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Boy, oh boy...to be a man. Seems to hold a lot of resonance today. And Sunday’s Superbowl commercials have an affinity for transmitting the typical nostalgic, saudade kind of resonance about coming to terms with the fact that most men aren’t the archetype of how men “should” or could be — self-reliant, self-confident, dominant, charismatic and, essentially free Americans.
I mean all of this in a vague, non-analytical, unsystematic, improperly researched, balls-in-your-face, hastily put together kind of way. I’m dipping into this with a thick brush, and I’m taking broad strokes. I’m writing this like a man. In fact, I’ve half forgotten which ads lead to these thoughts. And I only watched the game till halftime. And I was half-watching, anyway.
But, luckily, the most poignant commercials were limited in number, were almost broadcast consecutively and at the exact moment when I was paying extra special close attention: the Dodge Charger “Man’s Last Stand” ad and the Dove “You’re a Man” ad. The depictions of masculinity, and even the products hocked, are almost at odds — or they at least point to a duality of rough play and cleanliness.
At odds, except for one deep down little bit of emotion that strings them both together, tight like Siamese twins: the utter dissatisfaction with the inane details of being a grown up; those details which seem to get in the way of ‘being a man’; which are so common and pervasive that they seem to consume the existence of men, which forces men to not be men.
As a way to cope with this sad narrative, this mirror of their banality, men, of course, have a few options: drive away from your wife, kids and sense of responsibility as fast as you can in a Dodge; wash yourself obsessively with a bar of Dove, attempting to clean your filthy life from your body and your memory.
And as a third option, as shown in the 10,000 Bud Light commercials broadcast within a four hour period: drink yourself numb, and casually conceal your alcoholism and prosaic self-hatred with a tongue-in-cheek sense of humor. An ironic sense of humor which acknowledges the fact that you don’t feel as if you stack up against classic examples of American masculinity — and that it’s easier not to try.
Commercials play with male assumptions about grown up, manly masculinity the way boys play with toys. And obviously, they only let guys in the playhouse if they know the magic password. By the way...do you know the magic password? You think it’s Charger? Nope. Dove? Nah-uh. Flo.tv? Wrong.
It’s less obscure, and you probably say it every day when you wake up: “I hate myself.” You can hate your life, your wife, your job, your car, friends and parents too, but first things first: hate yourself.
Hate yourself with the same uninspired self-pity as Robin Williams’ Peter Banning hates himself in Hook. Hate yourself, buy a car, and never grow up. Boy, oh boy — now that growing up without growing old has been replaced with growing old without growing up, we’re all lost boys.
Gregory Sidman is a contributor to This Recording. He is a writer living in Los Angeles. This is his first appearance in these pages.
photo by Lilja and Inga Birgisdóttir"Boy Lilikoi" - Jónsi (mp3)
If there's anything we learned this week from media, it's that everybody's got a backburner, but nobody wants to be somebody else's fallback option. Betty is tired of being Don's fallback, and we can't blame her any more than we can blame Don for wanting to keep that fine shorty on layaway. Everybody wants a wife.
Conrad Hilton is a prick. Even Don thinks so, and Don has been putting up with it a lot this season. This season has been all about the importance of paternal affirmation, and how the pursuit of it can lead to putting the wrong bitches on the backburner.
all of those who are white males over the age of 35, raise your hand and say aye
In order to make it work, Don has to go on a hero's quest of apologies to Roger Sterling, Pete Campbell, and Peggy. Roger wants to see Don with his tail between his legs (who doesn't?) I still hate the flashbacks to Dick Whitman's childhood, informative as they are about Don's backstory, maybe because it strains credibility in a show that is already getting a pass on a lot of things for being a period piece.
Don's father Archie Whitman (Artist's Rendering)
Like I am willing to pretend things were somehow more theatrical and dramatic because it is "the sixties" but when they go back to "the depression" to show Don's dad Archie Whitman chugging moonshine and arguing with Dick's ma about bank notices and crops I'm like "come on now, this is ridiculous."
Flashbacks are the lowest form of narrative storytelling devices! sorry Lost fans!
These are quibbles of course. I didn't much like it at first when Tony Soprano flashed back to his childhood, nor did I like it later when they abruptly stopped doing flashbacks. I learned to care for the dream sequences in The Sopranos, which is why I give Betty the benefit of the doubt on her Medgar Evers nightmare.
