Mad Men, or White Guys Gone Wild

I’ve tried—I’ve really tried—to watch Mad Men and see what the buzz was about, if only to understand why the show has won so many awards and seems to be considered such great drama--

To coin a phrase—I don’t get it.

Yes, the setting is remarkably correct for the timeframe, and yes, the characters all seem the right degree of caricature to make the viewing entertaining.

That’s about it.

The chronic sexual hunting is slightly nauseating, the historical shuffling-aside of the women is horrifying and the closeting of the gay character is depressing. The “glacial” pace—yes, that is how it is described—“glacial”--makes me watch the clock. The lack of action makes me find other chores to fill the time.

In a word, I don’t like it.

I particularly don’t like the focus on the men—white men—who are self-indulgent and believe they can, and should, get away with anything. I dislike the grasping ambition. I dislike the cultural references to oppression of minorities, and the chronic boozing looks like a celebration of dysfunction. And the status-worshipping--that has never been a field of any interest to me, so that’s lost on me, too.

In a word, there’s no there there for me.

The demographic of Mad Men viewers is said to be white, under 50, and affluent. Poor people don’t get it. A lot of women don’t get it. It’s mainly a man’s show. A white man’s show, really. And a women-attached-to-successful-man show. It’s also a show for those who wish to look back at the early 60’s with rose-colored glasses. A time when white guys were king. A time when affluence was the perfect way to divert from inequity. A time where when something was good for the some, it was assumed to be good for everyone.

Perhaps too much cultural fantasy for me.

The show must inexorably march toward a more enlightened view of both the culture and humanity, in general. By that time, the writers will have been forced to add in more diverse and interesting characters. Till then, the show is like a diorama—frozen in time. The show’s fans like it that way, but like real life, the show must change because everything changes. Until that time, I will continue watch the show off-and-on, without much engagement, with one eye, and the plot just visible on the edge of my consciousness.
Wake me when something interesting happens.

A Bad Brand - or 'What are Republicans Thinking?'

As if the misinformation that drove into a protracted war in Iraq wasn’t enough, the Republicans—and their doppleganger reflection, the Tea Partiers (Teabaggers)—have continued to misrepresent and often overtly lie about the health reform bill, the financial reform bill, and almost everything else President Obama does—or is.

It’s quite astounding to watch, for a party that once carefully groomed its image as the Family Values Party (that went to hell), the Fiscal Conservative Party (also, to hell), and the reasonable, restrained arbiters of American liberty (way, way gone to Hades). This appears to be a party thrashing around in the throes of some kind of madness, trussed up as they are by their own failure, incompetence, and inability to divert from their own ideology when it’s needed. They are a bad brand now, one that, in commercial venues, would have been thrown out and started over.

Instead, we watch the Republicans compound their public mistakes, doubling-down on the bad behavior in a childish tantrum, hoping to make all those who resist their policies give up indulgently—or perhaps, it’s that they hope to make it look so bizarre and powerful others can’t help but join in.

We’ve seen them follow patently unqualified candidates, accept the incendiary rhetoric of their talk show propagandists, and silently assent to the most politically improper language and behavior that can be imagined. But their worst sin—the thing that makes their brand toxic from here on in---is their lying to the public about facts that affect them profoundly. This is unforgiveable, un-American, and makes them unworthy of leadership in any capacity. Yet they seem to be unaware of people think of them—a sure sign of unhealthy thought processes. The worst of it is that the more moderate among them allow them to carry on anyway.

So, as we wave a fond farewell to the sane and sensible cloth-coat Republicans of the past, we get the feeling we should call in professionals to counsel current Republicans in their madness. Surely, something can be done. Some medication. Some talk sessions. Some peace and quiet on some well-landscaped estate.
Or, only if absolutely necessary, electroshock therapy.

When People Had Paychecks

Outside of the obvious dichotomy of some people having jobs and other people NOT having them, lies another issue that is changing the mindset of Americans across the country. We are no longer able to count on paychecks coming in, and even dividends from investments may be reduced or completely removed from the annual income. Add to that a generation whose has seen their dreams of retirement go up in smoke. What does that do to the American psyche?

