On Making History

I’ve recently become obsessed with Mad Men.  My lack of work this week meant I had lots of time to watch episodes On Demand, which coincides nicely with the upcoming season premiere and its historic Emmy nomination.  For those not in the know, Mad Men is an AMC series based around the lives and work of Madison Avenue advertising men in 1960.  If the premise seems a bit dry, I assure you there is plenty of sex, booze, and scandal to keep you entertained.  The best part?  It’s historically-accurate debauchery.  

As many people know, I spent my undergrad years as a history devotee. As the proud holder of a $150,000 BA in History, I feel that it’s my responsibility to clear up historical misconceptions.  Most people assume that history is a dry subject and a degree in the discipline’s only utility is helping one get a teaching job.  In my experience, people are just as shocked to find out I have no plans on ever teaching as they are that I have no interest in the Civil War, ancient Rome, or George Washington.  

Case in point: I ventured to Charlestown last weekend with Amelia and Seth.  I was able to hold my own and let my out-of-state friends know that the Battle of Bunker Hill actually took place on Breed’s Hill, which I owe more to being a Massachusetts-native and having been indoctrinated in Revolutionary War propaganda from a young age than anything I learned in college.  I’m far more at home finding places for us to drink sangria in the North End then taking part in historical reenactments.  

To me, history is very much alive, relevant, and often salacious.  During my years as a history major, I wrote several papers on testicles, perused vintage Playboys, and learned as much about Hitler’s sex life as his military strategy.  I once spent a whole weekend in the computer lab writing 25 pages about Nazism’s and Judaism’s dual responsibility in castrating Freud. I know more than a little about the societal effects of the Pill, the relationship between communism and homosexuals, and tattoo rituals of Iraqis.   By the end of college, I had found my niche (or niches) in psychohistory and social theory.  Wars only interest me insofar as they precipitate social change and if anyone ever tried to start a conversation with me about Locke or Voltaire, I’d probably cry from boredom.  I like learning about people, and not specific ones as much as average joes and social trends they represent.  Enter Mad Men.

This show is brilliant in that in 13 episodes,  literally thousands of facets of 1960’s America are critically captured.  Consumerism, gender roles, de facto racism, beatniks and bohemians, homosexuality, psychoanalysis…you name it, it’s there.  With so many cigarettes, stiff drinks, and sex scenes to make me feel a little ill just watching it.  

Mad Men is both critically-acclaimed and professor-approved.  My Post-War America prof recommended the show last fall and I’d like to do the same.  It’s got its predictable moments (who couldn’t have seen that Peggy’s “weight-loss device” was actually a vibrator?) but there also some good plot twists and complex emotional situations being dealt with.  How would women today react to being threatened by their gynecologist with being taken off the Pill if they “abuse it?”  And how brilliant are those writers for simultaneously making you feel for the housewives, while also believing their husband belongs with his mistress?  Pure Hollywood genius.  Pure Hollywood historical genius.

If I weren’t so damn committed to helping people and too idealistic to get involved in the rat race, I bet I could go west and write awesome historical drama for the screen.  As a historian, I bring a lot to the table, like knowledge of Hitler’s undescended testicle and nuts and bolts of illegal abortions.  If that doesn’t make for cinematic gold, I don’t know what does.

Just Wondering…

I had an engagement today in the Woo, so I zipped a car.  Renting a little vehicle for a few hours has become pretty common for me, but unlike my other recent road trips, I didn’t have anyone in the car to chat with and didn’t think to grab some cds.  I’m not a huge music person, mainly listening to hipster-lite hits on my iPod but this lucky bitch got to spend some quality time with the radio while driving west.  Since my Nissan Versa’s radio console was hard to navigate and I was too busy rushing to make it to the dentist on time to fiddle with the presets (I’m not so good with multitasking when it comes to driving), I mainly flipped between soft rock, classic rock, and Boston’s #1 Hit Music Station! Some things I discovered were that the radio pretty much blows (but I knew that anyway) and that Miley Cyrus is apparently a huge star.  I don’t get it.

But here’s the point of this post.  I’d like to award the title of Worst Artist Ever to Marc Anthony.  I’m not sure if he’s still around or doing anything other than fathering J-Lo babies but his music is absolute shit! His song “You Sang to Me” came on the radio and I seriously contemplated driving off the road straight for a tree in order to end the pain.

Runner-up awards go to Lee Anne Womack for her craptastic “I Hope You Dance” and A-Ha’s “Take on Me.”

So  was just wondering…what gets your vote for lamest song?

My Demand List

I want a lot of things: world peace, universal healthcare, a job, good credit, ripped abs…but hey, we’re living in a material world and I’m a (sometimes) material girl.  So I thought I’d share some of my current yearnings.

 

1.  Religious Footwear

Lately I’ve been craving sandals.  I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for but the best way I can describe my dream shoes as resembling sandals Jesus would wear.  These Gap finds aren’t perfect, but at $14.99, they’ll hold me over until I find a holier pair.

2. A Pearl of Great Price

OMG I so want a cute, blue BlackBerry Pearl.  Unlike some people I know, I have no NEED for one but by golly would this little baby make my life more colourful.  It’s small enough to not look too ostentatious, but powerful enough to enable my texting-addiction and internet-junkieism.  

3. A Whip

I’m not really a car person.  I’m a walk/bike/public transport kind of gal.  But some wheels would be nice, making trips to the beach feasible and allowing me to occasionally grocery shop.  And at 46 mpg, the hot  little piece of ass known as the Prius is the ultimate eco-friendly status-symbol.  

4.  Pizza, Please-a?

I used to eat pizza maybe once a year.  I don’t know what’s happened to me, but now if I go a day without eating some greasy, gooey, cheesy pizza, I go through withdrawal.  In addition to unlimited access to Uno’s Spinnacoli Pizza, I’d like someone to come up with a new recipe for this gem of a pizza that cuts out some of the 1800 calories of the individual-sized one.