Russell Brand on How Pornography Has Affected His Life

“I feel like if I had total dominion over myself, I would never look at pornography again. One day at a time I would kick it out of my life” -Russell Brand.

Yesterday I posted about how sexuality in media, romance novels, and soft-core pornography has affected my life. This was actually sparked by the following video in which comedian Russell Brand talks about the ‘mainstreaming’ of soft-core pornography (such as Fifty Shades of Grey), and how it affects people. He is candid about his own pornography use, and how it influenced him. Thought provoking stuff.

How Romance Novels Tried to Ruin My Life (Why I Didn’t Watch 50 Shades)

I’ve remained silent, at least in the blogosphere, about 50 Shades of Grey because everyone seemed to be blogging about it and I didn’t want to add my rant to the cacophony. Frankly, whoever wants to see it probably has, and whoever was desperately against it has said their piece. 50 Shades likely benefited tremendously by the controversy.

I haven’t seen the movie. I haven’t read the book, aside from reading a synopsis, but this isn’t from lack of interest. Believe you me, there is a base level of me that wants to read the book and see the movie. I’d like to explain why I haven’t.

First Exposure to ‘Romance’

I was eleven or twelve when I had my first exposure to steamy literature. My Grandma had a romance novel (a conventional one, not ‘erotica’) in her bathroom. I picked it up, and in a few page flips, came upon a sex scene. I still remember it really well. The hero and heroine had a bath together, undressing and caressing in minute detail.

It was my first real peek at sex, and I guess I was curious. Soon I had another chance to read a romance, and I paged through it until I found that scene. I don’t really understand the biological reasons for why this had such an impression on me. All I know is that as a teenager, these books drew me like a magnet. Not to read the story, but to read the racy bits. I knew it was wrong—I’d been raised to believe that human sexuality was sacred—but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. It was only after confessing this in tears to a group of girls from church, much later in life, that I experienced a real breakthrough and no longer felt the dreaded pull. The library became a safe place again.

This may sound prudish to some of you, and by today’s cultural standards perhaps it is. As a Christian, my belief is that sex is an expression of love between (and only between) husband and wife, designed to be a means of bonding them together, and for procreation. I believe that if I follow this design, it will ultimately give me the happiest life. This belief doesn’t just define how I conduct myself with a boyfriend, but also how I dress, what music I listen to, what books I read, and what movies I watch.

Why Shouldn’t I Watch What I Like?

What is the harm of watching a movie with a racy sex scene? Maybe nothing—at first. But what about the compounding effect? Face it, we are bombarded with sexual material at various points in the spectrum. I don’t view hardcore pornography, and never have, but softcore porn is almost impossible to avoid. Sexuality is the selling point of media. If I view a movie trailer, there will be a hint of a sex scene (cutting away as the woman removes her top), or if I listen to the pop music station, there will be some line about ‘loving all night’. The magazine at the checkout has a girl in a bikini and says “best sex moves” on it. The rom-com has the couple waking up together, the morning after they consummate their relationship.

Brainwashing of the Sexy Kind

Like it or not, this has altered my perception of sexuality. I’ve realized there’s what I think I believe, and what I actually do/think. Here are some of the ideas that have taken residence in my head.

1. Romance is primarily expressed sexually, and physical intimacy is a precursor to emotional/relational intimacy. The sex is the exciting part, and the conversation, shared experience, shared hardship, commitment, and work is ‘boring.’ I write fiction, and before the story ever hits the page, there is an incubation period where the story evolves in my mind. It seems I always have this conversation with myself, in which I decide what kind of romantic relationship the hero and heroine will have. Will it be a healthy, wholesome one? Or will it be an exciting one? Does there really need to be that dichotomy? No. That’s a lie I picked up somewhere. And it wasn’t from Bible study, I’ll tell you that much.
2. People are primarily sexual objects/animals—or at least young, attractive ones are. Not that I go around fantasizing about every handsome guy I meet. What I mean is that I’m in the hunting mindset far too often. When I joined a very large church with a healthy population of young men, it was very difficult to not walk through the teeming hall going ‘there’s one, and there’s one, and there’s one.’ Whereas, if they don’t fit my type of ‘good looking’, they were dismissed. This is normal, I guess. But I wouldn’t want this done to me. Likewise, I am ferociously hard on my physical appearance. Do I want to be known as a person of good character, high intelligence, ambition and kindness? Absolutely! But face it, what do I spend more time on? My appearance. It’s a point of despair sometimes, because I will never, ever fit the cultural mould of beauty. I do alright, but my genetics just aren’t there.
3. I’m a prude and sexually repressed. I’ve done it already in this article—apologized for being sexually conservative. Why should I be ashamed of my celibacy? Why should I apologize because I have a moral standard that I hold myself to? Don’t I have just as much of a right to NOT partake of sex as others have to be sexually free?

