A lot gets said about pornography these days. Is it addictive? Does it change your brain? Reliable sources say no, unreliable sources still say yes.
I don’t care to comment on it, per se, as much as I’d like to tell a short anecdote.
Several years ago, I was up in the woods of West Virginia with a few friends from film school making a horror film. West Virginia, if you’ve never been, is one of the most beautiful places on earth. West Virginians are also the targets of some rather unflattering stereotypes.
I don’t care to comment on the stereotypes. Per se.
It was deer season, and in the cabin (relatively) next to ours, a group of gentlemen were partaking of their God-and-gun given right to shoot some deer. And gut, skin, butcher, and eat them.
I don’t care to comment on this, per se, except to say it’s not for me.
We were, one evening, invited to the hunting cabin of these gentlemen, had a beer with them, and a very nice but otherwise unremarkable time. The only thing worth noting from the evening was a moment when I happened to look down into an open cardboard box in the living room, and found it filled with porno tapes. And one of the gentlemen (one of the older ones, if memory serves), on finding me finding the tapes, remarked:
“I see you found the training films.”