Mad Men on My Mind

Okay, so as I'm driving down Grand Avenue this afternoon, dishing out punishments to my son and daughter from the driver's seat I found myself shouting, "If Don Draper was your father you'd listen the first time, dammit!" Their reflections from the rear view mirror seemed slightly stunned, but mostly amused--as if to say--"Wait til my therapist gets a load of this!"

But my tirade got me thinking about last night's episode of Mad Men. Let's just jump ahead to 10:30 when Don's scream to the kids, "Cut it out!" was followed by obedient silence. My breathing became heavier when I stopped to think that he was not only admonishing his own brood, but also his brother-in-law's daughters. And they all listened! Come on, anyone who's ever had a playdate has had the urge to scream just once at some other kid, "Cut it out!" (My house, being uncensored, would follow it up with, "You little Bastard!") I am a true subscriber to the "Don Draper Method for Scaring the Shit out of Your Kids."

Okay back to the show--let's start at the beginning where Ann Margaret opened the show with "Bye Bye Birdie"--tell me that Sal didn't want to break out dancing and singing? Did you see his Fred Flinstone head slightly shaking to the beat restraining himself to not get up on the table and dance along with Annie?

And while we're on the subject of The Flintstones, I loved when sexy Joanie said to Iron Betty, "Other than Wilma Flintstone, I've never seen anyone carry so well." And not for nothing, but Joanie's looking a little thick around the waist; however, it only makes her look more sexy--my middle cannot be forced into curves--it's simply just there preventing me from sitting close enough to the steering wheel to reach the pedals. Lately it feels like I have to stand when I drive.

Then there's the dinner scene with Don, Pissed-off Betty, Pompous Price and his arrogant wife. Just once I want to be in a situation that requires me to say, "Ah, the coquille. Brilliant!"

And Roger. Roger, Roger, Roger...All I have to say about Roger is "Gibson up, Baby!" He can drink anywhere, anytime, anyplace and never break a sweat. It's true that last season's oyster and 10 martini lunch with Dan caused him to spew all over the clients (every time I eat oysters I'm reminded of that scene) he's still my favorite character. I loved the "family meeting" in his office with his ex & daughter. Let me just say that if Roger was my daddy and he was footing the bill for my off-the-charts wedding he could bring Ethel Merman for all I cared! And I love how his ex called his nubile bride "June" instead of "Jane"--can't beat passive-aggressive behavior!

Then there's Peggy's dorm sex with the Bay Ridge Boy. No Trojan, no worries--"we can do other things." -- How Don Draper of her!

I can't end the post without talking about Grandpa since the show sort of revolved around him and his son Scooter. Let me just say this--if I walked into my kitchen and found the old man pouring my booze down the drain he'd be in a home faster than you could say, "Bye-Bye Gramps!" That scene brought a tear to my eye.

Okay, and then there's the Don Draper Maypole Boner scene. The teacher was definitely headed in the "flower child" direction--hair down, no spray, no girdles, no stockings. You know there's got to be a story there...my guess is Don's going to the Parent-Teacher conference this year.

So until next week ladies, get out those matching peignoir sets, light up a non-filtered cigarette, and make yourself a pitcher of martinis...and if you find an empty box of Melba Toast in your cupboard--blame it on the maid...why not, Betty does?

The Return of Mad Men

Okay, so the rule in my house last night was this: disturb mommy from 10 o'clock to 11 o'clock and every privilege gets taken away and the house goes into lock down mode--this included my husband as well, but not the dog. Why? Season 3 of MAD MEN! Now for those of you who have never seen an episode of the show--run to the video store, Netflix, the library and watch the first two seasons. You will immediately become addicted as the opening notes transport you to the world of New York City, and the suburbs, in 1960. Sex, cigarettes, intrigue, cigarettes, adultery, cigarettes, pointy boobs and shoes, cigarettes, no birth control, cigarettes...oh, and lots and lots and lots of booze.