So Why Not 50 Shades?

So let’s loop this back around to 50 Shades of Grey. Why didn’t I watch it?

First of all, there are actually redemptive points to the story. Ana, a nobody, is noticed, desired and romanced (I guess) by a powerful, rich man. Many of us want to believe that though we are ordinary, we are worthy of love, we are noticeable, we are special.

The story is also a backhanded expose of childhood abuse and the lengths a person will go to to expunge their pain. In an article on XXXchurch.com, Craig Gross says, “The best available research suggest that 75% or more of those who commit acts of sexual or physical abuse against others were themselves abused as children. Christian Grey was abused as a child, a horrendous act that he never got over or dealt with or talked with anyone about. This has led him to some serious walls that have gone up in his life. and the only way he knows how to deal with it is to abuse someone else. He has done this to over 15 women and will continue. I heard this story was about sex, but this story at its core is about a broken man and his inability to love and be loved.”

That’s actually a very compelling story. It’s not the story, then, it’s the delivery. In the end, I have to keep that sexual imagery out of my head. My author’s imagination couldn’t handle it. I would never, ever get it out of my head. It would sit there, further selling me on ideas that don’t line up with my moral foundation. It would change how I view myself, and how I view others.

What do I want out of life? I want to have a loving relationship with my God. I want to view all people as inherently valuable as bearers of God’s image. I want to treat all with love and respect, and be treated with love and respect. I want to have a loving, trusting relationship with a future spouse, complete with a healthy sex life. Watching Ana and Christian get it on in the red room will only get in the way of that life.

What we take into our minds matters. In the end, do what you like. But don’t imagine that everything is neutral. Know who you want to be, and what you believe. Because whatever you’ve done, looked at, heard, and read in the past all added up to the person you are today. What you are doing now will produce the you of the future.

How to Make People Talk

I am told I would make a good interrogator.

The other evening, midway through a long shift at the factory, I joined a conversation between coworkers including one, rather eccentric, Russian gentleman.  “I didn’t realize this, but so and so can really talk,” one said, “He came to my house to borrow something, and he wouldn’t shut up.”

“It’s often like that. You wouldn’t suspect [my trainee] of being talkative,” I interposed, “But if you ask him about cricket, he’ll talk for an hour.”

“Cricket?  Like the game?”

“Yeah,” I said, “I like finding out what people like to talk about and then getting them going on the subject. You can learn so much.”

“Thats just what the KGB do,” the Russian gentleman said.

I stared at him.

“They get you talking about what you’re interested in, and before you know it you’re telling them everything.”

“That’s not why I do it!” I said in great alarm, “I do it because I’m genuinely interested in them.”

“But that’s what they do,” he insisted, “They interviewed me once.  They’d seen my school files.  They knew I like the sciences so they tried to get me talking about that.” He then launched into a diatribe on Einstein’s theories of relativity, and I was ready to listen attentively, but a coworker interrupted with a question for me.  That was the end of that.

Half an hour later, my coworker and I were sitting in our process room with the tablet coater running and nothing to do but monitor it. I had asked my coworker, a recent immigrant from India, about his native languages and how the looked written.  He proceeded to provide examples.

I had a view of the windows.  As I nodded and asked questions, the Russian fellow walked past.  He stopped and grinned at me.  Then he made wringing motions with his hands.

I giggled, and then had to explain the whole thing to my coworker.

It isn’t a psychological technique for me.  I don’t know any better way of gaining trust and building rapport, especially with someone whom I don’t naturally relate to.  As a trainer, I need the trust of my trainee–both to accept my teaching, and also to like me.  We spend a lot of time together. We might as well be friends.

