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A Poem for You

UPTICK

We were sitting there, and
I made a joke about how
it doesn’t dovetail: time,
one minute running out
faster than the one in front
it catches up to.
That way, I said,
there can be no waste.
Waste is virtually eliminated.

To come back for a few hours to
the present subject, a painting,
looking like it was seen,
half turning around, slightly apprehensive,
but it has to pay attention
to what’s up ahead: a vision.
Therefore poetry dissolves in
brilliant moisture and reads us
to us.
A faint notion. Too many words,
but precious.

- John Ashbery

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    Monday
    19Oct2009

    « In Which I Love Getting Telegrams But I Never Send Them »


    Rules for Illicit Sex

    by ELEANOR MORROW

    Masturbation generally leads to our greatest moments of clarity. The sale of Sterling Cooper is meant to interest us in some way - perhaps is it a constant nod to the precarious existential nature of life. On this subject ad man Paul Kinsey muses in his magnificent little office, where drunk copywriters and symbolic janitors named Achilles try to tell him the real way of things. Gripped by the bottle, in a fervor to reclaim the idea he believed he'd lost, Kinsey insults his secretary and his coworker. Chastened by the experience, he becomes the symbol he formerly laughed at. As Don wryly observed, "I hate it when that happens."

    Mad Men continues its preaching as the third season finale approaches. Reality occasionally intrudes. When you date someone, they always want you to meet their brother, who turn out to be a down-on-his-luck loser. The poor guy suffers from fits - usually code for a communicable sexually transmitted disease. Unfortunately Don isn't quite as familiar with the crazypants of the New York area as I am. I wish my older sister would hand me a small fortune adjusting for inflation and force her boyfriend to drive me to my job.

    Having witnessed a variety of women who have captivated the attention of Don Draper, I think we can conclude that except for Midge Daniels (played by Rosemarie Dewitt), it's been a bunch of stone psychos. When you find yourself attracted to the insane, it's more crucial than ever to obey some simple rules.

    1. Never appear at a workplace - such behaviour encourages cesspools of gossip and derringdo.

    2. When doing a favor, always insist on a receipt.

    3. Blondes are consistently lonely.

    4. Elementary school teachers are by their nature insecure and wobbly. It is considered polite to quietly leave the apartment after the third anecdote about one of their students.

    5. Never hold hands: this is no panacea on the tide of inevitable emotional attachment.

    6. Jews are no more reliable than the population at large. In contrast, British people are generally unhappier.

    7. Avoid meals except breakfast, which has the advantage of offering a quick exit upon its conclusion.

    8. Never give your real name, occupation, or favorite Larry David phobia. Such things are better held close to the vest.

    9. If the other person is also cheating, you may feel better about yourself, but you've doubled your exposure.

    10. If you put the towels in the bathtub, the maid will give you new ones, but if it looks like they haven't been used, she might not.

    All else stands in opposition to semiserious men and the decisions they make as if ordained by gods. Don must have an outlet! Mere danger isn't enough! Meanwhile, Suzanne is in bed and sleeping, or on a couch and waiting for news of her brother. She worries while grins and shakes and cash money are exchanged in cars, inscribed in boxes that turn up sooner or later at the most inopportune time.

    This is the sexism and racism of Mad Men, which may or not be the same as what exists in the non-Sterling Cooper based world. "Racism" is so trifling it merits an episode a season, "sexism" is as common as the ever-present cigarette. Conveyed to the ball in dark limousines that creep dispassionately over the earth, men go to meet their betters.


    Having Betty discover the vestiges of Don's ludicrous past life is a brilliant stroke of genius, although it surely could have been strung out over more episodes. Betty can't be surprised that Don's lies to her were hardly original. Maybe she's upset because she thinks Dick Whitman is an ugly name. In any case a pro-shark cause is even dumber than thinking autism is a made up disease. Sharks are killers, you daffy little melon.

    When Sally tells her father how her day went, her brother objects. "Why do you always ask her and not me?" "Your answers are usually longer, so I thought I'd start with her," Dick Whitman tells his son.  Sometimes I feel all life would be essentially improved if parents provided a summary of their lives to their children. But instead we learn it in glips and glops, fits and starts. Sally's teacher tells Don the winsome anecdote of her student's question about reality, and asks what he would have told the boy. Implied is that she wouldn't have, and he wouldn't have, even considered telling the truth.


    Why must life be such a waystation, each of us lonely passengers? Overcome with impatience, Betty puts away the box and the wine and goes to sleep when Don doesn't come home. The moment she was waiting for had arrived and as quickly departed. Later, a man is with you in the car. That person leaves whether you want him to or not. And when he's gone, you're all by yourself again.

    Eleanor Morrow is the senior contributor to This Recording. She tumbls here.

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    Reader Comments (1)

    Eleanor is the best. Dead on.

    October 20, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterMolly

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