Fabulous Fantasyland

I've been lost in a fabulous fantasyland, ignoring real life and just drifting along ignoring all responsibilities, all exercise, eating whatever presents itself. I live in a haze between episodes of Mad Men, just waiting until I can sit down and be mesmerized by the world unfolding before my eyes.

My mother, 1959. She was no model in Italy, but she was kicked out of graduate school in order to give her place to a man. And, the Dean told my father what was happening to his wife, rather than giving her the courtesy of telling her himself. Probably he was afraid she'd cry. 

I got the first episode on iTunes just before my trip, and brought a few along on the iPad to watch on board. I watched the first episode on June 14, on the plane to Italy. A few more were watched on deck chairs in the Mediterranean. What was this bizarro world they inhabited - smoking, drinking, letting children plan with dry cleaning bags - who were these people? How could they be so casually sexist and racist? It took a few episodes to realize:  they were my parents. Actually, they weren't my parents, but they were my parent's friends. Don Draper was born in 1928, between my mother and father. I watched the solar eclipse with Sally Draper's class, I wore her cupcake dresses, my sister (the late, unexpected baby) was in my mother's arms when the news came that Kennedy had been shot.  My brother saw Jack Ruby shoot Lee Harvey Oswald live on TV.

Thanksgiving 1962 (my brother took the picture, and my father is giving him instructions)

One bone to pick:  it's not possible that Norwegian Peggy Olson from Brooklyn is Roman Catholic. There is a huge Norwegian Lutheran Church my family would visit to see distant relatives and eat traditional food right up through the 1980s. Maybe to Hollywood producers anyone first or second generation European-American living in Brooklyn is Catholic, maybe they never heard of Martin Luther or the reformation, but less than one-half of one percent of all Norwegians today are Catholic - its over 95% identified as Lutheran, with more people identifying as Muslim or Buddhist than Catholic. Do they not think Protestants have rules or have guilt? Imagine the frisson if the guitar playing youth pastor were not sworn to celibacy but was instead available.  Obviously, someone got to the writers and they knew enough that Peggy would have to pretend her Swedish Manhattan roommate was actually Norwegian to pass muster.  So far, this is the falsest note of the whole series to me.

But I've moved on and the story arc is soaring!  Now, halfway through Season Four, the women are out there. So is the overt hostility of the young men threatened by the women. In 1965, I knew I couldn't be an astronaut. I wanted to be a sailor or a lighthouse keeper, but it seemed lighthouse keeper's daughter was the closest job open to me - though I was missing the key qualification of my father's choice of profession.[Footnote: the irony is that recapturing actual women's history from actual records indicates that lighthouse keeper in real life was the first government job routinely held by women in America, often taking over from deceased husbands.]  But here is the joy of this moment: Peggy has discovered she is not entirely alone.  There are other working women out there, and they want what she wants.

Erstwhile lighthouse keeper's daughter, probably 1965

So I'm living in this totally absorbing fantasyland, ignoring life unfolding around me. Cooking? Laundry? Bill paying? The office? Time with the kids? I can squeeze a few grudging moments in between episodes. Sleep? Definitely suffering. Exercise? Not so much. Ice cream from the container while watching, absently finishing it all?  Well, yeah, more than once.

While I am sucking down the episodes, so far I haven't just hit "play" instantly to get the next episode after an episode is over. No, I'm checking out fabulous and opinionated Tom and Lorenzo for each episode, as well as their style guides, and occasional other fan sites, for analysis and opinions. There is time to do that, while still inhabiting this stirring time line.

So the whole weight loss / be strong thing isn't going so well. I just saw Don Draper pull himself together, cut back on the drinking, and swim a few laps. Surely I can do the same?

But my goal is to be caught up before the season starts. When is that?  Five minutes didn't turn the date up on the AMC website, but a note that it was nominated for 17 Emmy's did show up. And it was so tempting to go elsewhere on the website, but I'm trying very very hard to avoid spoilers. There are a few I've stumbled upon, but so far Tom and Lorenzo are sufficiently well labelled I've avoided most untimely unveilings.

I'm careening out of control, folks. Like Don Draper, I need to keep a journal to try to control myself. Since this is the 2010s, not the 1960s, my version is a blog. But I wouldn't be me if I didn't actually measure and calculate what I'm doing here.  Through the magic of computers, I know exactly when I've watched what, and the rapid acceleration of my obsession looks ripe for a sudden crash.