fat. We shame the fat people, put them on reality weight loss shows, and make them the butt of jokes (yes, we’ve made that easy joke many times). This has become a free space for ridicule…
|(I don’t own the rights)|
If a 400 pound guy were to attack a hamburger with the kind of inertia that Dr. McSweaty and Dr. Doe Eyes come at each other in a moment of passion, he would have ketchup on his shirt, a mouth full of meat and cheese, and an audience rippling with laughter. It would be hilarious.
I’m picturing Will Ferrel as the 400 pound guy. You would go see that movie, wouldn’t you?
Why do we get to make fun of the fat guy? “Because they should go on a reality show and get control of their waistline and eating habits.”
Why does valuing temperance end there? Shouldn’t we extend it to sex? It seems like we’re rationing our moments of seriousness instead of rationing moments of spontaneously indulging passion.
When you watch a movie like “It Happened One Night,” where the man and woman characters separated their room with a “Wall of Jericho” layer of fabric for modesty’s sake, it is appalling to realize we’ve come to the decade of Grey’s Anatomy, Sex and the City, and passionate moments that inevitably lead to “just sex.”
All this ranting and I have no solution for you. All I can hope is that people will see the emptiness and realize the true freedom in looking at their counterparts with respect and a desire to know them without the lustful use of their bodies. Call me a puritan, I dare you.