Betty is a tough bitch and drops the big D for dee-vorce on Don. Now that she knows Don was born poor, all his handsomeness no longer pleases her. She would rather go with some less attractive landed gentry because he promises to take care of her and means it. Henry Francis knows the life Betty is accustomed to, like which is the salad fork and how to eat cucumber sandwiches and drink a lot and ignore your children.
That things went as well as they did was the big shock of this Mad Men finale. From the tone of the rest of the season I assumed the characters were going to end up in a horrible random tragedy to underline the timeliness of last week's JFK shooting.
Last week I said that every character in Mad Men was at least a little bit sympathetic, I meant to say that the exception is the British guy from The Nanny. I honestly thought they were going to give him one redeeming quirk or vulnerability in this episode, but he stayed straight evil. I guess it was meant to throw our feelings completely over to Lane Pryce, since we are now accepting him as part of the newly formed supergroup that is Sterling-Cooper-Draper-Campbell-Pryce-Olson-Crane-Holloway-Harris.
"Beg me, you didn't even ask me?"/"Everyone thinks you do all my work, even you."
The old boys' club reconvenes to shoot their own legs off. Don, high on the fumes of his own testosterone, calls in Peggy for a quick domination session. Peggy, high on the estrogen generated by her nooners with Duck, tells Don to fuck off. Don, unable to swallow his pride, accepts Peggy's first neg and claims he's going to make a pass at Smitty and the homo. Hey Don, if you're gonna hire a homo why not call up Salvatore?
Pete, as always, provides inadvertent comic relief pretending to be sick and pulling out the chip and dip for Don and Roger. Pete looks really good and "Dead Poets Society" in his plaid bathrobe. Don, fresh from his Peggy neg, straight up tells Pete that he wants his expertise (meaning accounts). Pete's extended hand "I'm not really sick" was the second best line of the episode. Trudy is so turned on by Pete's exceptionalism that she fully forgives him for his earlier dalliance with the kraut nanny.
Roger drops the "Henry Francis" info bomb on Don. Despite the fact that everyone is coming clean about their secrets, Don still failed to tell anyone about schtupping the teacher. Hard to teach an old dog new tricks I guess. When Don pulled Betty out of the bed and gave her that hot "because you're good and everyone else in the world is bad" spiel I really thought the other shoe might drop. Will Suzanne show up again or will Don's wandering hobo dick push the reset button as per usual.
Don and Betty Draper in happier (?) days, can't remember which season this is from
Instead Don gives Betty crazy eyes and and a lot of nightgown tugging, without a patented Don Draper vag-grab although there is a decidedly sexual undertone to their fight. How dare you cuckold Don Draper! His cock is the hammer of the gods! What will happen now to the John Updike/Cheever story that was "Life In Ossining"?
yes Don, the best way to get back your estranged wife is to call her a whore
Endless slash-fic possibilities when Pete says "I'll admit it, I'm a little scared" to Harry Crane in the elevator at the empty Sterling-Coop office. Bert Cooper welcomes them to the fold like the bohemian Gandalf he is. Don is late to the office because he has to have the traumatizing divorce discussion with his children about having two Christmases and why daddy had to sleep in Gene the baby's scary room. When Don says it's temporary and Betty starts shaking her head "no" I straight LOL'd.
Don, finally ready to be emasculated, goes over to Peggy's place and gives her a weird sort of condescending lecture about how he wants her to come because he views her as part of himself? Basically it's still all about Don. Then he claims they both understand personal trauma because la la la secret baby/identity. Don tells Peggy that even if she negs him a third time, he will spend the rest of his life trying to get back in her work-pants. Notice how the women were wearing pants this episode? Subtle.
Joan made a list, and remained fabulous while doing so. When they said the art department was locked I dreamt for a moment they'd call Sal. That guy knows how to keep a secret! Joan and Roger are already flirting, and when Rog asks Peggy to get him some coffee she gets the episode's best line; "NO." Don and Roger take a long minute to survey the big room at Sterling Cooper for the last time, and I got sad thinking about on The Wire when they finish a case and take all the index cards down.