Dale Carnegie said, “So if you aspire to be a good conversationalist, be an attentive listener. To be interesting, be interested. Ask questions that other persons will enjoy answering. Encourage them to talk about themselves and their accomplishments.”

I ‘John Wayne’ Through Life

Straight out of high school, I worked at a small meat packing facility. My job was to grind three or four hundred pounds of beef every morning and bulk-pack it for shipping. The tubs of beef weighed eighty to a hundred pounds each, too much for the average eighteen-year-old girl to lift. But I figured out a way to shuffle them off the cutting table onto my shoulder. Then all I had to do was stand up under them, stagger to the grinder, and heave them into the grinding pan.

There would have been five or ten strong men at the ready to help, but I didn’t want to ask. I was too shy, or too proud to admit that I couldn’t do it myself. So instead I permanently damaged my shoulder.

This fall I’ve had to grit my teeth and tighten my belt financially.  Last winter I had nice clothes but I’ve since shrunk out of them. No shopping spree could be justified.  So though my coat was shabby to the point of embarrassment, I decided to keep wearing it and wait for the right opportunity.

Well, last week my church hosted their Thanksgiving Food and Clothing Drive.  Free food and clothes for anyone who needed them.  I had an extended argument with myself, going “you ARE poor” and “no I’m NOT” back and forth and back and forth. Whether I fit the criteria wasn’t the true issue. The real issue was shopping among the tables, and then being seen up in the choir in my new threads.  If I walked through those doors, I would admit that I couldn’t provide for myself just then.

I sensed God saying ‘let me provide for you, here.” Still I hemmed and hawed.  Finally, I was running nearby so I wrestled myself into the building, looking like a schlep with my windblown hair and my sweaty gear. Even when I had my bag in hand and was looking through the stacks of gently used jeans, I had a hard time admitting to my friendly church family that I wasn’t there to volunteer.  I was there to ‘shop’.

I found some clothes, but in the end I wonder if it was more a lesson in humility than in provision.

“God gives grace to the humble,” the Apostle Peter said.  I remind myself that independence is good, but when I ‘John Wayne’ my way through life, a lone gunmen against my battles, I miss out on the greatest sources of strength I have: my family, and my God.

Why bust my shoulder, when a stronger arm can help me lift?

Do I Ask Too Much of a Husband?

Am I asking too much of the husband that I don’t have?

Maybe you never did this, but when I was a teen it was popular among girls of my stripe to write ‘wish lists’ of what we wanted in our future husbands.  Since I was a goody-goody nice Christian girl, I wrote a lengthly list containing things like ‘must be passionately chasing after Jesus’ and ‘must serve in a church’ and eschewed shallow things like ‘tall, dark, and handsome’.

Mmm… tall, dark, and handsome.

As I age (yeah, the ripe age of 24, ha ha) my lists have taken on a pragmatic edge.  At fourteen I could barely look a guy in the face.  Now I’ve had the joy and pain of working with heaps of them, including a couple of tall, dark, gorgeous jerkfaces.  The more I know what I definitely don’t want, the more the good comes into sharp relief.

But I’m beginning to think even this new list may be too idealistic.  Let me list off a few items, and you can give me some feedback.

1. Must Not Live With His Mother

I don’t condemn the guys who live in their mom’s basement… exactly.  I know there are good reasons, and given the chance for a do over, I’d stay there a little longer too.  But I moved out of my childhood home at eighteen, and have been autonomous ever since.  I’ve forgotten what it was like to have a self-replenishing fridge, and self-washing dishes, and to get home from work and have dinner waiting for me.

I figure, if I would enter a relationship with a young man who has not lived independently, I will just replace his Mom as the fridge-replenisher and become the bad guy who reminds him to pay the rent bill and pick up eggs after work.  I want to be on equal footing with him.  I’d rather duke it out over HOW to run the home than have to teach him how to use a washing machine.

Is that horrible of me?  It sounds horrible when I read it.

2. Spends Very Little Time on Video Games

It’s not that I’m against video games, but the idea of a grown man spending hours in front of a TV, fighting imaginary battles, playing imaginary sports games and racing imaginary cars is unsettling and borderline on ridiculous.  I’m sorry.

Some might say the same about writing fiction, I don’t know.

