More Mores

What a time we have arrived at, this 2015. At a moment when Lamar Odom has pushed himself to the grotesque brink beyond what had once been considered "reality television," and Playboy magazine is re-imagining themselves as a gentleman's magazine in the most PG-13 sense, we await the next salvo in the pop culture wars. I blame Al Gore's Internet. I blame Al Gore. And his wife Tipper. Tipper and her concerned Parents Music Resource Center banning and labeling records they found offensive. And then, not much later after that, we were treated to a rather graphic Public Display of Affection from Al and Tipper on the eve of the 2000 election. That's e-L-ection.
Now, fifteen years later, the doors to impropriety have been wedged open solidly so that anyone with access to a smart phone or a mouse can watch videos by WASP video whenever the mood strikes them, or watch that clip from the Democratic Convention in an endless loop. Whatever floats your boat, metaphorically speaking.
I'm an old guy, and I remember when there were certain stores and even certain parts of certain stores that you didn't want to be in, at least when anyone you knew was looking. There was an adult section in the family video store I ran. Moms and Dads would stop by and pick up a Disney flick for the kiddies and maybe a little something from the big binder on the end of the counter for later after they went to bed. Consenting adults. In the privacy of their own homes. Never one to condemn or judge other's personal habits, I was still very much aware of who was renting what because there were records of such transactions. Computers, don'tcha know. And then there were those uncomfortable creepy moments when an otherwise mild-mannered favorite customer would take me aside to ask if I had any recommendations from our big book of filth. I could speak knowingly of the Golden Age of Hollywood and German Expressionism, but porn was not my forte. My suggestions in this area were based solely on the clever wordplay in the title. Clever to the tune of a seventh grade boy, or Blackie Lawless. What do I know about "adult entertainment?"
I know that too much stimulation will kill anyone. That's why they put that little "four hour" warning in the Viagra commercials. It's a corollary to the Arthur C. Clarke bon mot that "All new technology will be used for porn." Or something like that. Ah well, at least now I can get back to that interview with Jimmy Carter, and as far as sex on the television goes, I'm in agreement with Monty Python. It's really more of a safety issue. If only Lamar had been more of a Python fan.