Don calls the Draper residence for the last time ever to tell Betty where he is (as if she gives a fuck). He calls her Betts, as if that's going to soften her any. Betty, ever the icy cunt tells Don "well, you'll always be their father," sounding resigned that she fucked up her life by procreating with this handsome loser/happy that she's ditching it to hit the casinos of Reno with her new daddy. Meanwhile, the Draper children get a way better mom in Carla, so maybe good deal? Unless you are Carla's children?
Don takes his suitcases down a rainy New York city street set to the heartbreak hometel. But don't worry Don, these streets will make you feel brand new, these lights will inspire you, cause you're in NEW YORK! NEW YORK! God I hate that fucking song (more to come about that). Sadly no more to come about Mad Men until summer.
So many questions remain. Did Peggy dump Duck? What sort of a bachelor will Don Draper be? What will happen to tragic nobleman Paul Kinsey? Charmed gladstone wonderboy Ken Cosgrove? And what about Sal? We're all pulling for you, Sal.
Molly Lambert is the managing editor of This Recording. She also tumbls and twitters.
THIS RECORDING IS THE VIRTUAL HOTEL OFFICE OF THE FUTURE
As we await the third season finale of Mad Men tomorrow night, the best show on television appeared to have wrapped-up its Draper-related storylines by having Don stay together with his wife. Now she has to make a crucial decision between some weird-looking politician and her hunky Dick Whitman of a husband. All we can surmise from this glorious season is that Trudy is having none of it.
Incensed by the ministrations of wife Trudy, Pete Campbell killed President Kennedy. He did it with the candlestick, in Texas. Pete Campbell is the true mastermind of the Oklahoma City bombing, which we can only hope Mad Men takes great pains to emulate in roughly 2027.
What you share with your wife was of questionable utility on this week's Curb Your Enthusiasm. You should not share anything with your wife, especially not your finances, or secret Dick Whitman photos. Do me a favor. Dress like this:
And shut up. Pete Cambell was on the receiving end of a demotion. Pryce coos to Pete that his rival makes clients feel "like they don't have needs." Pete's initial paranoia is justified, and he is walking out an elevator while Peggy discusses banging yet another of his co-workers. "They're homos," Duck tells Peggy when he tries to get her to take her underclothes. Is he right?
Don turns off the TV, tells his daughter everything is all right. In his sweater vests and stagey sexuality we respected him so much more when he was telling Suzanne that she made him feel things he's never felt before. Now he's signed over his things to the kookiest blond on Draper Court. Don's wife's hoo ha smells like a nectarine.
Ms. Draper's peculiar political homo proposed to her, and now awaits his reply like an election result. He is perhaps addicted to this scent, or else as a graying old man he can no longer solicit the affections of single women. Ms. Draper made out with him in the car, which is like the only rest stop on the long road to unsatisfying infidelity. But cheating is by nature a displeasurable task.
Roger Sterling is a man of means. He once cribbed together a suitable wedding toast from the vast disappointments of his business partner and wife. His daughter is rendered happy in her institution of marriage. She is the only one. Roger makes phone calls from his wife's bedside, praises his first wife, wishes for another. Can nothing stall these unending dreams of desire?
If nothing else, a daughter knows how to control her parents. Examples of other demanding daughters include
Lee Harvey Oswald was a committed Communist, just as committed to his cause as any of us are to our own particular causes. Others know not want cause they should commit to, and end up in "marketing." Pete Campbell's future is bleak, just wait until he experiences the cagey unrest of the Y2K bug.
With a hard decision looming, it's best to boil things down to Ms. Draper's imaginative meeting with her father's estate lawyer. "Is he a good provider?" the guy asks her, as if he doesn't know the answer! I wish I could pay someone to slowly force me to accept the decisions I've made in my life through passive-aggressive rhetorical questions. Actually, I can probably secure the same lawyer- he's likely still practicing in the Long Island area.
Nevermind the accoutrements. How can we be happy in our own skins without legal aid? At least someone has figured out how. Perhaps she gives lessons.
Eleanor Morrow is the senior contributor to This Recording. She is a writer living in Manhattan. She tumbls here.
AMERICA 
photo by Lilja and Inga Birgisdóttir"Boy Lilikoi" - Jónsi (mp3)