Is life so boring that he must escape into an imaginary world?  Does he have no real battle to fight–no passionate pursuit?  Is he just lazy?  I can understand a bit of TV or gaming to unwind.  But hours upon hours of valuable time that can never be replaced?

3. Has Basic Financial Competency

If he can’t make a monthly budget, I don’t care if he looks like a GQ model.  I have worked VERY hard to learn financial skills.  I’m no accounting whiz, but I respect my money and do my best to be fiscally responsible.  Does he have to be wealthy?  Heck no!  Gainfully employed with a realistic picture of his cashflow?  Absolutely.

Now, how does one ask about this without sounding like a nosy gold digger?

4. A Desire to Do Better, Be Better

In a word: ambition.  He may not know what his life’s work will be yet, but he isn’t content to coast through life.  Whatever job he has, he does his best at.  He reads and learns constantly.  He examines himself and when he sees something he doesn’t like, he works on it.  He wants to leave a legacy, not just a grave marker, when he dies.

Turns out, this is a tall order.  I have met very few young men who pursue excellence.  But because excellence is so important to me, I know that if he does not, I will not be able to respect him as he deserves.  It is very important to me that I can respect my husband.  I ask no more of him than I ask of myself.  Not perfection, but a hunger for growth.

5. A Man of Courage and Character

I’ve worked with men who lie when the truth is inconvenient, cut corners to save effort, and would rather ignore (or rant about) a problem then fix it.  I doubt they realize how detrimental this is to relationships.  They lie to save my feelings, or cut a corner rather than correct me.  They want to be liked–I get that.  But I don’t trust them, so their amiable personality means little.

Over the years I’ve learned that truth isn’t as black and white as I thought, and honesty is much more difficult than just not telling a untruth.  But I need to know that he isn’t a coward.  He tries his best to do what is right. He’s not going to lie to get himself out of a hard place.  He’s not going to cheat on something because it’s little and ‘doesn’t matter.’

If he cheats at a card game, he’ll cheat on anything.  It’s just a matter of time.

6. A Man Who Loves Jesus

Honestly, the other four don’t mean anything without this one.

The passionate pursuit thing?  Life experience tells me that the burning flame of enthusiasm waxes and wanes, but love stays the course no matter what.  I have a passion to write. Sometimes writing is fun, even euphoric.  Sometimes writing is drudgery.  But I never give up.  Same deal here.

To love and to be loved by Jesus is transformative, and this man’s life will bear evidence of that transformation.

So How Am I Doing?

Are any of these unrealistic?

I said it already: I don’t ask of him any more than I ask of myself.  And I don’t want him to BE me.  I’d probably kill him.  One of me is enough, trust me!  But could there possibly be a man who lives life as intently as I do?  Or am I expecting too much of the poor sap?

What would you add to the list?

 

 

 

What if We Asked These Questions?

Does anyone ask you the questions you desperately want to answer?

People ask me all kinds of things, but rarely am I asked about what really matters to me.  These are the things I want to talk about, and truly be listened to.  In the presence of my friends and family I talk about them, unasked.  But I feel that they don’t want to hear about it.

Do you feel this way too?

I want to be asked.

I want to be asked “What have you been doing at work lately?”

Silly, right?  People ask “how is work?” all the time.  But that’s the sort of question you’re required to answer ‘fine’ to, or ‘busy’.  Maybe they’d accept a long answer, but I get the distinct feeling that if I went on a five minute rant about the product I was coating that week, and what went wrong, and about how I nailed that one coat to the exact percentage, their eyes would glaze over.

I want to be asked “How were your runs this week?”

I’d love you forever if you’d listen to me talk about running Abe’s Hill for the first time, and my 5k on the weekend–and then ask “then what happened?” like you mean it.

I want to be asked “What are you reading these days?”

Plato–The Republic, and Lord of the Rings.  Ask me about Plato, and why I’d even pick it up.  Ask me about what I’m learning from those books.  Gosh, look at the size of the three-in-one volume of Lord of the Rings.  Doesn’t it just beg to start a conversation?

Ask me about my writing projects and don’t look too shocked when my eyes light up and I expound on clones, and the archetypal city, and the righteous poor, and the adventures of some ‘made up’ character.

The problem is…

The problem is that I don’t ask the right questions either.  If I were observant, and not all wrapped up in myself like I tend to be, I might know the right questions to ask YOU.  The questions that make your face light up like a Christmas tree.  The ones you can deliver a spontaneous fifteen minute lecture on.

