I do apologize for my absence. A funny thing happened last weekend; I started watching the first season of Mad Men online. And, of course, became completely hooked. And so a funny thing happened this weekend — I started watching the second season of Mad Men, and could barely tear myself away because, if possible, it’s even better than the first season.
And now I hardly know how I will survive without Joan, Roger, Don, Betty, Peggy and Pete until the third season starts this summer on AMC.
I won’t go into great detail here so as not to spoil it for those who haven’t seen it at all, but really, you must not miss this show.
It is especially great for me because this was totally my parents’ generation and almost exactly how they and their friends lived, albeit with slightly less money. The cocktail glasses in the office? My parents had them. I have seen china patterns, Corning ware, table cloths, costume jewellery, compacts, lipsticks, linens, salt and pepper shakers, shoes, glassware and artwork that were in my parents’ home or their friends’ homes. The constant drinking and smoking? Yup. At all hours of the day and night, and there was no problem that a glass of scotch couldn’t take care of.
And like Don, my own father had a sordid secret life and my mother was miserably unhappy, wanting him to be the kind of husband he could not be. And like Betty, she took her frustrations out on her only male child, making him pay for the sins of his father.
So every episode, for me, is bittersweet and enthralling.
Not only that, I have become obsessed with all things related to that era. Not just the aforementioned dresses, but china patterns and ceramics and linens. Yesterday a friend and I went antique shopping and I found a treasure trove of amazing 1950s/1960s tablecloths. I bought beautiful white one with a purple, green and turquoise rooster pattern and I’m mad I didn’t buy more. And that I didn’t buy the pretty chenille bed spreads as well.
Mad Men. I cannot decide if it’s good or bad for me to be this engrossed in my messed-up parents’ generation.