For all you returning devotees of the show I have just two words: Gay Sex! And could they make it any hotter? What was it? Because it was so forbidden back then, or the fact that Sal finally succumbed to his urges? And can I just say that Sal's almost-romp with the bell boy put Don's fling with the pretty, but entirely uninteresting, stewardess to shame. And, come on, when Sal's pen exploded in his shirt pocket? Cheesy, but oh so supreme a metaphor! Although I think Sal really loves his wife Kitty (and who wouldn't--she's great!) let's hope he continues to have more great story lines.

And Peggy--way to grow a pair--you go girlfriend!!! Get that secretary working for YOU! Take away those bangs, the bow ties, and the sensible shoes and you have Don Draper!

And how pregnant is Betty? When Don delivered the warm milk to Betty in bed she looked like her water was going to break, but at the end of the show she looked only about five months pregnant.

And I have to ask: can Betty be any more cold as a mother? Did you see the snarky smirk she had on her face when 8 minutes into the show she referred to her daughter as a "Lesbian"? At least her life would be more complete and fulfilled than yours, Betty Boop! And she'd be with someone, finally, who would love her unconditionally! Can't you see her daughter dropping LSD, burning her bra, and needing deep psychoanalysis by 1970?

Then there's Joan, the curvy sexy head of the secretarial pool. She made a reference about leaving not on her terms--did her rapist husband get her pregnant? But you have to love how she seductively and brilliantly put the English boy secretary, "I'm not a secretary" in his place by giving him an office she knew his boss would take away from him.

And here's my final thoughts: what's up with Cooper's Asian snake porn picture? Can Roger stay faithful to his 21 year old bride? Did anyone catch the hair hat on one of the ladies who lunched at Pete's wife's apartment? And how great are Pete's whiny temper tantrums? Imagine being married to that??? I love screaming at the TV whenever he comes on: "Stop whining Bitch!" Makes me feel so powerful! And when I watch all those pointy breasts, curvy hips, high pointy spiked heels, and the stiff hair on all the women all I can think about is the excruciating pain they must have been in every single minute of every single day. It's all I can do to put a bra on some days--imagine girdles, three-hook bras, garters, slips, stockings...OW!

Now, considering the fact that I also watch "The Housewives of..." shows, watching Mad Men is a huge step up the cultural food chain for me, and let's face it--Don Draper is some pretty sweet eye-candy! (But I would love to see The Housewives circa 1960 go up against The Housewives of New Jersey circa 2009--Betty wouldn't have to stand up to toss a table like Teresa--her icy cold stare would bring the room to a scary standstill. And what would Teresa make of those pointy boobies? And how fun would it be if Danielle hooked up with Don Draper--she'd off him in a Jersey second if he pulled that crap on her!)

So for all you other devoted fans of the misogynistic Mad Men, loosen up the girdles, take off the stilettos, light up a cigarette, pour yourself a scotch, whiskey, bourbon, vodka...and enjoy season 3!

PS: ant colonies are "gynocracies"??? WTF?

Bless Me Father...

Last Friday, a young cousin of mine was married and because our family is insanely huge she invited only the old aunts which was just fine by me. However, my mother drafted me to be her chauffeur for the evening and so I had to accompany her to the church before entertaining her for 2 hours and hauling her off to the reception. Now, I knew my mission was difficult; however, my children have sufficiently broken me so I thought, "What's left of my sanity that my mother could actually break?" (Hint: never ask yourself that question sober!)

The ceremony at the church began at 5pm so it was completely logical that my mother insist we arrive at 4pm to get a good seat. Of course when we arrived the church was locked and therefore we did the next best thing--we walked around the cemetery for 30minutes which in itself is enough to bring your mood to suicidal, but when she stopped at my father's grave to tell him that the refrigerator he bought her 40 years ago finally broke and he did her no favors by building custom cabinets around the refrigerator because now she can't find a g-d refrigerator to fit the g-d space because they don't make that g-d size anymore...!--well, let's just say I was rummaging through my purse for any expired prescription drugs that may be rolling around the bottom of my bag.