I stumbled across one of these questions by accident, this summer.  I’d had difficulty connecting with a coworker, a gentleman from Bangladesh, until one day I asked him “Are you following the FIFA World Cup?”

Yes!  Yes he was.  He was following Argentina.  He’d followed Messi since the soccer star was a much younger man.  He (my coworker) had actually played soccer in college.  And off we went–because college led to discussions about our families, and once you start talking about your families you have lots to go on.

I began checking the World Cup stats every morning so I’d have something to say to him when we passed in the hall.

Doubtless, asking a good question won’t always have the same success.  But I’ll warrant that if I’d regularly pose purposeful questions, I’d often stumble on good answers, perhaps even on a new friend.  But this won’t happen if I’m not looking, using Sherlock Holmes powers of observation to discover what makes people tick.

I’m not good at that, I admit.  But I realize now that I can’t make people take a genuine interest in me.  All I can do is provide that loving courtesy to others, because I truly believe that to listen is to grant deep respect and honour to another.  We need to be listened to.  It is psychological oxygen, to borrow from Dale Carnegie.

What to ask?

So tell me.  What do you want to be asked?  What is that thing, buried deep in your chest, that you NEED to talk about?

I WANT to ask.  Forgive me if I forget to look.

 

 

 

Not a Moment to Waste!

“I’m afraid to die before I’ve really lived,” he said.

Funny the things you talk about on late shifts.  We stood over our tank of coating suspension, the peristaltic pump chugging the soupy, white mixture from one tank to the other.  I don’t know why we were talking about death–death by drowning, death by fire.

I paused.  In my hand, the hose bucked and splattered goop on the shiny steel receiving tank.  “Yeah, I know what you mean.”  But in my head I thought, but how do you know that you’ve really lived?  As I thought over my twenty-four years, I realized that I’d packed lots into them.  I’ve travelled, I’ve graduated from college, I’ve written a book.  But had I really lived?

A couple weeks later, a school friend’s nineteen year old brother died in a drowning accident, and it brought the subject back to my mind.  My own brothers were going out to the lake, and inwardly I shouted don’t go!  I want to keep you here!

I suspect that the years we have are never enough once they’re gone.  I had twelve happy years with my Grandma (Mom’s mom) before she died of cancer.  But when I think about her I remember that, the last day I saw her healthy and alert, I spent playing video games.  Would that one more day have been enough?  No.

It annoys me that people say “Two more days until Friday.”  When I catch myself saying “My shift is half over,” I rebuke myself.  Heck, we spend tens of thousands of hours at our jobs, but we’re so eager to just get them over with.  My Grandma (Dad’s mom) told me, today, that the older you get, the faster they go.  It’s like being pinned to a railway car, flying downhill toward a brick wall (she didn’t say that–I did).  But we are unmindful.  We try to make our railcar go faster!

What are the chances we get to the end of our lives and decide we’ve ‘really lived’?

I’m realizing that I need to be a heck of a lot more deliberate with my time.  I’ve got to dream, then make goals, and then work my butt off before my railcar reaches the bottom of the hill.

Dan Waldschidmt said “We all want that extra 6.25 years of conquest.  But when we have a zillion minute by minute considerations just to decide whether to stay in bed or get up and ‘conquer,’ most of us choose comfort.  It seems small at the time–after all, it’s just one hour.  But the results are life changing.  Literally.  The decisions that you make hundreds of times a day build your future.  They all count.”

I’m not doing well in this area right now.  After the release of We are the Living, I hit a big-time slump.  I’ve yet to pull out entirely.  My blogging has been sporadic.  I have little interest in social networking.  I don’t feel like writing.  My new project has been neglected for days at a time.

It’s time to kick my own butt.  If I can make myself go running after an exhausting workday, when my knees hurt, or when it’s cold and raining, I guess I can make myself write (do what I love!).

There isn’t a moment to waste, is there?

 

10 Things I’m Thankful For

In a few hours it will be my birthday.

I’ve been absent from the blogosphere this week, due to the pendulum swing of my schedule.  While on day shifts, I try to make up for the lack of social life while I’m working evenings.  My brain has been packed, and much of what I’ve come up with to write is so snarky I don’t dare infect you with it.

