As August 16th fast approaches, how are you preparing for the Mad Men season three premiere?
Me? Oh, nothing major. I brushed up on my 1960s literature. Made vaguely hypocritical gender jokes at the office, had a handful of four Martini lunches, and took off for two weeks for California without telling anyone. I tricked two friends into adultery, hit on my boss' secretary, let my kids play with leftover dry cleaning bags and re-read The Feminine Mystique but lost my bookmark. I decided I was a Jackie who used to be a Marilyn. I dressed like an hourglass, poured myself into a Maidenform, stole my next door neighbour's identity and single-handedly saved the biggest account in my agency with a last-minute evocation of the joys of childhood reborn in dish detergent, tying off my week in an artfully, if artificially, composed bow.
Oh, and I read Bruce Handy's richly meticulous piece in Vanity Fair, accompanied by haunting and painfully chic photography by the one, the only Annie Leibovitz, a pairing that is the very definition of 'no-brainer.'
But other than that, you know. Not much.
Don and Betty's Paradise Lost (Vanity Fair)
1 comment:
Hello. And Bye.
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