Retailers are noticing a bump in sales for the past 4 months over the course of the current recession, but this is mainly for “necessary” items—kids needing clothes they have outgrown, or people needing to look recent at work, or people buying clothes in hopes of finding new jobs. This is not the “discretionary spending” we’ve seen in the past. It may be the our consumer economy will be re-calibrated permanently, with more money going to personal debt reduction—or saving for retirement—or for cash outlays for things we previously put on credit. It will not be for that riotous spending we have done in the past—if we were lucky enough to engage in riotous spending.

So far, this has not resulted in widespread lower pricing, and certainly gas prices are not helping matters, with more money going to energy so that less can be spent on everything else. As a result, restaurants, entertainment, and tourism may be depressed for many years to come.

So where is the American economy going? Right now, it seems at a standstill, with movement apparently going in a retrograde motion to undo past mistakes. That is going to be a difficult prospect for many Americans. No more will there be automatic reliance on that next paycheck coming in as sure as the night follows the day. It is likely jobs will continue to be shaky as long as that retrograde action continues. And it may be true that America seems a kind of Lost Decade that Japan experienced a short time ago.

Until the corrections within the American economy are completed, we will all endure a kind of consumer “suspended animation.” Pent-up demand might take on a different character. Maybe it will make consumption more thoughtful in the future.
Maybe we’ll even become less materialistic—as we so often speak of, but so seldom actually do.

People Who Love Chicago

I live in Florida, and have for the past ten years. It can be said I have not adapted well to the heat. This winter, like in many places around the country, my town has seen record cold temperatures.

Something happened one day—a Saturday, when I had time to notice—when the temperatures dipped into the thirties and forties. I ran out to the Target to pick up a few things. On the way back to my car, I noticed that a light, chilly rain was falling. I looked up into the sky. It was a low, overcast, pale-gray. The wind had a bite, and a cold rain began to chill me in a familiar way. I had bundled up in heavy socks and shoes and a toasty-warm fleece jacket--because that’s what Floridians do when the temperature dips down from its normal 80 degrees--so I was thoroughly prepared for the cold. Something about the feel of it all made my heart leap up in joy.

It was Chicago. Just like Chicago. In early November.

I recognized it immediately and instinctively. It was as if I were transported back to my old neighborhood on the near-South Side. In my mind, I was trekking down State Street, looking in the store windows. I was strolling down Lake Shore Drive gazing at the deep, cold, forbidding waters of Lake Michigan. I was waiting for a bus on a windy corner on Halstead Street.

I was there.

This cold, and chill, and rain made me feel incredibly alive. I had to get out and walk around in it. So I drove home, and leashed up my little Papillon, Markie, and started walking. We walked all around the neighborhood, even though there was a light, icy rain falling. No one else was walking, and in fact, I saw people in cars that went by, looking at me like I must be a little mad. “Yes, I’m a little mad—but I’m from Chicago,” I replied in my mind. As if that were an excuse they would understand perfectly. As if that explained everything about me. And in many ways, it does.

That’s the thing about Chicagoans, they are a strangely sentimental group. All that bad weather that scares other people off, horrifies them, in fact—that is the stuff we are made of. The grayness, and the biting, go-right-through-you, wind, and the icy rain, and the snow and the sleet and black ice—it’s all a backdrop to all our experiences, both good and bad. We have kissed lovers in the icy rain. We have slid across black ice on the way to holiday gatherings. We have stood at gravesites in drifting snow and below zero temperatures. It’s a part of us. We can’t separate it from us. It makes us passionately love the city and all that happens there.

As the cold temperature frosted my hips and thighs, it seemed to conform that I was not built for the heat of Florida, but I was perfectly adapted to the inhospitable chill of Chicago. I recognized that I could stay out in this weather for hours. I was almost tempted to find out how many hours, but I had my dog with me, and though he is well covered in fluffy, black-and-white fur, I’m not sure how his footpads will hold up on the cold cement. He was raised in Florida, and I’m not sure to what degree he’s adapted. So, I took him home.

My hips and thighs stayed cold for hours and hours afterward—yet I didn’t mind it at all. I have the insulation of Chicago, it seems, reinforced by generations of Chicago ancestors, and even before that, people who were adapted to the cold Warsaw winters.

I realized one thing. Even though I now live in comfy place like Florida, I will return to the frozen North many times. I will have to—it’s in my blood.
Even in the dead of winter.