Finally, the church doors opened and I convinced my mother to sit in the last pew because I had just come from the pool and a cover-up dress was not appropriate attire for a wedding. The real reason I wanted to sit in the last pew is because my mother is a devout Catholic who believes in confession. Not the "Bless me Father, kneeling in the confessional" confession, but the very loud, very public confessions made from her seat in the pew about the people sitting near and around her. Having not seen her extended family and old friends in quite some time I knew she'd have a lot to say.

As the church began to fill and strangers sat in the pews in front of us I thought we were safe from any family members who would be seated towards the front overhearing the comments I was sure she would make. And then the priest flipped on the two gigantic fans that sat right behind our seat in the last pew. I began to sweat because now the fans would push her comments to the front of the church amplifying her vitriol.

Her first victim was a young cousin of mine who, I admit, is amply endowed and wore a dress that accentuated her healthy cleavage, but my mother in her loud church whisper said, "Will you look at the size of her boobies!" My head snapped to look at my mother in disbelief. Now I'm sitting next to Theresa from Housewives of NJ? "Those boobies are enormous! If she coughs her boobies'll fall to the floor and then what will she do?! I thought your boobies were big, but..."

"Stop saying 'boobies' in church!" I seethed.
"Oh you're being ridiculous!" she snapped back.

I handed her the a copy of the wedding booklet the bride and groom had placed in the pews for guests hoping that it would amuse her. She idly flipped through it and without looking up said, "You should talk to her about her boobies. Tell her about your BREAST REDUCTION."

I nearly pushed her to the floor in matricidal rage. "Stop talking about boobies...her boobies...my boobies...stop!!!" Now I couldn't stop saying boobies and the people seated in the pew in front of us began to shift uncomfortably.

"I'm just saying that you should tell her about your BREAST REDUCTION because your boobies were humung..."

I pinched her arm like she was one of my children and told her if she didn't stop talking about overgrown body parts we were leaving!!!

I couldn't quell the nausea rising like the perfect storm in my belly as the grandmothers of the bride were escorted in. I could tell my mother was shifting her thoughts from boobies to whores when she pointed to a guest and said, "Will you look at her--in that outfit! You know she cheated on her husband in 1955! She always had a reputation as a ..."
Another pinch accompanied with, "DO NOT SAY IT!" Now STOP!"

Now, people were willing to ignore 'boobies' but words like 'cheating on her husband' and 'reputation' registers with people especially when they're directed at a seemingly harmless 80 year old woman.

Just when I thought there was nothing worse she could possibly say it was time for the vows. A hush fell over the congregation when the bride and groom stood to take their vows. I could see that my mother thought this was her cue to give a play-by-play commentary. The first pitch 'whispered' was, "She married someone who's bald? She's so beautiful!" The second pitch: "Why would she want someone who's bald? and is he Mexican or an Arab? I can't tell." The third pitch: "You see that old fat woman wearing that awful red dress with the knee-hi's? She was voted most beautiful in 1945. Look at her now! I hope they don't sit me with her--I'll never get anything to eat at the reception!"

At this point my mom conveniently drops her tissue, bends down to pick it up so that when everyone finally turns around to see who's been spewing all these comments I'm the only one standing. I thought the crowd was going to attack me there and then, but thankfully the priest pronounced the bride and groom, man and wife, and there was no time for retribution of the masses as the newlyweds kissed.

By the time the bride and groom made their way down the aisle, I was hoping to get my hands on some of the sacramental wine because I was done! I made my mother wait until everyone left the church because I wanted to leave by the side door afraid that I would be assaulted by the crowd. However, before I could make my get-a-way my mother said, "Wait, I want to go light a candle. Here-- take this dollar, it would benefit you to light one too. Oh, and don't forget to talk to your cousin with the big boobies about your BREAST REDUCTION!"

"Bless me Father..." I said as I looked up towards the statue of Jesus who, unless my eyes were deceiving me, seemed to be smiling just a little.