So, in hopes of soothing my soul and inspiring you, I’d like to share ten things I’m thankful for–at the dawn of my 24th year.

In no particular order…

1. Strawberry the Car

This week I’ve logged a lot of miles in my magic carpet.  I picked up the print edition of We are the Living from the courier (an hour and fifteen minutes away), I went to dinner with two college friends, and before the week is out, Strawberry’s little wheels will take me to my second 5K race.  Since I got my own car (after 5 years of waiting) I’ve been granted a whole new level of freedom.  I’m grateful for that.

2. A job that challenges me.

I’ve worked at the pharmaceutical plant for a year and a half now, and the job has yet to get easy.  That’s perfect, even if it is frustrating at times (like today).  As long as it keeps me learning I won’t get bored or stagnate.

3. I work in pyjamas all day!

Scrubs, actually, but they’re just as comfortable.  Some people don’t like wearing a uniform, but I wouldn’t change it.  They’re loose, modest, and save on laundry.

4. Coffee

Mmm… coffee.

5. Autumn is coming

Now, this also means that winter is coming, which in Manitoba is a six-month affair… but let’s not think that far.  I look forward to the crisp air, the falling leaves, and pumpkin everything–except those fake pumpkin syrup things every coffee shop hawks at us.  Ew!  Pumpkin cheesecake (sugar free, low carb) is on the birthday menu tomorrow.

6. Stevia

The secret to healthy living, as far as I’m concerned.

7. Coworkers who are also friends.

I’ve had some excellent coworkers over the last three years, and I’m pleased to still call many of them friends.  Work is so much better with them!

8. WiFi at home

Wow, what a relief to not have to drive, walk or bike to find WiFi!  As a blogger, it was getting a bit ridiculous.  I was single-handedly supporting every coffee shop in town, I think.

9. The Electric Donkey

Also known as my next 5K race, and what has been motivating me for the last month.  I’m so excited!

10. My family

We’ve had some wonderful visits lately.  Our bonfire pit has added another six inches of ash to its layers, I think.  They’re the best people to hang out and drink coffee with on a Saturday evening, and I look forward to celebrating my birthday with them tomorrow.  I’ll bring the cheesecake!

So tell me?  What are you thankful for?  Feel free to comment with your own lists.

 

 

Two Tear-Jerker Commercials

In honour of Labour Day weekend, here are two awesome videos that made my eyes well up.  Never mind that one is a commercial for scotch and the other for life insurance.  These two commercials got it right.  Watch and enjoy.

Geralyn

Unsung Hero

A young man’s kindness may not bring him fame, but it will make a difference.  Wow, this one nails it!

I Read Your Book

An elderly man learns to read for a special purpose.  Oh this one made me choke up!

 

Mind Altering Drugs at the Mall

I think they must gas us at the mall–spray us with some mind-altering substance.  I went in feeling great about myself, and now I feel like a slob.

I smelled something strong around the Abercrombie and Fitch.  I thought it was cologne or the scent of those special people who can actually wear Abercrombie.  But now I know what it was: drugs.

Nothing is right anymore.

My shoes don’t match my bag, and they don’t go right with these jeans.  That doesn’t matter, because the jeans are saggy around the butt so they must go.  I will slip into a pair of these hundred-dollar jeans and then all shall be well.  My t-shirt doesn’t hug my curves right, so I’ll trade it for another.  I’ll drop a hundred bucks on jewelry.  I’ll buy new makeup, I’ll…!

Collapse at Starbucks, exhausted and broke.

The coffee soothes my nerves and washes away the drugs.  I see myself for what I am: a foot-sore consumer among thousands.  No one is looking at my clothes.  No one is looking at my hair.  They are busy looking at themselves, and their saggy jeans, and their outdated shoes.

Where has my reason gone?  Wasn’t I a fiscally responsible, ‘un-shallow’, free-spirited person just yesterday?  How did I get swept into this?

Drugs, I tell you.  They alter your mind.

So I sip my iced coffee and I resolve to smile bigger, to greet the sales people with more enthusiasm, to thank them for their help, to move with grace and peace, and mostly, to slow down–to stop this frantic acquiring and actually enjoy myself.  It may be the only way I stand out in the crowd.